The Circle

28 | Meditation

I drove to Olympus because I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. The path to the house was cold and wet, and the wind bit into my skin like a lover's kiss; aggressive and demanding. My feet felt weightless, and the world looked foggy and incorporeal as if it chose to respect my numbness and unite with it.

Being stuck inside your head is a curious thing. The world adopts your worries and becomes as gray as the feelings inside. Olympus did not seem glorious that day; it looked haunted and desolate standing alone in the soggy clearing. I focused on my shoes as I walked - it hurt too much to look at the house when it appeared so lifeless.

The day made everything seem discolored, and even the gods painted on the plaster ceiling of the ballroom were unsaturated and depressing. They couldn't do anything to diminish the mammoth wave of feelings inside my chest, a hurricane that was tearing me apart bit by bit.

London was stressful but life in Carlisle brought a new species of worry. What I felt was not psychological; It did not feel like I was going to break down again. It was worse, much worse. Not knowing what you are is as violent as being tripped and unable to find stable ground. The ground nears my face but I can never reach it so I am thrown into limbo, in the air, unable to find my footing.

My body wasn't my own any longer. My thoughts weren't my own either.

There was something about Kit that kept begging to be unpacked. We were polar opposites, or so they said, but It's possible to be black or white, not on this life. Every living thing is a mixture of both, we have specks or splashes of darkness in our souls but the canvas always starts with the color of pure snow. Every one is born good, even descendents of Hades.

The need to be close to Kit felt corrosive, and it dissolved any other thought inside my mind. It felt unbearable fighting what feels right, and it was exhausting trying so hard. He felt our connection too, that I wad sure of. But the question that hung above my head was why he still kept his distance, why he continuously fought something so natural, so good.

The prophecy had to be referring about us -- being in the same circle is too damn specific to be a mere coincidence. We'd get through it, we needed to. I couldn't stand being away from him, and every time he creates distance between us I feel as if a part of me stays in his presence. I do not know how to deal with these feelings, which were so complete that they overflowed from my body, spilling out crassly.

I wandered into the gym and looked at the still equipment. There were boxing gloves and bandages abandoned by the edge of the rink, the remnants of a fighting session left behind. Maybe Kit was the one fighting. He looked beautiful when he fought, as paradoxical as it was. I remembered his rippling skin and graceful movements. Raven hair tousled, and those eyes... Eyes that looked at you as if unpacking a secret, feral eyes of a wolf peeling the protective walls away from your soul. Eyes that are frightening to look at when adrenaline is coursing through his body, when he lets go of his human side.

Kit held himself with elegance that battled a dancer's lithe posture. He was a performer of sorts, always trying to create a specific image of himself to the world, battling dark matter hidden inside.

I couldn't imagine what it felt like being descended from the God of the underworld, of the dead. Did he see ghosts? Can he communicate with the dead? Does Kit have the power to kill?

I didn't know anything about him. He wouldn't allow me to.

I wanted to unpack him, to remove the layer of ash outside and reveal the gold buried within. I wished that he'd allow light to touch him. There was no one more suitable to be in the sunshine. Beautiful things should not be kept hidden away in the dark.