The Chaos of Stars
Page 28

He has the nerve to look puzzled, and—oh floods, are you kidding me—sad. “Have I done something to you?”
“I—no. It’s not you. I’m not going to date anyone. Ever.”
“Really?” He sits down on the couch like he expects me to follow suit. I stay standing.
“Really. I have no desire whatsoever to date and get married and have kids.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “The one doesn’t lead immediately to the others, you know. There are stages in between, or so I’ve heard. Could be a rumor, though.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. What’s the point? Nothing lasts forever. Relationships only hurt.”
Sometimes I wonder if my parents ever loved each other. They barely exist on the same plane. My dad cheated on my mom with her sister, whether or not he meant to, and she still pulled out all the stops to resurrect him. For what? A husband who’d rather be in the underworld than in ours.
And in spite of all that, they have each other, forever. They last forever, their marriage lasts forever, there is no loss, no breaking up, no inevitability of death. I think if I fell in love with someone, I’d never be able to breathe, never be able to function because of the fear.
I’m already going to lose myself. I never want to have to deal with losing someone else, too.
“That’s kind of bleak,” Ry says. “I think you’re wrong.”
“What do you know about it?” I snap.
Ry shrugs. “My parents broke up.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Deflated, I sit gingerly on the edge of the couch. Great, Isadora. Brilliant. Make fun of his house and then bring up his own family pain. I mean it. Sometimes I forget I’m not the only one with a past. Ry’s a real person, too.
“Nah, it’s okay. It was a long time ago. My mom thought she wanted other things, and my dad couldn’t forgive her for it. They spent a while chasing different lives and being unhappy, and then they got back together. They’ve been pretty good ever since.”
“That must have been really hard for you.”
“I wasn’t born yet. But none of us is perfect, right? And if you love someone, you have to deal with that. If you ask me, love is what makes everything worth it. Otherwise what’s the point of anything? Besides, I’m glad they worked it out. I kinda like existing.” He nudges me with his elbow, grinning, and I have to smile back.
“Fine. But I say, skip loving someone so you never have to deal with it.”
He doesn’t look away from my eyes, trapping me in the perfect blue of his, then claps his hands together like he’s come to a decision. “Are you also morally opposed to being friends? Does that mysteriously lead to immediate babies, too?”
My heart flutters a tiny bit—like it knows maybe I’m in trouble here, like it’d rather steel up and have me flip him off, or laugh in his face, or shrug him away. But he’s a real person to me now, someone with pain and weirdness and heartache woven into the narrative of his life. And he seems sincere, and it might be nice to have a friend in addition to Tyler.
“I guess not,” I finally answer, well aware that I paused far too long before responding. But friendship isn’t something that should be taken lightly, right? “Although Tyler will be way happier about it than she deserves to be.”
“I think she deserves to be happy. And now that we’re friends, can I get your advice on my room? It’s pretty bad.”
“How bad are we talking?”
“Two words: sports theme.”
“Floods, we’d better get started. What did you have in mind?”
He looks at me for a long time before smiling. “I’m thinking a color scheme of browns with accents of hunter green.” He holds out a hand to help me up from the couch, and as I take it and feel his hand around mine in a shock of human contact and something more, that part that warned me of trouble is proved absolutely right.
Sobs rack my body as I slam my door shut behind me.
They don’t want me.
They don’t want me.
It’s a tomb! I’m going to die! They’ve known it this whole time!
Exhausted from rage and grief, I do what I always do when I need to calm down, and kneel in front of the altar in my room.
“No,” I say, filled with horror. Because as I stare at the altar, I realize that no one prays to me. No one prays to my brother Sirus, or my sister Essa, or any of us. Because we don’t matter.
I fall back, feeling like the altar has punched a hole in my chest. Of course they don’t need me to last forever. My mother has a baby every twenty years. A new one to train up in the ways of worshipping herself and her family.
We’re not children. We’re power sources.
Screaming, I stand and kick the altar. It doesn’t move. I brace myself against the wall and kick against it as hard as I can, and it slowly leans until gravity takes over and it crashes to the ground, breaking into three pieces.
I sniffle, wipe my eyes. An inky darkness, like oil and fog, seeps out of the broken pieces, getting bigger, wider, darker. It oozes toward the door, toward where my mother waits on the other side, asking if she can come in.
“Mom?” I whisper, all my anger frozen into fear.
She doesn’t answer.
8
“Take my son,” begged Nephthys, voice a whisper, eyes down. “Shield him from the wrath of Osiris.”
Isis looked at the boy, the son of her husband and her sister. She looked at her sister. She held out her arms.