Part 1: Clinomania

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a
monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche

3
 1. Therapy

Aran

Clinomania–present

Tick. Infinity. Tock.

The hands on the clock moved unnaturally slow as flaps of yellow wallpaper

peeled off the office wall like tears.

Voices warbled in the background.

The foreground was nebulous.

It had been that way ever since we’d learned the truth about the war against the

Ungodly.

Sweat dripped down my ribcage as the air conditioner spewed cold air onto the

top of my head. Rain battered against the cramped office’s single window.

My teeth chattered.

Outside the climate was dreary; inside the climate was lachrymose.

The sky was bloated with water and the room was overflowing with regret,

shame, anger, and every other unsavory emotion that no one wanted to talk about.

Feelings

that

destroyed.

We sat in morbid silence.

A reprieve from war; lately words were the guns and lies the enchanted bullets.

“Aran, are you paying attention to me?” Dr. Palmer snapped her fingers in front

of my face. Unfortunately one person didn’t get the ‘sit quietly and mope’ memo.

I blinked.

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 She snapped her fingers again.

“No.” My voice cracked and I wet my lips. “I wasn’t listening to you.”

My therapist breathed deeply. “The High Court says that you’re their fated soul

mates and you need to cooperate for the war effort.” She pointed her pen at the three

men sitting beside me on the threadbare couch.

Leather creaked as the four of us shifted.

“But you said last week that you loathe them?” She asked with confusion. “Then

you refused to elaborate.”

I didn’t understand her bewilderment.

It should have been a statement with a period: a form of punctuation used to end

a complete sentence. For some reason no one wanted to accept my hatred as final.

The Kings.

Dr. Palmer.

The High Court.

Everyone was waiting for me to change my mind.

Ice traveled down my limbs until I was completely numb, sitting still while

simultaneously tumbling deeper into nothingness.

Space buckled.

Tick. Infinity. Tock.

Dr. Palmer pursed her lips. “Aran. Could you answer the question?”

I stared back at her blankly, the ice had frozen my eyelids and embalmed my

corneas.

“You hate these men?” She pointed again like I needed the reminder that I was

sandwiched beside my enemies in a claustrophobic room meant for two people.

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 Malum fidgeted and we all rocked.

I refused to turn my head because I’d seen enough: freakishly wide shoulders,

captivating features, callous demeanors, warm brown eyes, long graceful fingers, cheeks

that blushed pink as they betrayed me.

“Um–” I broke out into a coughing fit.

The tension in the room increased tenfold. Everyone focused on me.

I would have been embarrassed but I’d stopped feeling anything meaningful ten

years ago.

I’d stopped feeling anything at all last week in the war camp.

Dick had spoken and the lies had crumbled.

The truth was a heinous beast.

Now Dr. Palmer handed me a half-filled cup of lukewarm water and I gulped it

down until I choked.

Liquid spilled onto my shirt.

Orion patted my back and I flinched away from his touch. He made a soft

wounded sound as he pulled his hand away.

The air conditioning buzzed loudly.

A gust of wind slammed rain against the side of the building with splatter.

I focused all my attention on choking to death. Sadly, it didn’t work so I

redirected my attention into slouching my shoulders until I was concave.

Placing the empty water cup by my feet on the once-white-but-now-light-brown

carpet I pretended not to notice that Dr. Palmer scowled at it like she knew I was going

to forget to pick it up.

I cleared my throat three times.

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 Coughed.

Wet my lips.

“Aran, please take all the time that you need.” Her mouth said one thing but her

narrowed eyes and pinched lips said another.

“Okay.” My voice sounded far away.

Her right eye twitched. One. Two. Three. Four times.

I rotted on the couch.

My eyes started to close as I succumbed to bone deep exhaustion.

“Aran.” Dr. Palmer snapped her fingers twice in rapid succession.

I sat up with a start.

She pointed her pen at me. A weapon of ink.

I sighed and said, “Yep. I hate my mates. In fact they disgust me.” I stuck my

tongue out and gagged just in case she wasn’t picking up what I was putting down.

The good (annoying) doctor wrote something down on her clipboard and nodded

as my eyes grew heavier.

Every second of the last three weeks had been filled with endless meetings on

strategies and battle logistics as we studied our new roles.

The High Court had perfected the art of giving information while saying nothing

at all. They didn’t know how or why the Ungodly had taken over Planet 003FX, and the

realm’s landscape was treacherous and inaccessible, so they didn’t even know what

species the Ungodly had infected.

We were barreling into war blind.

Only once had Dick stopped dancing around the truth and given us something

substantial.

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 It had torn our psyche to shreds.

I sighed, tried to sit up straight but my shoulders slumped.

“Your soul mates disgust you. You hate them.” She spoke slowly and

over-enunciated ‘disgust’ and ‘hate’. “That is what you just said. Correct?”

The questioning was exhausting.

I nodded and tugged at the permanent scab on my lower lip.

“Stop picking,” Scorpius ordered harshly.

I jumped and pulled my hand away from my face.

Pen scribbled across paper.

I rolled my eyes, brought my fingers back to my lip, and ripped off a juicy chunk

of skin.

“I told you not to pick,” Scropius growled. “Orion, pull her hand away.”

Anyone else plagued by men? Just me? Nice.

“Touch me.” I yawned. “And I’ll kill you.”

Orion stared down at me but he didn’t move.

I wasn’t the type of person to play favorites, especially not when it came to my

enemies, but Orion was my favorite and Malum was my least favorite. One hundred

percent.

I was grateful the quiet man was a buffer between me and Scorpius and the two of

them blocked my view of Malum. The Kings were seated in order of descending

awfulness.

A fractal of the patriarchy.

Scorpius leaned forward to glare at me and Orion’s muscular thigh pressed

indecently against mine.

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 We were both wearing sweatpants but pain streaked down my back.

I exhaled harshly and managed not to whimper.

It was funny how pain felt sharper in certain situations. Sometimes adrenaline

and depression masked the hurt. Other times they amplified the agony.

Life was a cruel mistress.

“Lean back.” Dr. Palmer glared at Scorpius until he settled back against the couch

with a huff.

“I want to remind you all that these sessions are for your benefits.” She scowled

at each of us. “I’m not the one the High Court forced into therapy. I’m not the one

suffering from bond sickness with the people who I have to lead a war beside.” She

scoffed, like if it was up to her she would never have chosen us as leaders. “But you do.”

Her glare was cutting.

If it was up to me, I would name Dr. Palmer as the sole champion of the gods. If I

complained about the High Court’s lies, she’d probably say my emotional state allowed

me to be manipulated.

She was all about self-improvement.

I was all about fostering a crippling victim complex and blaming everything on

men.

As if she read my mind, Dr. Palmer narrowed her eyes.

I tugged off another loose flap of skin on my lip and Scorpius barked out a string

of profanities.

E.x.h.a.u.s.t.i.o.n.

It pulled me apart.

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 “You should join the military—” I said at the same time she asked, “—Aran, how

do you feel?”

She gave me a withering look. “Don’t speak unless spoken to.”

A rain droplet left a trail across glass.

Time passed, did it still count as being spoken too if I didn’t respond

immediately. “So can I speak now, or is there a time limit?” There was a million

permutations that could arise that would negate the purpose of—

“Aran,” she said my name like a curse and took a deep breath. “Moving on, how

do you feel when Scorpius tells you what to do?”

I dug my nail deeper into my lip.

“Do you not like when he orders you around?” She pointedly looked at the blood

dripping down my chin.

“Obviously not.” I tried to wipe the copper taste off my tongue with the arm of my

sweatshirt.

A beating hard throbbing against my tongue. Life blood coating my throat.

The room collapsed around me.

“The fact that he told you not to pick at your lip.” Dr. Palmer nodded her head

like she was realizing something. “Is making you act out of spite. Spite is an intense

psychological response to a negative valence such as disappointment or betrayal.”

Rain streaked drearily across the window; cold air blew on the top of my head;

Orion’s thigh pressed against mine.

“Have these men betrayed you?”

Scorpius chuckle was harsh as if he wheezed with pain.

I would have joined him but I didn’t laugh with men.

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 I only laughed at them.

Still, a voice in my head cackled with laughter, like a monster that didn’t exist;

like the Angel Consciousness that did exist. Allegedly.

Like ancient Peace Accords that left us stranded before a war.

It's fine,

I’m fine,

I understand my brain, I reassured myself.

The paradox of the liar—you couldn’t lie if you knew it was false, but if it was false

then you were a liar. The cycle spiraled into infinity.

I rubbed at my temples.

My subconscious screamed something to my consciousness, but there was a dead

space inside my brain and I couldn’t understand. There was an emptiness where

knowledge fizzled.

An abyss.

Perhaps it was hours spent screaming on a palace floor.

Perhaps it was the little sister I’d never had who’d stolen my memories.

Perhaps it was three men who’d tormented me.

Perhaps it was me.

I itched at the back of my head as I fought to not slam my skull against the wall

and bludgeon my bone against peeling yellow wallpaper until everything went silent.

It was a close one.

“Your emotions make sense and are valid, especially if you feel betrayed,” Dr.

Palmer said slowly like she understood me.

I forgot she was still here.

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 “Perhaps you’re feeling spiteful because of your own deep sense of hurt based on

their actions.” She nodded. “Have they done anything to make you feel especially

disappointed?”

Black-ice scorched my throat and I needed to wipe the patronizing smirk off her

face.

I had a list.

“Malum set me on fire until my face melted off and he never apologized for it.”

Dr. Palmer stopped writing and blanched.

Both eyes twitched. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven times. A new record.

Three men stiffened beside me.

Dr. Palmer opened and shut her mouth a few times, when she finally spoke she

over-enunciated each word. “You’re telling me, that your.” She cleared her throat and

checked her clipboard. “Ignis, set you on fire? The mate whose role is to love and cherish

you?”

She showed more emotion now, then when I’d told her the High Court mandated

therapy sessions. She hadn’t blinked when she’d learned I’d been disguised as a male

because I was the wanted Fae Princess who’d murdered her mother.

Now her eyes rounded with horror. She understood why the last three therapy

sessions had been filled with awkward silence and tension.

Scorpius scoffed loudly in the quiet, “An Ignis does not just love and cherish his

Revered. That’s a provincial and pathetic description. His life's purpose is to worship,

provide, shelter, and obsess over his Revered. It is nothing as menial as love.”

“It is disrespectful to insinuate that I would only love her,” Malum growled

roughly.

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 Ever completely miss the point of a conversation?

Dr. Palmer gaped at the Kings with incredulity and her complexion paled.

I smiled.

Everyone knew the point of couple’s therapy was to make your therapist like you

more than your partner.

I’d won.

“You want to talk about caring for your Revered, yet you set Aran on fire?” Her

voice pitched uncharacteristically high as she gaped at Malum.

He shifted.

I wobbled and almost fell off the couch.

Abruptly, a picture on the wall burst into red flames and two shifters frolicking in

a flower field melted into ashes.

Dramatic irony.

Dr. Palmer’s voice climbed up another octave. “You’re telling me that Aran is your

Revered?” She didn’t even glance at the flaming wall, all her attention was on the leader

of the Kings. “And it is your life’s purpose to care for her?”

Malum grunted in agreement.

“Yet you lit her on fire until her face melted off?”

He grunted again.

She scribbled furiously on her clipboard and pushed her glasses against the top of

her nose with so much force the wire bent. “Don’t you think that is something you

should apologize to her for?”

Orion grimaced and pressed his leg harder against mine. Scorpius muttered

something under his breath. I put my hand into my pockets and fondled my pipe.

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 Making the leader of the Kings apologize was like trying to have a healthy

relationship with a man. Impossible and upsetting.

Anytime he addressed me violence swelled.

Exploded.

Sometimes communication was not the solution, it was the problem. It was better

if we practiced dissociative avoidance.

Malum gnashed his teeth. “She was disguised as a male at the time. I didn’t know

she was my Revered. It was different.” His voice was harsh and gritty.

The doctor turned her chair towards me. “How do Malum’s words make you feel,

Aran?”

I brought my pipe between my lips and inhaled harshly.

For the first time since I saw her with Sadie months ago, she didn’t comment on

my smoking addiction. She stared at the pipe between my lips like she wanted to ask for

a drag.

“I feel like I want to light him on fire until his skin melts off,” I said in a

monotone voice.

“Then do it,” Malum snarled and I was jostled as he leaned forward to glare at

me. “Stop whining about it and light me on fire. Then we’ll be even. I don’t understand

why you keep fucking bringing this up. Let me care for you. We need to move past this

because we have enough to worry about with this fucking war.” Steel gray eyes pinned

me to my seat.

Flames cackled and the awful scent of burning rug filled the room.

No one moved to put it out.

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 I leaned forward and glared back. “Exactly. Since we’re already doomed, why

should I care about your pathetic bid for forgiveness. Have you ever thought that maybe

I want to hold a grudge?”

“How does holding a grudge make you feel,” Dr. Palmer cut in.

“Wonderful.” My tone dripped with sarcasm.

Malum’s cheeks flushed as he snarled, “Do whatever you need to do to forgive

me. I already said you could light me on fire.” Silver eyes softened. “I don’t know if it’s

possible.” Malum cleared his throat. “But I will try to reject my abilities and let flames

consume me. For you. So you can have your revenge.”

A pen dropped against a clipboard.

I gaped at my arch nemesis, and his cheekbones flushed red the longer I stared.

“Okay, we’ll try it.” I nodded. “Get me a match and kerosene and I’ll do it. Right

here, right now since you’re asking for it.”

“I have a lighter,” Orion whispered.

Scorpius drawled sarcastically, “I’d like to see this.”

“I’ll narrate,” Orion offered.

“I’ll start.” I smirked at Malum. “He’s sitting on the couch looking like a coward.

Also, he’s ugly and freakishly tall.”

Molten silver hardened into steel. “I already fucking said you could do.” He

spread his arms wide. “I’m waiting. Between us I’m not the coward.”

“Give me the lighter.” I nudged Orion.

He reached into his pocket.

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 “STOP!” Dr. Palmer’s shrill voice made all four of us wince. “No one.” She

breathed deeply like she was trying to get control of herself. “Is lighting anyone on fire in

this room.”

“So we should do it outside of the room?” I asked.

Knuckles whitened against a clipboard and she stared at the ceiling like she was

having a mental breakdown.

Extremely relatable.

Abruptly a timer went off.

With a fluid movement she sat up straight and smiled at us. Her voice was honey

sweet. “Your hour session is over. Please leave.”

I stood and stuck out my hand for her to shake.

She held her clipboard tight to her chest. “Get out of my office.”

I let my hand drop and nodded as I took a long drag from my pipe. “You are truly

a goddess at your craft. Great stuff. I really liked how you just repeated the same

phrases.”

“Out,” she ordered harshly.

“I’ll let you know how lighting him on fire works.” I covered my mouth as I

yawned.

“I didn’t suggest that.” Her pen snapped. “As an accredited professional I am

informing all of you right now, that I will report you to the relevant authorities if any of

you light each other, or anyone else, on fire.”

The smoldering picture frame fell off the wall.

We all knew there were no authorities that would punish the Champions of the

Gods. We were the appointed authorities. Further proof that lunatics ran the realms.

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 The kings stood up and all three of them crowded my space.

Shadows and muscles widened.

I pulled the RJE device with “therapy” engraved on its surface out of my pocket

and grabbed Orion’s wrist. Scorpius and Malum wrapped their fingers around my

forearm.

They could have just grabbed Orion, but in the last three weeks they pointedly

touched me everytime we RJE’d.

As if the split second of contact meant something to them.

They were trying to show they chose me.

Like it wasn’t too late.

It was.

Fat droplets streaked drearily across the window.

“I’ll keep you updated.” I pressed the glowing device.

Dr. Palmer shook her head frantically. “Please, don’t.”

“I will,” I whispered as I blinked and the therapist's office disappeared.

The air stank of wet dirt, regret, and secrets.

Location: the war camp.

I sucked on my pipe, squeezed my eyes shut, and pretended I didn’t know the

truth about the looming war.

My eyes shot open and I clenched my fists.

I was done pretending.

The High Court would pay for their deceit.

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