Page 1 of God of War (Legacy of Gods)

1

AVA

The foul mixture of liquor, the latest drug on the market, and a sense of euphoria flows through me as I sway to the loud music.

Here, I’m okay.

As I blend into the middle of lost kindred spirits and empty shells, I don’t feel alien.

No pressure. No lost potential.

No disturbing images.

Nothing.

Just the way I like it.

I lift the double shot of tequila to my mouth and slurp half of it. The bitter taste sits on my tongue, leaving a lingering aftertaste that coats my mouth. But it also brings a sense of excitement and reckless abandon. The burn rushes down my throat and settles uncomfortably on top of the inauspicious dose of tranquilizers I’ve pumped my stomach with.

My solution? Find more alcohol, drugs, and whatever I can get my grubby hands on.

Something. Anything to relieve the pressure of the latest images that have been crowding my head.

Blurry faces with blurry voices in blurry clubs.

The last thing I need is a reminder of my state of mind or the recent pickle I’ve gotten myself into.

So I choose to sweep it under the rug and pretend everything is fantastic.

Normal.

My friends chose this up-and-coming club in North London for the occasion. The grunge, brick walls shine in a beautiful mixture of different shades of blue.

Violet laser beams glow on the crowd of people filling the massive downstairs hall. We have a VIP room upstairs, but it’s always fun to get down and dirty.

The dirtier the better.

I’ve just lifted the half-full shot of tequila to my lips when a slim hand with milky-peach nails snatches the glass and puts it out of reach. I’m about to spout some profanity when my eyes meet her calm green ones. I’m instantly hit with a smidge of judgment and a copious amount of unconditional love.

“Cecy!” I shout over the music, my voice sounding surprisingly sober. “What are you doing here?”

She’s wearing a beautiful pastel-orange spaghetti-strap dress. Her silver hair is pulled up in a dainty ponytail and her face glows more than ever.

I don’t miss the fact that she’s comfortable wearing dresses now when she’s always been a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl.

Or the fact that she’s put on a subtle hint of makeup. She wants to look beautiful. She loves herself more.

And to my shame, it’s not because of anything I’ve done or even contributed to. It took me so long to figure out something was wrong. I could blame my condition, but that’s no excuse. Not when she’s been there for me our entire lives.

“You’ve had enough to drink, Ava.”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t even started.” I reach for the glass, but she holds it behind her back.

“Don’t even think about it.” She grabs my elbow and starts pulling me from the middle of the crowd I’ve been happily nestled in. They all break out in a meltdown of questions.

Ava, are you coming back?

You joining us for that Ibiza trip, Ava?

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