Page 104 of Golden Burn

I meant it when I said I don’t normally get seasick. It’s a combination of many things.

Fear. Joy. Doubt. Confusion. Hope.

Odin has been mine for five days. He’s been mine and no one else’s. But the timeline is running out. We have to return to the real world soon. And I have no idea what’s to come.

He’s not spoken about it. Neither have I. We’ve both avoided it by getting lost in each other’s bodies. And it’s been wonderful. So, so wonderful. But after tonight, we are going to be thrust back into the roles we played before our honeymoon. Even thinking about acting like I hate him to cover our relationship sounds draining. I don’t think I can do it.

The ferry reaches the dock of Delos, swinging in so fast I hold my breath as the crew work to secure it to the mooring. Odin takes me by the hand and leads me to the exit. I cling to him.

The island of Delos is famous for the abundance of naturally preserved archaeological sites. Huge towers of marble, half collapsed buildings,complete and incomplete statues, and colored tiled mosaics that don’t look thousands of years old. It distracts me for a long time as we read through the brochures provided and walk idly through the ruins of an ancient, abundant city.

Odin takes everything in. Pausing at every sign to read the inscription. I can feel the awe rolling off him, the excitement to learn. I stride over to a section of the ruins that’s full of animal life. Cats skitter, running away from me. It rattles my composure. I know he said it would be safe, and there are so many people here that any sort of altercation would be noticed, but I can’t shake this sense of doom.

Maybe it’s the environment. The beautiful marble, cut and broken, left to bleach in the sun is a depressing image. Scorched, abandoned, forgotten by the rest of the world for hundreds of years. I pull my jacket tighter against my upper body as the chilly wind continues to sweep through the island. I abandoned my hair as soon as I stepped onto the ferry. No point trying to save it.

“Cerbera will kill you, he told me so himself.”

I jolt. Agent Martin’s warning to Odin at the wedding interrupts my thoughts like a specter hiding behind the marble, adding fuel to my worry.

“Not if I kill him first.”

As we make our way toward the amphitheater, the crowds gathering, the light display coming alive as day gives way to night, my nervousness only worsens. I’m as fragile as my surroundings. Soft around the edges and prone to erosion. I’m weak and terrified, and I can’t deal with the idea of something happening to Odin.

I’ve never been fuller than I do with him. He sees me more than anyone else has. Like his gaze is a telescope trained directly on my soul.

And I think I’ve had the same effect on him. I’ve brought him out and shown him the little things in life that hold more beauty than a dollar bill and fake smile. I’ve opened up a doorway he closed and locked the night he watched Gen die. I hope I’ve helped along the journey of healing.

“You okay?” Odin asks me as we near the entrance to the amphitheater.

“I’m fine,” I reply. I don’t want him to think I’m scared. He would turn us around instantly and take us home. I do my best to shrug it off, to send my worries into the rough wind.

We reach the front and an employee scans the tickets on Odin’s phone. “Enjoy the show,” she says and lets us through.

It’s almost completely dark by the time we take our seats on the marble, made more comfortable by the use of little circular cushions. Odin and I lean against each other, our hands intertwined like the roots of two trees. He kisses me on the temple and the delicate touch sends my heart racing.

Maybe I should tell him how I’m feeling. Maybe that’s why I’m having this gut reaction.

It’s a good time, isn’t it? We’d grown so close, gotten comfortable letting our walls down, inviting the other person in to stay. I think what I feel toward him is right.

I love him. I do.

My entire being yearns for him, for a future with him.

Is this why I’m freaking out? Because I’ve come to terms with it or because he doesn’t know?

“Odin?” He turns to me, his face aglow with the yellow lights from the stage. My body aches for him. I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.

Tell him. Tell him. Just say it.

“I think I—”

The show begins, cutting me off. Odin raises his brow, but I wave my hand. I’m being silly. I can tell him when we get home. Now’s not the right time.

I’ve not seen many theater shows. My mom took me to see Wicked when I was a child, which I loved. And despite intending to see something again as we got older, all of my study, running the clinic and the tiny scrap of time for a social life meant we didn’t go.

The show is brilliant.

It’s a tragedy, imbued with snippets of slapstick comedy that actually make me laugh out loud. The actors are incredible, their voices astounding. I am in awe of the fact that they don’t use microphones and yet fill the entire space. There’s a traditional chorus, and even a moment right toward the end of the show where they ask for volunteers from the audience. I lift up Odin’s hand, but he brings it right back down, his grip tightening on my palm. “Not a chance,” he growls in my ear. I laugh.

---