Page 21 of Marginally Yours
Home.My apartment has always been more than just a place to live. Somewhere I was comfortable, where I could take the mask off and just exist in peace. It's spacious enough for me and all my stuff. Even with all the things I like to collect, I haven't run out of room. Everything in it is conveniently placed, and the kitchen is big enough for me to comfortably cook in.
The living room has enough room for my bookshelves and display cases. My furniture is comfortable, and I think I did a pretty good job decorating the walls and end tables. I've lived there since about a week after my mom died, when I got evicted from the house because our landlord said the lease was "with her and not me". Fucking scumbag.
Growing up, Mom made sure that I always had the freedom to do whatever weird shit my little heart desired. We didn't have much after my dad left, aside from the months he actually remembered to send child support, but she made the best out of it. It never even dawned on me that we had less than anyone else until I was old enough to go to other people's houses. I never really cared about what we had or the box it was in. Home was my mom, and then she died, so I had to create a new home.
Now, though? If my apartment burnt down tonight, I'd still have a home. It's sitting in my passenger seat, bouncing around to the music streaming out of the car speakers loud enough that she can hear it and swooning at me like I hung the fucking moon for her. It's following me through the door, fingers entwined with mine, barely making it to the counter todrop the leftovers before she's wrapping her arms around me from behind and squeezing. It's staring up at me with big blue eyes as I turn in her grip and leaning down to kiss her for the millionth time today.
Callie is my home now, and I'm not letting anyone, anything, or anystupid fucking godtake her from me. I'm done trying to buy time. It's time to make a plan.
We spend the rest of the night bouncing ideas around for the ending of my book. I can feel her influence on me like a warm trickle down the back of my neck, words flowing freely from my brain to the page. My writing isn't the only thing she's inspiring, though. We work until well past midnight, and I wait until we're curled up in bed to say anything about the plan I've been formulating all evening.
"So," I start, tapping my fingers nervously where they lay on my stomach. Her head is nestled into my shoulder, one arm laid across my chest. "We're just about done with the first draft. I think we should talk about the plan." She hums noncommittally, snuggling closer into me with no response. Shit, I should have waited until morning. I should have-
"There's no planning when it comes to them," she interrupts my spiraling, her voice quiet and steady. "They do what they want, and they make decisions on whims. Once you're done with your draft, I'll send a message to Apollo."
I'm sorry, who? Yeah, we're going to be circling back to that later.
"He'll set a time to meet up with us and we'll petition him for my contract. He'll name some outrageous price and expect us to either give in or haggle with him. If you try to haggle, he might let you. Or he might kill you for defying him. Depends on how he’s feeling that day. If you decide you're willing to pay the final price, then he'll take payment, and I'll belong to you. If the price is too high..."
She sniffs quietly, her fingers tracing the tattooon my shoulder lightly. When she doesn't continue, I take her fingers with my free hand and bring it to my mouth, pressing a kiss to each knuckle. She lets out a heavy sigh before starting again.
"If you decide I'm not worth the price, they'll reassign-" My gaze whips to her.
"Woah," I stop her, sitting up as much as I can without tossing her. Now that I can see her face, I can see the tears forming in her eyes and the sad smile. I swipe my thumb across her cheek, catching the first tear as it falls. "I need you to listen to me, and I need you to absorb what I'm saying. There's no price I wouldn't pay for you to be mine. There's not a single thing I have that I wouldn't be willing to give up for you to be free."
Her eyes meet mine, and I can feel the pain behind them like it's my own. "I won't let you suffer to save me," she whispers.
"I won't let you suffer to save myself," I retort. "Let me decide what I can and can't handle, because you're worth it to me. You're worth more than anything I have. I don't care if he wants every penny I have or everything I own. Take my sight, or my voice, or years off of my life. Callie, I don't give a single fuck what he wants, as long as it ends with you in my arms every night for the rest of our lives."
"For the rest ofyourlife." I tense at her words. They're so quiet I almost don't hear them. "I don't age, Devon. You'll grow old and you'll die, and I'll still bethis." She gestures down at herself.Thismeaning a thousand-year-old muse in the body of a 25-year-old woman. "You'll get older, and people will see us and think I'm your daughter, and then your granddaughter. And then one day, when you die, I'll be all alone again." Her breathing is fast and shallow, like she's working herself into a panic attack.
"Hey, relax" I murmur, brushing her hair down and pressing a kiss to her temple. After a few deep breaths, I canfeel her settle back into my side as her breathing returns to normal. "Once we get through the first step, we'll worry about the next one. For now, let's just worry about the deal. Tell me what to expect. Are we talkingApolloApollo? Like, God of the Sun Apollo?"
"Yeah, and he's a fucking dick." Her face is so serious, but I can't help the laugh that escapes me. She pins me with a glare for a second before it softens and she giggles along with me.
"I'm sorry, did you just call a god a fucking dick? Isn't that smite-worthy or something?"
"Only if I say it to his face," she says with a smirk. "And he knows he is, anyway. He's just theworst.He's impulsive and rude and, honestly, he's kind of a creep. He likes to think he's in charge of the muses because he's a god and he had a kid with Calliope a million years ago. As if you can walk anywhere in Olympus without tripping over a demigod. It doesn't help that some Russian composer in the twenties wrote a whole ballet calling him 'Leader of the Muses'. But, because he's a nepo baby who gets whatever he wants, Zeus made him the mediator for all of our petitions, and he gets the final say on anything we do."
I nod slowly in lieu of a response. She just referred to the god who drags the sun across the sky as a creepanda nepo baby. Although, based on what I know about Greek mythology, she's probably not wrong. I take a deep breath. I have a feeling this isn't going to go as smoothly as I'd hoped.
"Great," I mumble on an exhale. "Piece of cake."
Chapter Fourteen
We spend the next two days finishing the first draft. Most of them, anyway. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to drag her into my bed with me and never leave. We can just hide there forever, right?
Unfortunately, I begrudgingly remind myself that, as much as I'd love to disappear with her, she'd still be tied to them. As soon as they realize she's no longer “on the clock”, they'll be here in a heartbeat to drag her away. No, she needs to be free. Shedeservesto be free.
So, we finish the book.
I have two completely different ideas for the path to take, and she has me write them both out and read them to her. We decide on the climax that was hopefully unexpected, sad but not too painful, and a relatively happy ending. The rest of the story was a little darker, so I wanted to end on a lighter note. Especially since this could be my only book.
Surprisingly, that thought hasn't bothered me as much as I thought it would. We've been operating under the assumption that my ability to write is what Apollo will demand aspayment, so I've decided to start coming to terms with that in advance.
Now, sitting at my desk, typing up the last paragraph, it's starting to sink in. There’s a weight in my chest that gets heavier the closer I get to the end. I've loved writing my whole life. I've always been able to escape into my own worlds, but I could never get something like this down on paper. There was always something missing, some integral ingredient to the mix that turned all the pieces into one cohesive unit.
I think Callie was that missing link.
