Page 10 of The Stone and the Star

How the hell did I get into bed? How am I even in my apartment?

“Oh Christ, please stop!” I yell as several lines of Fleetwood Mac’s “Rhiannon” play over again and again. Glynnes had insisted I make it her ringtone. I reach over to grab my cell phone from my bag at the side of the bed.

How did my tote bag get here?I remember dropping it at some point, I think.

“I’m sorry,” I answer immediately as I pick up the phone. “It’s two, isn’t it?”

“You said two-ish. Don’t worry, honey. I’m at the coffee shop around the corner. Take your time.”

Glynnes knows me well.

“Thanks.” I hang up and drop back into bed, my head hitting the pillow with enough force that I let out a whimper.

There’d been a moment last night where I’d been running and fell. It wasn’t the first time—that was when I’d escaped the bearded attacker. He’d been so angry that I fought back, his pupils huge and his pale eyes inhuman in their determination. My body tenses as residual fear seeps to the surface.

I’m safe now.Hesaved me.

No, it is the second time, when I’d fallen and later arrived in my bedroom, that I’m uncertain of. I’d been afraid in the bell tower, but not like the terror in the courtyard. No. Even in my fear, it didn’t make sense that someone would save me only to harm me. I was in shock. I was overwhelmed. I’d just wanted to get back to what I knew, and what I knew was my apartment, seemingly only a couple yards away. So, I ran, foolishly, towards home.

The monster caught me by the waist moments before I reached the crumbling ladder, my vision went black, and now, I’m here.

He saved me again,I realize. He returned me to my apartment.

I spot my shoes next to the bed and feel myself up, checking for clothes, exhaling as I confirm I’m fully dressed.

A gargoyle,Colossus—the name suits his massive size—had shown me far more consideration than a human had last night.

Shifting through my murky memories, I recall that I awoke in a pile of pillows on the tower. He’d placed a blanket on me, too. I’d felt so safe while he brushed my cheek, until I realized there were long, curved claws attached to that hand.

I will myself out of bed, moving slowly and carefully to the window. Thankful my curtains are closed, I position my body out of view and pull back the fabric an inch.

My breath catches when I see him. I don’t know why I expected him to be gone, but there he is, positioned on the ledge, just how he always is. A living, breathing gargoyle—now so still that if I didn’t remember the feel of his warm claws against my forehead, I might think I made it all up.

Looking at him now, he doesn’t seem so scary.

His deeply carved cheekbones and heavy, angular brow are cemented into a permanent scowl. When he smiled at me last night, I’d seen the sharp edges of his teeth glinting between his full lips, framed by his unturned fangs, but now, his mouth forms a firm line. Long twin horns protrude straight up from his forehead, and his wings are outstretched behind his broad shoulders. His ridged tail is at his feet; the rounded bumps had felt odd, but almost pleasant, around my waist.

He’d loomed over my not-insignificant frame when I was lying on the pillows, his stone eyes, a warm gray shot through with dark veins, entirely focused on me. The blunt cuts of his muscles I’d been admiring all semester had been so close to my face, the details exquisite. Only a gray loincloth draped between thick thighs covered him.

My hand moves before I realize what I’m doing. I tap on the window. He doesn’t react. I tap a little harder, and still no response.

He saw every inch of me, far more of me than I’ve seen of him.My fingers restlessly play with the edge of the curtain.You seduced me, he’d said.Your monster…My monster…

“Nope, nope, nope.” I jerk back from the curtains. “Stop it, Astra. You’ve hit your head too many times.”

I feel myself beginning to spiral. Gargoyles are real. Monsters are real. Shock should overwhelm me like it did last night, but instead, it is a dizzying curiosity.

I’d thought to call Glynnes back and ask if we could reschedule for tomorrow, but the comfort of my apartment is no longer enough, not with him watching me. I need to go to where I’m certain I can refocus myself—the studio.

* * *

“For fuck’s sake!”

The potbelly vase collapses under my hands, the neck drooping inward as the lip flares out wildly. As the wheel slows, I try to convince myself I didn’t just fail for the umpteenth time tonight and that I’ve in fact birthed a new pottery movement that would certainly win me the artist residency with this one vase.

A deconstructed vase.

A vase that challenges our idea of beauty within the neoclassical standard.

---