The image of him rolling on top of me entered my head unbidden. But like the copper tub, that mental thought wasn’t exactly historically accurate.
He occasionally used the bed with his women. Kneeling behind them and taking them doggie-style. But he never employed the missionary position, or anything else that could be considered remotely intimate. My belly quivered with the idea of ever being put in such a lewd position. Would I like it? Would I cry out with every thrust, like the noisy Asian girl he’d once bent over the side of the bed?
That question couldn’t be answered. Shouldn’t be answered.
I reminded myself of that as I scrambled into the side of the bed closest to the lamp.
Instead of going to the set of drawers to fetch the pajama bottoms he usually slept in, Hades simply came around the bed and dropped the towel.
I averted my eyes as he climbed into the bed with me and quickly turned off the lamp light.
Time to get back on track.
“Do you pray?” I asked in the dark.
“What?”
“We have to seed a good dream,” I explained. “If you believe in something, anything, the easiest way to do that is to ask God to give you the dream you want.”
Silence. Then: “I believe just enough to know better than to ask God for anything at this point. Don’t care much for the idea of going up in flames.”
I chuffed. “So, you grew up with the fire and brimstone version of God.”
“I was raised by a godmother who grew up with the fire and brimstone version of God,” he corrected.
Another weird pang of guilt tightened my chest. Mama Fairgood had encouraged me to say little prayers all the time. Her version of God was happy and delighted to grant any little girl’s requests. How sad that I’d gotten her very best, even the best version of God, while her children had to settle for scraps.
Complicated emotions swirled around my chest as I told him, “That’s okay. It doesn’t have to be that version. You can ask anybody or anything. The Universe, that Fate you’re always referring to, even your subconscious—whatever you believe in. Just tell it specifically what kind of dream you want. Then breathe with that dream on your mind until you fall asleep.”
Another tick of silence.
Then: “You had better hope this works. I’m sure as hell not doing this with you again if it doesn’t.”
I guessed I wasn’t as brave about dying as I thought. I shivered in the dark, knowing exactly what that meant. He’d kill me. He’d kill me if he had another nightmare.
“It will,” I answered. Not because I was that certain, but because I needed the reassurance myself. “Just do the work exactly as I told you. Visualize the good dream and breathe. Do the work.”
No response. But I could hear him breathing in the dark. Hopefully, following my instructions exactly as I said. In any case, his breath soon evened out to the point I knew he must have fallen asleep.
Leaving me to shift uncomfortably in the bed. I’d somehow gotten unused to not sleeping completely curled up. Also Hades.
We weren’t touching. I was happily abiding by that rule. But somehow, I could still feel him. Hades was like Louisiana’s infamous humidity. Something you couldn’t just ignore when you encountered it. It filled your lungs and made everything uncomfortable—especially falling asleep.
Yes, I was overheated. That was the only way to explain the steady throb between my legs. Like a second heartbeat that refused to stop racing. Even for a man who’d destroyed my life from top to bottom. A man so evil, even he knew he had no business praying to God.
Disney World. I ignored the throb and asked God for my own special dream. Disney World, please.
Then I closed my eyes, hoping that at least in my subconscious, I’d be able to take my little sister on the trip I’d promised her….
I woke up with a start several hours later. Not because Hades was having a nightmare this time, though. I sensed another presence in the room, moving around.
However, Hades wasn’t even here. His side of the bed lay empty. Only the rumpled covers let me know he’d ever slept there.
So did it work? Did he sleep through the night?
“Good job, princess, your plan worked,” a voice said, answering to my unspoken question. “No more cage. I see you got that Perreault charm offensive turned up to 100. First offering me that crochet lesson when I was down about that bullshit C, then going after my brother.”
I looked up to see Ellie, standing in the place where my dog cage used to be.
