Page 80 of Torn

“I never want to see him again.”

“What’s happened?” a swanky male timbre asks.

Wonder groans while Merry peeks from the pillow. The bulk of Envy and the lank of Sorrow furnish the room, adding a whole new depth of occupancy. A congestion of myths and mythical emotions saturate the scene, clashing and merging.

The two archers glance at Merry’s strewn form and drenched face, then jerk toward Wonder in confusion. In no particular order, the goddess explains that she’d called to them for reinforcements and describes the miserable events in the library. How Anger had inadvertently reached out to Wonder. How he’d approached Love and attempted to communicate with her.

Wonder has no clue how or why Love ended up in the Celestial City. Merry blames Malice, the rage god who’s unfamiliar to this group, but whom she has never underestimated. In some way, for some devious reason, he’s invested in Anger. She wouldn’t put it past him to have orchestrated this reversal of fortune.

Recovering from their surprise, the class speculates in silence. The plot thickens, but in what capacity?

And why does mentioning Malice cause Wonder to squirm?

Instead of cringing, which is a legitimate reaction to that misfit creature, the goddess winces as if his name is a thorn, causing pain rather than repulsion. In fact, another peek reveals Wonder absently, reflexively, tracing the starburst scars embedded into her hands.

Merry would dedicate herself to this mystery, prying it open like a box, if she weren’t suffering from matters of the heart. Wonder’s recap alone throttles her soul anew, a snivel trickling from her nostrils.

There she goes, drama rekindled. She should choose another record, one with a few bonus track to blunt the agony. She’ll do that, just as soon as she blows her nose.

Envy squats beside Merry, his index finger flicking at a pink strand. “And what has you in such a dripping state? I’m assuming it’s Love and Anger’s rendezvous? You have the grime of a lover’s quarrel all over you. What else happened? What did he say to you? Tell Uncle Envy how he can help.”

“I hate him,” Merry bawls. “He stormed into my life, and I’ve never been the same.”

“It’s been three weeks,” Sorrow points out, leaning her hip against the dresser.

“What is time? I’m despairing from unrequited passion.”

Envy queries, “Did he ravish you to the point of no return?”

All she does is burst into tears, her arm swatting the air for the emergency tissues she’d set on her nightstand from the very moment that god had crashed unconsciously atop her mattress. Unfortunately, she only succeeds in batting the tissues to the floor, gauzy sheets littering the garret like confetti.

“Then I have no choice but to target him,” Envy informs with a debonair shrug while Merry’s head flails back and forth in misery. “No one seduces a friend of mine and then fails to finish the job properly.”

“Please,” Sorrow chides. “This is no time to pound your alpha chest.”

“You like my alpha chest. I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve mounted it.”

Suppressing her humiliation, Sorrow says, “Merry, he’s not worth this open-mouthed, ugly sobbing. Trust me, I know the value of tears. You’ll move on.”

“I love him.”

“It’s beenthree weeks,” she repeats.

“During which her pupils have been heart emojis,” Envy remarks, rising to his feet.

Wonder takes charge, suggesting they dive into a vat of lemonade on the rooftop. While Envy and Sorrow depart outside, Merry ducks beneath the hood of her blankets, giving in to her moment of woe.

Her companion waits it out. Merry wiggles upright, covered in a ruin of snot. Anger’s peers have pledged solidarity to her, and she’s grateful. She has kindreds, she has friends, she has the stars, and she has herself.

She massages her raw eyes, shriveled like pits in her face. It’s disgraceful, but Wonder doesn’t care about that. Laminated in brilliant neon, the goddess meditates balefully. “I shouldn’t have encouraged you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. He was my choice, my free will. Like magic and fate, this is a lesson that love comes with a price—all points of the trinity, so wickedly taken from me.”

Wonder nods, her expression remote, the swells of her cheeks deprived of their peach complexion. “There is always a price,” she mutters.

The comment surfaces from someplace buried, whether or not the goddess is aware of it. It tugs at Merry, so that she weaves their fingers together. “Oh, Wonder. You lost someone, didn’t you?”

Wonder shakes her head, forcing a smile. “Not all goddesses are meant to have a mate. Not all of us need one.”

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