Page 86 of The Slug Crystal
"Great," Ben says, raising his glass. "We're historically accurate in our madness."
Marco inclines his head as though Ben’s joke were a thesis worth defending. He taps his glass lightly against Ben’s, solemn as ever.
Luca laughs under his breath and lifts his own. “To historically accurate madness, then. May it continue to taste like good wine.”
Jake hesitates, his glass hovering just shy of the circle. His blue eyes flick to mine, searching, questioning—then he exhales and joins in, the rim of his glass chiming against the others. Four pairs of eyes turn to me.
My fingers curl around the stem of my glass, heart hammering. I lift it and push it towards theirs. The glasses meet in the center of the table with a crystalline chorus, red wine trembling in each goblet. For a moment, the tension softens, laughter and warmth spilling in to fill the cracks.
We talk late into the night, the conversation flowing more easily now that the truth has been acknowledged. We don’t delve into the rules and parameters quite yet, sticking to lighter topics. We share jokes and stories, and the suffocating tension has transmuted into something more manageable, at least for me.
Later, I retreat to my room alone, despite offers of company that range from Luca's suggestive eyebrow raise to Jake's earnest "if you want to talk more."
But I don’t. I need space to process, to breathe, to think.
I sit on the edge of my bed, watching Alex navigate his glass world on my dresser. His blue shell catches themoonlight filtering through the curtains, his movements unhurried and purposeful.
"What am I doing, Alex?" I whisper to the snail who was once a man I dated. "Is this crazy? Wrong?”
Alex continues his slow exploration of his terrarium, offering no judgment, no answers.
What I've gotten myself into, I have no idea. But for the first time since Alex became a snail, I'm excited for tomorrow.
20SNAIL JOKES ALWAYS MAKE ME CRY
Wednesday,8:21AM. Sunlight floods Luca's uncle's villa, turning the kitchen into a golden sanctuary of espresso scents and fresh pastries. I tear a flaky croissant apart with more force than necessary, watching crumbs scatter across the polished oak table like tiny meteorites.
In the center of the table sits Alex's terrarium. Our cursed centerpiece. The physical manifestation of my magical mistake. The blue snail glides around peacefully, his antennae extended in what I've come to interpret as contentment, completely unaware that he's the subject of our uncomfortable breakfast conversation.
Last night's confession, my admission of feelings for all four men and their surprisingly accepting response, hangs between us, not quite addressed but impossible to ignore. We dance around it through mundane morning rituals. Marco prepares his coffee with scientific precision, Jake arranges fruit on a platter with care, Ben flips through his phone while stealing glances at me over the screen, and Luca hums an Italian tune as he pulls pastries out of the oven with a surprising amount of domestic energy.
It's almost normal. Almost.
I cram a piece of croissant into my mouth, chewing aggressively as I watch Alex bump gently against the cucumber slice Jake placed in his terrarium earlier.
"I know we're pretending this isn't weird, but..." I blurt out, dusting crumbs from my fingers, "what do we do with him?"
My question lands like a stone in still water, rippling out to where the four men pause in their morning routines. Marco's coffee cup hovers halfway to his lips. Ben's thumb freezes mid-scroll. Jake sets down the apple he's holding. Luca turns from the counter, a croissant, with what looks like strawberry marmalade inside, forgotten in his hands.
"With Alex," I clarify, gesturing toward the terrarium. "Long-term, I mean. We can't just... keep him as a pet forever." I swallow hard, voicing the question that's been gnawing at me since Venice. "What if we never find Sarah? What if he's just... stuck?"
The four men exchange glances, a silent communication passing between them that I can't fully decipher. Jake is the first to break the silence, setting down his coffee cup with decisive gentleness.
"We could call his job anonymously," he suggests, his steady voice a counterpoint to my rising panic. "Tell them he's taking a sabbatical. Or was abducted by French wildlife smugglers." His mouth quirks up at the corner, but his eyes remain serious. "Buy him some time, at least."
"French wildlife smugglers?" Ben repeats, eyebrows shooting up. "That's the best you can do? Amateur." He sets his phone down, leaning forward with a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "I say we release him in the Vatican and see if he gets canonized eventually. Saint Alex of the Blue Shell, patron saint of bad breakups and cosmic irony."
I can't help the laugh that escapes me, though it comes outmore strained than usual. The thought of leaving Alex in the Vatican feels both ridiculous and somehow tempting, a way to pass my burden off to a higher power.
Luca shrugs with the casual elegance that seems infused in his every movement, finally remembering to set down the pastry. "Can't we just leave him at a snail sanctuary?" He gestures vaguely with one hand. "There must be such places. Conservation centers or something."
"A snail sanctuary," I repeat flatly. "For a blue snail that used to be human."
"They wouldn't know that part," Luca points out, pouring himself more espresso. "They'd just think he's an exotic species. He'd be protected, cared for. Possibly studied, but..." He trails off at my expression.
Marco adjusts his glasses, the morning light catching the lenses briefly before revealing his thoughtful gaze. He sets his tablet aside, assuming what I've come to think of as his professor posture. His spine is straight, and his hands are clasped before him on the table.
"If he is still mentally human in there," he says with complete seriousness, "we have to consider his quality of life." His eyes move to the terrarium, studying Alex's methodical progress across the glass floor. "Should we... try to teach him Morse code? A simple system of communication. We could use one movement for yes, two for no. It would at least give us some indication of his cognitive state."
