The God and the Siren (Loki Romance)

Chapter Twenty-Three

I didn't tell anyone what happened the night of the Gala. I assume Loki didn't either, considering the fact that we all gathered at Stark tower a week ago, and had a seamless night together. At first we wanted to go out, but opted for a casual night in instead. Some of us were on the couches, others were in the kitchen, but all in all, everyone was enjoying themselves with some food and casual conversation.

I did my best to treat everyone equally—Loki in particular took the main hit of this initiative. He seemed a bit dour at first, and slightly shocked at my nonchalant demeanor toward him—but I suppose he understood my meaning, as he went on the rest of the night as normal as he ever is. Throwing in his occasional two cents, but otherwise lingering in the background of every conversation.

It's probably better this way. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted to ask questions about what Loki and I discussed at the Gala, but it didn't seem like he had any answers at the time, and I was doubtful that trudging it up now would make a difference. I assume that if he did, he would've sought me out on his own.

Either way, I make it a pointed effort not to hum or otherwise direct myself verbally toward Loki in some extracurricular way. Loki, in turn, throws me a few sidelong glances throughout the night—which I pretend not to notice. Instead, we all talk about our coming plans, the near future, and other topics of the like.

I, for one, officially announced my intent to move up in the Academy. Having studied under them for almost three years, and performed for two, ambition is starting to creep into my radar, and I've been considering possibility of landing some kind of directing or executive position with them. After all, I don't want to work part time at Barnes and Noble forever.

That conversation comes toward the end of the night—end of the night for me, anyway. I end up leaving relatively early, for the sake of getting some sleep before going into the studio tomorrow. Just as I have a million times before, I say my goodbyes and take the elevator down to the lobby, where Tony has a car waiting to take me home—generous courtesy of the fact that although it's early for me, it is still 11 PM, and therefore late for me to be walking around alone outside.

By the time I get back to my apartment, I'm more than a little ready to slide into bed and sleep. I slide my key into the lock, feeling my eyelids getting droopier and droopier at the thought of it. But as soon as I push the wood of the door open and flick on the lights, my heart jumps up into my throat, and practically bursts.

My apartment is wrecked.

Absolutely, positively wrecked.

The essence of sleep escapes immediately leave my body, and I feel my heart pounding against my chest as I look around at it all—torn pillowcases, strewn books, disheveled sofas, and broken plates... Like someone had been looking for something, and decided to tear the entire room to shreds.

My hands shake as I reach into my purse, rummaging around inside it as I look for my cell phone. Even as I manage to pull it out and dial 9-1-1, I can feel hot tears lining the bottoms of my eyes. After giving them my name and address, it takes a few minutes for the police to show up—longer, this time, for them to leave. At least there's the promise of assigning a patrol car to my building.

I step carefully over the mess as I walk toward the couch, and tears run down my cheeks as I plop down onto it—feeling overwhelmed by pressure of figuring out what to do next. My mind circles and circles around a plethora of thoughts as I sit amidst the destruction, and scan the floors around me—which are littered with broken pieces of glass and torn fabric. After some unaccounted amount of time and effort to simply slow down my own thinking, one thing becomes plainly obvious, plainly rational—I can't live here anymore.