Healing Myself

Greek gods and all-black man

Kota seemed like a nice guy. With his light brown hair brushed neatly, his dark green eyes hidden behind black framed glasses, he was the definition of a nerd.

Not to me though. He wasn't the typical nerd. He held himself with confidence and the way he had commanded Max wasn't the way people normally talked to their pets. The shock on his face was clear as daylight when he had witnessed Max tackling me.

It seemed as if something like this had never happened before, which meant that the dog was most probably trained. He also got the hint of my situation when I'd had a hard time deciding what to call him. People had their preferences, and I had wanted to know his.

Also, I am shit at choosing.

Picking up his little sister had also worked in his favor, not many 16 year olds, especially 16 year old boys would readily agree to chauffeuring around their younger siblings. But I had seen it, the moment his phone had pinged and he had seen whatever text had been sent to him, his face had become like that of a sergeant.

Kota hadn't lied about the reason he left, but there had been something more to it. Nevertheless, he didn't give out any creeper vibes. That was the only reason I had given my number to the guy whose dog had tackled me; and for hospitality purposes.

He was new here, after all.

Now that I had talked to Kota, it didn't make any sense staying here any longer. My goal had been to not talk to humans and after striking a conversation with one, there was no reason to not be surrounded by people.

I started walking to the mall, humming a random tune, when I noticed a black jeep, parked right beside the back entrance of the old church. Hmm, no one came here, atleast not in broad daylight.

Nights were a different case. Kids would be giving each other dares to enter the church, sometimes youngsters would be hanging around, sipping beers. I couldn't blame them; the place had its hype and I had done all of that too. I still came.

After the sun went down, the darkness and quiet calmed me. I don't know exactly when it happened, but one day when my stepmother threw me in her cold and dark closet, I wasn't scared anymore. Instead, I was relieved. It didn't matter if I was dying of hunger or thirst; I drew strength from the relief that I wouldn't be getting hit, that she would most probably forget about me, that I wouldn't have to listen all those words about me.

"You little bitch! You like it, don't you? Doing dirty things with boys in the dark. Just like your mother. Now you'll know what the dark is like." My stepmother snarled.

She was right. I did love it. Not the dirty things, I didn't even know what they were, but the dark. It kept me safe. Whenever I was in the closet, she couldn't touch me, couldn't give me that drink that always burned my throat. I could sleep, make tunes, imagine people and stories, and she never knew.

That's also something I loved; my brain. Stepmother couldn't stop me from learning or thinking either. So what if she hid away my books?

Mrs. Beatriz, the librarian at the local library where we had moved last time, had sneaked me a lot of books when she saw me reading mythology. She had told me the Greek mythology was one of the best. It was because of her that I fell in love with it. Stepmother would kill me if she saw those books, it had a lot of naked gods and goddesses, but their stories were so interesting. Greek was a beautiful language too, I would love to learn it someday.

And I had learnt it. Turns out most, if not all librarians, had some kind of soft spot for little kids who loved reading. I already knew a lot of Greek words from the mythological books I owned and all I had to do was ask the librarian of the town we were living in at the time, to lend me a Greek learning course book.

He had been skeptical if a 9 year old kid would be able to learn such a difficult language with different alphabets, but when I had prattled on my existing knowledge, he had very eagerly lent me the books, and even a storybook to keep. That was the day I had really understood the meaning of the phrase 'Real superheroes don't wear capes.'

I open the back door and silently slip inside. There are no lights, only the sunlight streaming in through the high windows of the church, but the area is easy to navigate seeing as I've been here before. I see a person's figure move and immediately hide behind the podium, observing the figure. It is a man's, tall and broad. As the light from the windows hits his face, something sparkles in his left ear. He's wearing a circular, gold loop in his left earlobe.

It's not what catches all of my attention though, it's him.

Dark hair and dark eyes, thick brows and a broad jaw that looks unshaven. He is covered in black from head to toe. Black t-shirt, black jeans and black boots. Sneaking in here is starting to seem like a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

And then he speaks.

"This is going to take a lot of work." He says in a deep voice, a sigh escaping his lips. Is he talking to himself? He's not. Because a moment later, a figure even taller and broader than him appears from the door to the right of the pews. It was the room where they stored decorations for weddings and events, I think. This man is wearing a red t-shirt and dark blue jeans and looks huge in about every way. He goes and lays down on one of the pews, answering in a voice even deeper than all-black man's.

"Σταμάτα να ανησυχείς, αδερφέ." (Quit worrying, brother.). So he's Greek. No wonder his physique is like one of those Greek gods'.

Some wind blows inside through the slim opening from the door. Dust tickles my nostrils.

Don't sneeze. Don't sneeze. Don't sneeze.

"Θα είναι-" (It's going to be-)

"Atchoo!"

And here goes my plan to remain undetected. Some Academy material I am.

The guys' heads snap towards me and all-black man's deep, angry voice practically shakes the whole insides of the church.

"Who the fuck is there?!"

•••••

AN: If you find something wrong with the Greek or English translations, blame it on Google.

QOTD: Are you afraid of the dark? Personally, I am not, and dare I say, am even comfortable in it.