Zelus (Perseus Reimagined) (BXB)

Chapter 2

"Guess someone's getting drunk tonight."

2021

"RYAN, FETCH," I POINT HER in the direction of the box that was collecting dust next to my desk. She prisons the flashlight between her mouth and returns, carefully dropping it on my open palm. I stroke her chin as a reward. "Good girl."

Despite being a golden retriever, I had hoped she'd become a guard dog. However, the first time Alex came over, she had only jumped on him, constantly begging for attention. He asked why I had given her a male name. Little did he know that I was not the one who chose that name. She did.

When I got her as a puppy, I bought four multicolored collars, each containing a name. People on the internet said that if we do not know what to name our pets, let them name themselves by following this tactic. I set the collars in front of her. Crimson red with the name Alpha, daisy-white for Princess, royal green for Duchess, and baby blue for Ryan. At first, she was fond of Alpha, or Duchess, as she kept going in circles with them. In the end, though, she lay flat on her belly in front of the blue collar, chewing it like one of her chew toys. And since then, Ryan was her name.

Plus, naming your pet something different than the generic ones, such as Spot, Brownie, or even Buddy, is a fresh change.

The flying machine, or as I call it, Wings, may just be ready for the hundredth and ninety-fourth test by the end of the day. I can only hope after five years of endless failures, minor explosions, late hours, and large budgets, this project will be a success to at least fly me down to Trader Joe's. And, more importantly, make Alex proud.

Hot iron sealed the base where the wings were attached. Every feather—or silver blade—had been placed according to size, shape, and weight. Everything's perfect. For the final touches, the motherboard, the activation remote, and the navigator had been attached alongside the belts, securing the waist and lower abdomen.

For the finishing touches, they were polished with a solution containing vinegar and baking soda. Just these two ingredients can do wonders on any metal surface. And I meant that in a good and bad way.

"What do you think, girl? Did I get it right?" I take a few steps back to survey Wings strapped on a headless mannequin. From where I'm standing, it looks like it was part of an angel costume. An iron angel costume. The top of the wings was well crafted with feathers and silvers as they draped loosely, inches away from touching the ground.

Ryan stands next to me, observing the project as if she knows what it's meant to do. She's unable to understand every little thing I do, but it's enough for her to simply acknowledge my work. Or hobbies.

Alex's hoodie hanging on the rack caught my eye. I walk over and unhook it from the hanger, lightly tying the sleeves around the mannequin's shoulder over the top of the wings. Once again, I step back, and it almost seems like I could picture the mannequin being Alex wearing Wings. If the mannequin resembles an angel, he would've passed as a god.

"Please let this work," I cross my fingers.

"Jon!" Even Ryan jolts before facing the stairs where mom is.

"What?"

"I called you home to help me, not to lock yourself in the basement with your games," she stomps her way down the stairs, carrying a large box half her height. She was always the athletic type in her teenage days. She sticks her head to the side, eying the stairs to ensure she reaches down carefully. She then tosses the box in my direction, my gloved hands barely able to grasp it. "Move, move, move!"

"What's in this?" I set the box down and peer inside.

"Balloons, banners, a helium gas tank, and other supplies you'll need to set up the backyard," she pats Ryan's head before shoving me towards the stairs. "Your father's upstairs preparing the food, and I'll have to get Valerie from Mrs. Jeffers's house in ten minutes."

Before I could object, she was already running toward the kitchen, undoing her apron. Next to her dad stands, lining the candles over a three-layered cake. I join them in the kitchen and notice the cake has a label leaning against the bottom, made from edible white paper and golden outlines. The gigantic diabetic treat was called, Three Layers of Heaven, where the bottom layer is chocolate flavor, the middle strawberry, and the top vanilla. The sides are decorated with swirled-shaped icing and multicolored roses made from hard sugar. He's decorating eight rainbow-colored candles behind a miniature girl figurine that sits above the cake.

"Is this a cake for an eight-year-old or a bride?"

"She earned it," dad said, eyes concentrating on the cake as if one wrong move and everything would collapse. "Something you'll never do."

A wave of silence stays in the kitchen. Though, I didn't care. For as long as I can remember, dad and I never had a good relationship. He was always in favor of Max, Victoria, and then Valerie the minute she was born. Never once did he let her out of his sight whenever mom was busy. Occasionally I wonder if he ever treated me the way he treated them. And the answer I always tell myself is the same.

No.

The only thing I perceived of him is that he's the abusive, drunkard rat of the house. God only knows how many beer bottles he flung toward me when he got wasted. I lost count of the bruises my scalp and body had endured, occasionally feeling lightheaded, especially when the bottle shattered on me.

No matter how often mom tried to tame him, she'd end up getting abused in the process. I can't tell if she's still faithful or stupid for loving him even after all that. It is said that people reveal their true colors when they're drunk, and dad has made it very clear that I'm no one to him. If I were to die the next minute, he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't panic, he would do nothing. Heck, he'd only rejoice.

I bet he secretly wished the incident Alex and I were caught in had taken both of us. And the truth is, I wanted that too.

"Honey, be nice," mom drags his chin over to meet her eyes and kisses his cheek before approaching me. She looks up at me and reaches to come to my hair with her fingers. It's a habit of hers every time she sees my hair tousled. My eyes gaze down to see her standing on her heel. I knew my height had surpassed her years ago, but I didn't realize the differences were this obvious.

"You too," she said.

"No promises."

She sighed, couldn't decide if she was angry or concerned with my reply. She walks past me as I watch her pick the car keys off the dining table and exit through the doors.

My neck crane towards dad, who remains unchanged. I waited, half expecting him to say something, but he didn't. I picked up the box mom handed me earlier and headed to the backyard with Ryan trailing behind me.

It feels like I have entered someone else's backyard, as ours was unrecognizable with the many eye-blazing decorations everywhere. A long table was set under the tent, next to the pool. The table was equipped with one of mom's favorite tablecloths, where the top is red, followed by an ombre gold effect that glistens under the light. Over six different meals and a juice dispenser with Coke, Sprite, lemonade, tonic water, and Dr. Pepper lined across the table. The swimming pool lights are on, emphasizing the many animal floaties and water guns sitting by the edge. And finally, a mini bar station for the adults.

"Guess someone's getting drunk tonight."