Rules for Orion

chapter twenty

Twenty: Avery
September 25, 9:50 AM. Dwyer, VA.

I wake up alone.
For an immeasurable amount of time, I lie in the exact position in which I woke and stare out at the opposite wall of Logan's room, trying to remember what happened while I was here and what lead me to come here--I know I had planned on staying home and working yesterday after he left the theater.
Then I remember.
My sister is gone. I had sat and stared at a wall for hours after. I could not bear the silence of the theater, so I had called Logan. I had walked here.
I am profusely glad I saw him the same night as Kyara's leaving. I know I would have tried to avoid him if I had waited, if I had time to saturate myself in pity.
Last night--when I had looked down at him, half-asleep and standing in a dry well, I had thought, this is what I have chosen over Kyara.
I know it really isn't true. I would have never thought the two would be mutually exclusive. But I cannot help thinking that I have lost my sister for the sake of Logan Morcant.
Now he is gone again, and I am alone in his bed with my thoughts.
Am I happy with my choice?
Obviously not.
Logan's sheets smell like him. They are one thousand times softer than my mattress. I think this is the first time I have slept for more than four hours at a time in weeks.
The house is entirely silent and dark. I do not feel nearly as awful as I did last night. Most likely because I do not feel anything at all.

When Logan first returns around noon, opening the front door, I think he is someone else. Luckily, I do not have time to hide before he opens the door to his room, so I do not look completely stupid.
He is wearing a strange, thin scarf tucked under his collar, and the most color I have ever seen on him--a pressed, pastel blue shirt; the scarf he is undoing is navy, pinstriped with white.
"Where did you go?"
Logan turns from the hanger upon which he had been positioning his scarf. (I remember what it is called now; a tie.)
He says, "Church."
"Church?"
He laughs. "Yeah, like, the Jesus place? You were asleep when we left."
"I didn't wake up?"
"You were out, Avery. Went to sleep before me, too."
"Oh." I try to think of last night, of the finer details after I arrived here. I do not remember much.
"Are you the only...?"
He nods. "They're all at a church picnic. I opted out of that shit. But I'm grounded." He turns back to his closet and begins unbuttoning his shirt.
I am still sitting on the edge of his bed, feeling sleep-stupid and behind. "Why?"
"Mom's still pissed."
He catches my eye as I signal for elaboration and laughs. "S'your fault, actually. Kinda."
"Sorry?"
"Yeah." Logan crosses the room and sits next to me on the bed. I try to ignore his half-unbuttoned shirt.
He pulls back his collar to show me a slight purple-brown mark just above his already brown collarbone.
"I didn't realize the shirt I had on showed it. She flipped."
"So, she grounded you because...?"
"Figures I can't go out and get my neck bitten now."
"Ah. And she just left you here?"
Logan nods. "Says she still trusts me--this is the first time I've really messed up."
"...Is she right to trust you?"
He looks over and up at me. He never meets my eyes. "Haven't left the house, have I?"

My work is a symmetrical horror.
I return later than I would have thought. All my papers--map included--are woven into the ceiling by unruly plants that look as if they have been growing there for years. The entire theater looks like a cube made of forest canopy--ivy climbs the walls, spilling onto the ceiling where it explodes outward into a complex network of pink and violet flowers. An extensive family of grape vines spirals down from the center of the house ceiling, ending with a bursting pocket of plump, wine red fruit. It points like an arrow to a paper on the floor. It has Eamon's mark.
It says, Aedui,
It took five hours to get this how I want it.
It's alright, though. I have dedication.
The entire letter is double-loaded--triple-loaded, even--with hidden meanings.
Honestly? Damn him.
I sit down beneath the grapes and pull my knees up to my chin.
What if I simply do not comply? What if I just do not work? Just live as a human? What happens then?
I know what happens then. I am killed--Faery Stroke, certainly--and my family rots in prison. Kyara lives on in an empty house with a stained legacy.
If that is one option, I will surely take the other.
I stand and tug at the vine. Nothing comes loose.
I make a rude gesture at the plants and retire to the booth.

For the last three days, I have been in what I can only call a torpid haze.
I have not left the theater--I have not eaten, either, but I do not exactly feel it yet. Maybe I am just ignoring it.
That is another thing I prefer about being human. I do not feel hunger in the way I used to. Being mixed, I have always at least somewhat felt human emptiness--it is a light, surface-level absence. Nothing like the other hunger I know. A deep, base ache for essence and mythos. Something that consumes one's every thought.
Anyway. I do not leave home. That is the upshot.
Logan does not come over, because I do not invite him, because I do not check my phone. I leave it unplugged (I use a stolen cord; it took me three tries to get the right one) and it soon drains itself of power.
I find myself thinking of him--Logan--often, probably more than I would like and assuredly more than is appropriate.
I cannot decide if I like him or if I just like being around him--how he treats me, how I feel. Are they the same thing?
It is not the time to think about that right now.
When I wake up the fourth morning, the plants are finally gone. My papers are tossed all around the auditorium; the spotlights are all trained to the middle of the seats.
I think I am being haunted.