Goddesses Don't Get Sick

© 2016 Victoria Bauld

All rights reserved.

PROLOGUE.

SHE HADN’T BEEN ALL THAT AWARE
of what she was doing until the voice distracted her.

She’d just kept walking. Trying to walk away from the memory of him. Him with
her.

Did it really matter who he’d been with though? All that mattered was that she’d trusted him. She’d started to believe his words and promises. Started to hope that he might be “the one.”

Stupid, really
, she thought to herself, almost running now as she tried to escape the image.
That’s what I get for thinking anything that I haven’t screwed up in six months must be destined for eternity
.

She just felt so
stupid
.

Once again, she’d gotten her hopes up. Just like every time her mother or father had come home with a new job and promised that things would be all right, only to lose the job a matter of months later for no real reason other than terrible luck when it came to their employers.

And then they’d died and left her alone, even though they’d promised her they’d never leave.

She always trusted people. And was always disappointed. Why did she keep trying? What was the use? Why should this time have been any different? But something had been. The disappointment this time cut so much deeper...

She wasn’t even thinking when she came to the bridge—the one she’d crossed countless times before—she was only acting.

It wasn’t until she was hanging off the edge of the bridge, her arms gripping the railing as she leaned out over the black water below, that she heard a voice speak to her.

“Why do you want to do that?”

ONE.

ANGELA DIDN’T EVEN BOTHER TO LOOK UP
at the owner of the voice. She had been surprised at herself once she realized that she’d climbed over the bridge without a thought, but now that she was faced with the option it didn’t really seem such a bad idea. If Aaron was anyone to judge by, she wouldn’t be missed.

Angela’s heart wrenched at the thought of Aaron. She tried to think of how he’d looked when they first met, but could only see him now as she had tonight: wrapped up in the arms of some blonde girl, his hands under her clothes…Angela tore herself away from the thought and stared dully at the water below.

She realized after a few more moments that the stranger’s question still hung unanswered in the silence.

“Why not?” she eventually responded, shifting her grip on the railing. “It would solve a lot of my problems.”

“It would raise more problems than you could ever imagine.” The voice murmured, sounding closer than it had before.

Angela sighed and pulled herself upright. Resting her elbows on the railing, she turned her head to look at the man sitting on the edge of the bridge by her arm, close enough to touch.

Her mind registered a vague surprise at how he’d gotten so close to her without her noticing or hearing him, but she ignored it as she tried to make out the man in the shadows.

He sat hunched, dark clothes hiding his figure and dark hair falling into his eyes, casting a shadow on his face. He didn’t even seem to be looking at her, but there was enough light from a street light for Angela to see him smile as she turned her attention to him.

“How would you know what it would cause?” she tried to sneer but was unable to keep from just sounding weary.

The stranger gave a small but surprisingly bitter laugh and ran a hand through his hair. Angela caught a brief glimpse of a handsome face, before his hair fell back to shadow his features again.

“I’ve seen enough suicides to know. And one thing I do know is that the price is not worth it.”

Angela snorted and turned her face back to look at the water.

“I don’t know. It looks surprisingly easy. Just lean forward, let go, and all my problems are solved…”

“And welcome to an eternity of damnation.” The comment was so quiet that for a moment Angela thought she’d imagined it. As if sensing this, the stranger continued softly.

“Trust me. There is nothing you could possibly be going through that could be worse.”

Angela swallowed and tightened her grip on the railing, now slick with her sweat.

“And what if I didn’t believe in that stuff?”

“You would have let go already.”

Defiance surged briefly in Angela, tempting her to let go just to spite the stranger, maybe see if he’d try to catch her.

The idea held for perhaps a second, before her reason returned, along with the full realization of what she’d been about to do.

Angela closed her eyes and dropped her head, fresh tears falling down her face as the stranger watched on.

“Don’t let go,” he murmured. “It really can’t be that bad. Why not talk to me about it?”

He watched her quietly, biting his lip as she leaned out once more over the depths below.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, Angela pulled up and lifted herself over the railing. Sitting next to the stranger now, she fixed him with a wan smile.

“I’m sure you have better thing to do with your time than listen to someone you don’t even know rant about why her life sucks.”

“If I had better things to do with my time, I wouldn’t have bothered to talk someone I don’t know out of jumping off a bridge.”

Angela raised an eyebrow. “Good point. Has anyone ever told you you’re crazy?”

“Not as often as you’d think.”

He grinned at her then, causing Angela to laugh despite herself. She didn’t laugh for long, but the silence they settled into was comfortable, no longer strained. Staring back out at the water, Angela wondered where to start.

“I suppose it’s stupid. It made sense to jump a few minutes ago, but now…” She sighed and shook her head. “Things just…got on top of me. Since my parents died, I’ve done nothing but try to achieve the life they told me I deserved. I study hard, get good grades…I didn’t really bother trying to date. Most of the guys I’ve been out with complain that I’m too boring, or that I never stop reading,” Angela stopped talking and grimaced. “Great. Now I sound like I’m in a badly scripted movie.”

“Not really,” the stranger looked at her with a gentle smile. “It takes a lot to keep going after losing your family.”

Angela managed a small smile before continuing.

“The guys—not that there’s been a lot of them—never really hung around for more than a couple of months. I tried not to let it bother me, but it hurt sometimes. And then I met Aaron.”

A wry grin crept across Angela’s face as she reached up to wipe the tears from her face. “The first time we met, he called me a goddess. It was a joke. He’d lost his marketing notes and I let him copy mine, but…it was nice. I didn’t believe him, of course. It was just nice to pretend sometimes that he might not have been lying.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t,” the stranger murmured. Angela shot him a hard look but he wasn’t looking at her. After a pause, she continued.

“He was just so sweet to me. So understanding. He didn’t seem bothered if I was boring or not, he always just said he liked spending time with me. I actually thought we might have had a chance. That he might’ve…” Her voice caught, the tears filling her eyes again. Angela dropped her head to let them fall, fuming quietly at herself for being so pathetic, for rambling to a total stranger who was probably now regretting his invitation to listen...

“It sounds like you meant a lot to him.”

“Then why did he cheat on me?!” Angela turned to face the stranger angrily. Eventually he stopped looking out at the night and fixed her with a kind look.

“The simple answer? Men are stupid. They usually get it right with their first impressions, and then promptly fuck it up.”

Angela stared at the stranger in disbelief. “You’re kidding right?”

“Not a bit. I’m willing to bet he called you a goddess for a very good reason.”

“Yeah, right.” Angela spat the words out, turning away from the stranger’s stare to glare over the bridge. “Goddesses don’t get cheated on,” she muttered.

The laughter that burst out of the stranger startled Angela so much that she nearly lost her balance. Frightened and upset because of it, she grabbed him by the arm to stop herself from falling.

“What’s so damned funny?” she demanded angrily.

He grabbed her own arm in support while he helped her over the railing until they were both standing on the road, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Goddesses have been cheated on. Many times.” He grinned. “Where do you think William Congreve came up with that saying about the wrath of a woman scorned? Or the tales of the Greek Goddess Hera?”

Angela snorted and wrapped her arms around herself with a shrug. “There you go then. The goddesses got revenge. I can’t even manage that.”

The stranger tilted his head and smiled fondly at Angela. “Well, jumping off a bridge would hardly have been revenge. At least now you’re on a better track for it. That boy is going to regret giving up someone like you, and you’ll find yourself better off.”

Shaking her head, Angela lifted her gaze to meet the stranger’s, the shadows now removed as they stood directly under the street light.

Angela’s breath caught in her throat as her pale eyes locked with the stranger’s much darker ones, and for a moment Angela almost felt as if she was drowning in their depths. Breaking their gaze, Angela blushed deeply and dropped her head, trying to calm both her breathing and her thoughts.

The stranger looked at her oddly for a moment, before pulling her into a gentle hug.

“Go home and get some sleep, Angela. You’ll feel better for it. Trust me.” Kissing her cheek gently, he pulled away and bowed his head slightly. “I’ll look out for you,” he said with a smile, before he turned and sauntered away.

Angela watched him go in weary bafflement her cheek flaming from the kiss. She stood on the bridge for a long time, before crossing it and continuing her way home.

It wasn’t until she reached her front door that she realized he’d known her name.

Even though she was sure she’d never mentioned it.

TWO.

ANGELA SIGHED TO HERSELF
as the music began to throb in time with her headache. She sat at the bar and watched as her friend, Sharon, danced with yet another in what felt like an endless stream of short-lived boyfriends. Massaging her temple, Angela wondered how long it would be before she could attempt an escape from the club.

Ever since the night she’d caught Aaron with someone else—about a month ago, now—Sharon had deemed it her personal vendetta to get Angela back into the dating game as soon as possible. Her ‘foolproof’ theory for this was a score of double dates. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that the formula for the dates was always the same: a heartthrob for Sharon, and whichever of his friends hung around him for Angela.

When it came to Sharon and good deeds, her wires tended to get a little crossed over the selfless aspect. It wasn’t that she wanted Angela to wind up with one of these guys—far from it!—she just lacked the patience to find someone who actually had something in common with her friend.

Angela watched her friend having what could only be described as vertical—and clothed—sex with the heartthrob, before she turned back to the bar and ordered another drink. Bourbon and coke. Looking from the rather petite woman to the four empty glasses before her, the bartender raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to ask Angela if she was sure. The level stare he got for his hesitation caused him to rethink his question, and without a word he passed her another drink, taking the money with a nod before turning his attention to other customers.

Angela stared at her drink morbidly, aware of what she was doing and wondering why her mind wasn’t protesting more loudly. She’d already had more to drink than she was comfortable with, but at the moment it seemed like the easiest way to get through the evening.

The dates always started the same—at some obscure and loud club like this very one—and they always ended the same. Within the hour, Sharon would disappear with the hunk she had bagged for the evening, leaving Angela to get a lift home with her date, who would then see how far he could push his luck.

She’d left them disappointed every time so far, but she was getting sick of the constant struggle. Somewhere, amidst the constant stream of thoughts in the back of her mind, Angela couldn’t help but wonder when and how she’d become so cynical about life. Glancing up again, Angela saw Sharon’s back as it disappeared out the door with her dancing partner. Her eye was then inadvertently drawn to her own ‘date’ trying to saunter his way up to her through the crowd. Grimacing at the thought of what would follow if she allowed it, Angela turned back to her drink and lifted it to her lips. At least being drunk—well, drunk
er
—would be an excuse to forgive herself in the morning if she gave in…

“Ange!”

Choking on an ice cube, Angela put the glass back down on the bar and turned around in time to see a pair of leather-clad arms envelope her in a warm hug.

“So good to see you, girl! How’ve you been? Here, come over and meet my friends…” The voice continued, talking constantly as its owner dragged Angela away from the bar—to the downtrodden look of her date—and to a table in the furthest and quietest possible corner of the club, devoid of any ‘friends,’ but with two cups of coffee waiting. It wasn’t until Angela was seated that she got a good look at her kidnapper, the surprise dousing her drunkenness with the effectiveness of a slap to her face as she recognized the stranger from the bridge. For a moment she was only able to gape at him, a part of her noting that he was just as attractive—if not more so—as she’d remembered.

“What are you doing here?” She blurted out eventually. He grinned widely.

“Told you I’d look out for you. Here,” he pushed one of the coffees towards her, the steam rising from the mug a telltale sign that it was still hot. When Angela only raised an eyebrow, he shook his head.

“I haven’t spiked it, I swear,” he told her. As if to prove this, he picked up his cup and took a sip from it, before offering it to Angela. She considered for a moment, before picking up her own and tasting it hesitantly.

Smiling, the stranger relaxed back in his seat, before jerking his head in the direction of her abandoned date, who had since started hitting on another girl at the bar.

“Was that really a decision you thought alcohol would make okay?”

Cheeks coloring slightly, Angela ducked her head and focused on drinking her coffee. When she looked up again, it was to find that the stranger was watching her intently.

“What?” She asked, self-consciousness giving her voice a harder edge than she’d intended. Either not hearing it, or pretending he hadn’t, the stranger only chuckled softly and shook his head.

“Relax, Ange,” he tilted his head and smiled at her. “It’s just nice to see you again. You look good.” He nodded towards her short skirt and low cut blouse—an outfit chosen by Sharon—with a light in his eyes that contained more good humor than suggestion. “Almost goddess-like, in fact,” he teased.

Snorting, Angela shook her head and stared down at her coffee. “I’m not a goddess,” she paused, realizing that she’d slurred her words slightly and scrunching her nose up in annoyance. “Goddesses don’t get drunk,” she eventually mumbled.

“You’d be surprised,” was all he said.

Angela found herself beginning to get frustrated, not so much at the stranger’s words, but more at his lack of elaboration.

“And I suppose you just know these things?”

He shrugged, the unworried expression on his face only adding to Angela’s frustration

“All right, then,” she put down her cup and pointed a finger at him. “How about you tell me how you know my name. I’d never seen you before that night on the bridge, and I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I’d seen you around.”

“Maybe not,” the stranger countered easily. “I don’t usually draw attention to myself.” Once again, he didn’t elaborate, just sitting and watching Angela with his head slightly tilted, the smile on his face smaller, but never gone.

When it was clear that she wasn’t going to get a further answer out of him, Angela growled in annoyance and got up from the table. Pushing through the crowd she finally escaped into the cool night air, the chill shocking her awake. She stood there for a few moments, arms wrapped around her—small defense against the cold—as she tried to sort through her thoughts.

It wasn’t long before she felt something warm and heavy settle on her shoulders. She turned her head to see her mysterious stranger, now bare armed in the cold; his skin almost white against the dark material of his shirt. She contemplated throwing his jacket off, before reason decided against the idea.

“Thank you,” she murmured softly, wrapping her fingers around the soft leather and pulling it closer. He nodded, not looking at her, the smile now gone from his lips.

Wondering if she’d annoyed him somehow—and why it should matter if she had—Angela began to walk hesitantly in the direction of her home. After a few steps he followed her, catching up to match her stride. They walked in silence for a while, before he sighed softly and looked at her, eyes black in the night.

“I saw you at the party. I was there with a friend of mine, and heard someone call your name when you left. You looked upset, so I followed to make sure you were okay.”

Angela took this in, staring at her feet as she walked. She didn’t recognize him at all—not from the party, not from anywhere. She wasn’t even aware someone had been following her that night, but she couldn’t think of any other explanation. Feeling too tired to question him about it, Angela just nodded and made a soft sound to indicate she’d heard. They continued the rest of the journey in silence, the stranger appearing as lost in his thoughts as Angela was.

Reaching her front door, she turned to face the stranger, unsure of what to say or do next. After a moment she removed his jacket and held it out awkwardly to him. He smiled gently, taking it from her before leaning in and kissing her cheek softly.

“Goodnight, Ange,” he said quietly. “I’ll look out for you again.”

Turning to leave, he pulled on his jacket and headed to the sidewalk, turning back the way they had come. Angela watched for a moment, before something leaped to the forefront of her tired mind.

“Wait!” She called out. “What’s your name?”

He turned and looked at her as he began to walk backwards, a strange expression on his face. Angela watched him, waiting for a reply she wasn’t sure he’d give. He opened his mouth to answer, before he stopped and gave her a wry smile. Bowing deeply, the stranger turned and continued on his way. He wandered off into the night, the question hanging in the empty air between them.

As Angela watched him disappear into the night, she heard the faint sound of him whistling a tune to the wind. Sighing softly, she opened her door and, weaving only slightly from the alcohol, made her way to her room. Flopping down on her bed, Angela looked out the window and found her thoughts following after the stranger.

Why are the cute ones always so strange?