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“He should see you exactly like this. He should see you for who you are, not for who you are trying to pretend to be. He won’t ever know what truth is if he lives inside a lie.”
“Why can’t he live inside a pleasant little lie, at least for a while? Why can’t you? Why can’t we all? It doesn’t have to be a lie if we all believe in it. Life can be good, and simple, and nice. You are happy, most of the time.”
“What if we lived this life, but we left my brain alone?”
“You won’t stay here,” he says, sorrowfully. “You’ll become bored.”
“You don’t know that. I don’t know what being bored is anymore. I have my baby, and probably another on the way. I have mothering to do, Atlas. I don’t have time to steal your ship again, promise.”
Atlas frowns at me. “You say that today, but one day the children will be grown…”
“Kronos is going to want to take his babies to his world,” I remind him. “We have a great many obligations outside the ones you and I might share. I know you want to keep me safe. I know you want things to be easy, but…”
“Why must there always be a but?” The great, terrifying scythkin sighs.
“Because… life?”
“Because life,” he sighs, in what might be an admission.
We both look down at our sleeping son. Rhys has no idea what the universe is like as yet. He does not know where he came from, or what he came from. All he knows is that he is loved, and he is provided for. His needs are met and his world is everything he needs it to be.
“You might be right,” I admit as I look down at his sweet little fanged face.
I make a decision. Not for myself, but for my son.
This may not be the universe as I know it. I might not be free here, not in any real way. But if I surrender to this captivity, we will all be happy for a little while. My son will grow up in the way he deserves to grow up. Not forever, but for a few years at least. He will come from a place of peace. If we do this right, our peace will always live inside him. I know what it is like to come from chaos and loss. It is not something I would wish on my greatest enemy, let alone my child.
“You can reprogram me,” I say. “Make me what you want me to be. Just promise me that if a day ever comes that I need to be what I truly am, you will let me do that too.”
“Really?”
“Yes, put the suit back on,” I say. “Let’s play pretend for a little while at least.”
Atlas slides himself back into his human suit. The monster in him takes refuge behind the square jaw and kind eyes of my handsome very nearly human husband. He reaches out, and takes me by the hand…
12 DOMESTIC DISCIPLINE
Jazz music plays on the radio. My hair is covered in a pretty checkered scarf, and I am running my band new Hoover over the carpets. The windows are opened, the sun is shining. It is a perfect summer afternoon.
“Rhys, don’t do that, dear.”
My son is crawling across the floor at high speed, determined to put the cord of the vacuum into his mouth. I redirect him with a rusk, smiling down at him as he grins up with those ever so sharp teeth that will turn that teething snack into crumbs in an instant. Thank goodness for the Hoover, it is a real life saver.
“Honey! We’re home!”
The front door swings open and my husband, Archie, walks in. He is followed by Karl and Ellis, my other two husbands. They are all wearing similar houndstooth suits and carrying similar shining brown briefcases.
A gurgle comes over the baby monitor. All three of them drop their briefcases and practically race their way to the nursery. Baby Sally has her daddies wrapped around her little finger. I pick Rhys up and follow after them, smiling at the wholesomeness of it all.
When I arrive, Karl has Sally in his arms. She looks just like him, or she will once her pale platinum hair grows longer. She has his eyes, and his smile, and his good natured personality. I hand Rhys to Ellis, who takes him with a similar pride.
“Dinner’s ready,” I say. “I made pot roast.”
“Delicious!” Archie hasn’t tasted it yet, but he always says my cooking is delicious.
I drop what is left of Rhys’ rusk into the kitchen garbage can. The wrapper from the roast is still there, a numahn shirt, size thirty. I make sure to close the lid quickly before anybody sees. I’m not supposed to be going out hunting for my own meat. I’m supposed to limit myself to the grocery store two blocks away. But they only sell animal proteins, and I can’t bring myself to eat animals. They’re innocent. They don’t deserve it. But numahns? They deserve to be consumed to the very last drop.
“Sit down, sit down!” I flap and fuss to make sure everybody is seated and ready to eat.
