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“You think I am a monster?”

“No… yes, but you’re my monster,” he says, his brows furrowing. “Eli doesn’t like humans, never has.”

“Then why do you want to be with me?” I ask him.

“You’re different.”

“No, last time I checked, I was definitely human.”

“Yes, but you aren’t like the rest. They are selfish and self-absorbed and—” He doesn’t finish, but I can see he is getting angry.

“What about my family?” I ask him.

“I like your mother and niece, your sister not so much,” Cyrus says.

“Why not her? We are carbon copies of each other.”

Cyrus shakes his head. “No, you aren’t completely identical. Even when she was healthier-looking, your eyes are a shade lighter, skin a little paler, your boobs are slightly bigger, your right boob is bigger than your left too, barely noticeable but I can tell, and you smell nicer, intoxicating,” he says making me look at my boobs.

They look the same to me.

“Are you trying to say I have lopsided titties?” I ask, amused that he can notice something like that when I can’t tell the difference myself.

“No, you have nice breasts,” Cyrus says, stepping out of the shower.

“But you just said they are uneven.”

“Doesn’t mean they look bad. My vision is so much stronger than yours. I can even see the dust particles in the air, the colors inside a lightbulb, the heat coming off your skin…”

“What about you? Can you see all that?” I ask Eli.

He nods, watching me. “Yes, our sense of smell is stronger too.”

Great, now I am going to be paranoid about how I smell and look. I sniff myself.

“You don’t stink if that’s what you’re wondering, though I don’t like it when you put that perfume on. It smothers your scent and burns my nose,” Eli says.

“I am not walking around with no deodorant on. I may smell nice to you, but that doesn’t mean I will smell nice when I am sweating to everyone else.”

“No. Deodorant barely changes your scent. I am talking about that shit you spray on your neck and wrists,” Eli says.

“Hey, I like that stuff,” I tell him, and he shrugs.

“Well, I don’t. It is too strong,” he says, and Cyrus nods.

“Fine, no perfume,” I tell them.

I hop off the bench, following Cyrus back into the room.

“Do I need to dress for work or dress casual?” I ask Cyrus.

“Dress how you want. As long as you are covered, we don’t care what you wear to work.”

“So, you won’t care if I rock up to work in my pajamas then?” I laugh.

“Nope, you get a pass since you’re fucking your bosses,” Cyrus says.

“I have slept with one of you, not both of you.”