Avarice Read online

  More than a few people walked by them, pointing and chuckling. Hey, if Flora didn’t care, why should Mercy? She had already made a fool of herself in front of others in the weeks leading up to this moment. Remember dry-humping that redhead as she squealed? She fucking squealed. You thought it was the hottest shit in the world. She still did. Whenever Mercy wrapped herself in her sheets after that encounter, she thought about that redhead and everything her thighs promised.

  Flora was different, though. They were all different. Except Mercy couldn’t keep track of their differences after a while. One woman blended into another. Whenever she was in the moment with a new partner, she could memorize every second that passed. Then? Everything was a blur. She lay in bed, creating amalgamations of women she had been with and creating… what? Her dream version? No, that wasn’t correct. They had been so inconsequential to her once she left the club – or their beds – that her brain dumped the details into a cauldron of memories. Sometimes she distinctly remembered the way one woman screamed Mercy’s name. Other times she couldn’t shake the flowery perfumes or the crazy shapes some women shaved their pubes into, like they earned extra points for creativity. Then, one second later, she forgot their names.

  “You’re such a good kisser.” Flora held Mercy’s face in her hands, giggling, legs weaving in between Mercy’s. “That’s the thing I remember most about you.” She bit her lip, nose grazing against Mercy’s. “What do you remember about me?”

  Right now? Everything. Tomorrow? Nothing. “I remember your nipples in my mouth.” That sounded like a safe bet.

  “Really?” Flora squeaked. “You wanna… you wanna see them again?”

  Did she really have to ask? All Mercy could think about right now was body parts no sensible woman showed to the outside world. Nipples included.

  Mercy had been caught in more compromising positions. Not only in this club, but she had been on some crazy dates in the years leading up to the great blunder that was Marissa. Yet nothing quite rammed the point home like when someone walked by the moment Mercy wrestled Flora’s breasts out of her dress and pressed her tongue against both hardening nipples. Back and forth, then back again, like a delicate dance she never practiced.

  God, this is so meaningless. Was she supposed to be magically cured? Was this her ticket to salvation? Tonguing a grad school student in the middle of the club, for God and everyone else to see? The Mercy of five years ago would have shuddered to see it. I wouldn’t blame her. I couldn’t blame myself. I used to have standards. While Mercy wasn’t allergic to a hot one-night stand, it had to feel organic. This was desperate.

  “My goodness.”

  She heard that faraway voice, like she heard every person commenting on her sex life. Usually, Mercy would write it off as some nosey-nelly interjecting herself where she didn’t necessarily belong, but something about this voice – unrecognizable, but so angelically soft – awakened Mercy from her rapture and turned her attention to the glittering movements of someone fluttering by.

  She barely caught a glimpse of the orange illusion rounding the corner into the next room. Why should Mercy pay it any mind? There were lips to kiss and thighs to fondle. If she timed everything right, her fingers would be inside Flora before the minute was finished.

  “I was warned you might be busy, Mercy, but I wasn’t expecting such a lovely display.”

  “What?” Flora grabbed the collar of Mercy’s blouse and redirected her attention back to their after-hour activities. “Aren’t you supposed to be kissing me? Don’t pay any attention to those voyeurs.” She giggled. “Unless you want to. Does it get you off, knowing that people might be watching?”

  No. That was her usual response, when she wasn’t swayed by a deity’s otherworldly machinations. Right now, all Mercy cared about was getting off. Quickly, if possible. She should head home as soon as she could. She was starting to hear voices in her head.

  “Whenever you’re ready for me, I’ll be in the other room.”

  Mercy, who had attempted to kiss Flora again, tore her lips away with a grunt.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, unwrapping her arms from Flora’s half-naked body. “It’s not you. I… I think I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “Damn, girl.” Flora didn’t bother to make herself presentable – to whom, anyway? – as she stood up and fixed her hair. “What’s the bathroom got that I don’t? You can say that you’re not interested. In fact, I prefer it to you making up excuses.”

  “I’m not…”

  “It’s cool.” Finally, Flora put the girls away – but not before a couple walking by got an eyeful of what she packed in her tight bodice. The man’s eyes definitely lingered the longest, but Mercy made sure to note that his wife possessed a curious glint as well. “Hey, maybe I’ll still be around if you change your mind.”

  Mercy should have written off Flora’s desperation as a reason to not check for her later, but here she was, putting that information aside for later. God, I need help. Wasn’t that why she walked away? Not because fooling around with Flora might mean the end of her sanity, but because she thought she heard the voice of help?

  Mercy didn’t know what to anticipate when she walked into the next room, a place she had lurked more than one night that month. The back lounge wasn’t a big place for sexual displays, but it wasn’t uncommon to see someone sitting in somebody else’s lap and playing a little tonsil-hockey and find-the-sweet-spot. Right now, it was mostly empty, as most guests decided to go to the secondary bar or head straight for the real parties in the back. Mercy, however, preferred to sit there and catch the traffic going by as she nursed her drinks and thought about her lot in life. Inevitably, she succumbed to the lust inhabiting her brain and made it her night’s mission to get laid. I wish I could say I felt ashamed about it later. But I didn’t. Was this a new revelation in her life, or was it a side-effect of one-sided sin?

  It didn’t take long for Mercy to discover who was talking to her. The room was at half-capacity, but there was one woman sitting by herself in the corner who stuck out above all the rest. Not because of what she wore or what she looked like – but because she had that otherworldly presence and an aura as warm as the orange lights hanging from the ceiling.

  Act cool. Not like you expected one of them to show up at a club, but here we are. Mercy spotted an empty chair near the woman in an orange two-piece dress and hair coiled on top of her head. The nape of her neck was as long and slender as the fingers twisting around the stem of a wineglass. Her heavy-lidded eyes both blinked in awakening and cajoled Mercy to fall asleep with her. Nobody else in the room paid her any mind. The only person to give the woman in orange her undivided attention was Mercy, who slowly sat in the empty chair, eyes never leaving that languid form as it took up an entire loveseat.

  “So…” Mercy cleared her throat. She looked down, realizing that two of her buttons were undone and her skirt was wrinkled. Thanks, Flora. She smoothed it out while regaining some of her composure. “Sorry if this is forward of me, but…”

  The wineglass gently tapped against the small table between them. A small laugh left those dark orange lips. Jesus. I’m not used to women pulling off this color so well. Orange was so… Halloween. Thanksgiving. Those autumn months when Mercy checked out of reality and hoped she survived the upcoming seasonal depression. She hated the snow as much as she detested the long, hot days of summer. Shows me for living somewhere with seasons.

  Nails tipped in orange polish scratched the surface of the wineglass. Bold eyeshadow fluttered against lashes of gold. The woman’s chest was more covered than any other in the room, but her bare midriff invited Mercy’s gaze, and the long, fluttering skirt draped upon a pair of feet encased in barely-there slippers. Every line of this woman’s body was artistic integrity in its finest form. Her breaths danced beneath her chest and flared her petite nostrils. Her eyes glistened with mischief. And her fingers! Long, delicate, and strong. Ready to grab whatever she pleased. Everything in the room belong
ed to her. This, this, that, this. Whatever she desired was soon in her possession. How could Mercy admire anything but that?

  “Your cheeks,” sighed a knowing voice. “They are flushed with sexual desire. I should have known. It took me much too long to get here, and for that I should apologize. You must have been a mess lately, Mercy.”

  “So you are…”

  A finger gently wiped the rim of the wineglass. When the woman lifted her finger again, it was to touch the tip of her tongue with liquid silk.

  “Who do you think I am, Mercy?”

  A goddess. A goddamn beautiful one. Mercy cleared her throat again. For four weeks she had been searching for a high as good as the one she had with Lust. The rejuvenating high that invigorated every sense plaguing her mortal body. She had never found it with other women. None of them possessed the godly qualities of the lady commanding no other attention in the room. It was as if she constructed a barrier that shielded them from the world around them. People walked by. They looked in Mercy’s direction. If they noticed the fine female figure already seducing the skirt off Mercy’s body, they paid no heed. It was for the best. As far as Mercy was concerned, this woman was hers for the night.

  God willing.

  “I think you’re one of the beings sent to help me heal.” Mercy lowered her voice. “Hopefully, you could temper some of this, uh, lust. It’s getting to the point of totally consuming me. I don’t think it’s a lot of fun, if I’m being honest.”

  “Of course you already know that about me. I’m asking if you know who I am? What is my name? What gift have I come to give you?”

  Mercy’s mouth was dry. She could barely remember what the Seven Sisters were, let alone their names. The only time I looked up the seven deadly sins, I was entranced by the sexy pictures someone decided to use on the webpage. Mercy got as far as Gluttony and drowned herself in the sex toys occupying her bedside drawer. Not her finest moment.

  “Well, you really want me to know who you are. Let alone expect me to know who you are…” Mercy’s voice trailed off, but not because she lost focus. If anything, she was hyper-focused on that enthralling body as it repositioned itself against the side of the loveseat. Mercy was already a fool for this woman. When could the healing begin tonight? “You must be Vanity.”

  The woman’s face fell.

  “That wasn’t right, huh?”

  The goddess slowly shook her head. “You’re not ready for that, yet, love. If we infused you with lust and vanity but nothing else, you would be so insufferable. Take it from me. I used to come later in the sequence. Those poor women…”

  “Who are you?”

  Mercy looked down. Her fingers were already entwined with this woman’s. The most embarrassing thing? When she looked up, she saw Flora scoping out the room. Every time her eyes fell upon Mercy already making the moves on someone new, they glazed over, as if they saw nothing at all. There is definitely magic happening here. Thank God. Mercy wasn’t in the mood to explain this to a sexually volatile twenty-something who put way too much stock in how she de-stressed.

  “You have such pretty fingers,” the goddess purred. “I want to eat every one of them.” She lifted Mercy’s hand and kissed her fingertips. Mercy’s eyes widened. How else could she fully see the beauty before her? “I still wouldn’t be full. Because I always want more. I want everything.” Her eyes narrowed, teeth nipping against Mercy’s knuckles. “Remember what it was like to want everything in sight? Ah, this is making me miss those Vikings. Some of those women really knew how to pillage. It was…” a faraway sigh claimed her again. “Art.”

  Mercy was speechless. Was it the touch of this deity’s mouth against her fingers? Or the way she stared right into Mercy’s eyes, as if caressing her very soul?

  “I go by many names,” the woman said, “but you can call me Avarice.”

  “Avarice…” The name slipped right off Mercy’s tongue. She struggled to remember half of the thesaurus on a good day, never mind when she was falling in love with a woman who wasn’t really there. “Greed.”

  “I love that word, but it doesn’t make for a good name. It would be like calling you Pity.”

  This must have been revenge for how Mercy had initially treated Lust. I made fun of her name. Good God, I would be too embarrassed now. Wasn’t that the point, though? That Mercy wasn’t only taking this more seriously, but that she was starting to embrace it?

  “Out of everything I should probably be bringing back into my life right now,” Mercy said, “I somehow think greed might be one of the worst ones.”

  “No, sweetie. Trust me. This is a tried-and-true system now.” Avarice released Mercy’s fingers. “Took some trial and error thousands of years ago, but we figured it out. You have to balance what sins come next. We throw Lust at you first, because of how the healing takes place. Can’t very well put her toward the end of the chain if the last thing you want to do is get busy.” Her eyebrows raised as she sipped her wine. “Combining that with wrath or envy though so early on… trust me. It’s not good. So, here I am. To balance you out a little.”

  “I do wish you came a little sooner…”

  “Trust me, honey, I’ll be doing plenty of coming later.”

  Mercy’s head snapped up. “Huh?”

  The wineglass disappeared. “Never mind that. Why don’t we have a chat first? This is about therapy, after all.”

  Mercy looked at the growing number of people in the room. Those who weren’t coupled already either looked for someone to talk to, or friends gathered to share drinks and stories. Every time someone headed in their direction, they quickly turned around again. “What’s going on here?” Mercy asked.

  “Hmm?” Avarice barely had the cloudy eye for the passersby paying them no mind. She didn’t care about the topless woman prancing by them. Not like Mercy, who damned herself every time she bit her lip in appreciation. “Don’t pay any attention to them. They can see us, but they won’t care about us as soon as they look away. I’ve made sure of it.” She ran a finger beneath her bottom lip. Did that catch Mercy’s attention? Naturally. How could it not? Every woman, let alone one who was more or less ready to divinely sleep with her, was someone to gaze upon at every opportune moment. “This is about you and me. Mostly you. Tell me, how have you been feeling since my sister visited you a month ago?” A grin made Mercy shiver. “Let me guess. You want to sleep with every woman you see. Maybe some men, too?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Mercy was a little too quick to say. “I mean, I’m not desperate yet. I don’t think it’s a good time for experimentation. With non-women, that is.” She scratched her arm as if she yearned for another taste of sexual ecstasy. Jesus. Because I do. That simple, really. “Things are a little crazy in my body, though. Every night I have a sex dream, I swear. And yeah, there are a… lot… of attractive women out there.”

  “Including that nice looking lady I saw you with a few minutes ago?”

  Mercy swallowed. “It’s not serious between her and me. Honestly, I’m kinda worried about her getting clingy. I know the type. If I pay too much attention to her, she might take it the wrong way.” She didn’t add that her reasons for not wanting to upset Flora weren’t altruistic and entirely to avoid the drama. Mercy didn’t need it.

  “Are you afraid of having a new relationship soon?”

  “I mean…” Mercy’s laugh was as awkward as it was honest. How could she possibly answer that? What did this goddess really care about, anyway? “I had a really bad breakup a few months ago. Most people don’t bounce right back from that. Shouldn’t I be playing the field, anyway? That’s what all those magazines say.” She didn’t really believe that, though.

  “I suppose,” Avarice said. “Aren’t you worried that if you spend all your time thinking about it, you will be tethered to those memories? What do you think your ex-girlfriend is doing right now?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  Mercy was certainly
caught in one, not that she knew what to say.

  “Maybe you’re not stalking her, but you’ve kept a few tabs on her.” Avarice said that as if it were undisputed fact. How long had Acedia been spying on Mercy, anyway? Since the moment Marissa left me and I became a shell of my former self? For the first time since Lust came to visit, Mercy thought of something other than sex. She thought of pain, despair, and heartbreak. Three very unsexy things that could easily be morphed into toxic fetishes if she weren’t careful.

  “She’s got a new girlfriend,” Mercy muttered. “Already. I’m pretty sure she was cheating on me, based on how quickly they got together.”

  “Yet you give her so much attention and harbor so much space for her in your heart and thoughts?”

  “Who said these things make sense?”

  Avarice shrugged, as if a deity could really understand. “Certainly, not me. I won’t pretend to know what it’s like to be hung up on someone who clearly doesn’t love me anymore, if they ever did.”

  “How would you know if…”

  “I… we… know more about you than you can possibly fathom. Why, we are practically reflections of your soul. Everything you’ve cried, and everything you’ve coveted, is trapped beneath my aura. I’m as much you as I am my master.”

  Acedia… Mercy still didn’t quite understand how this whole thing worked, but every time she thought of the angelic goddess, she was reminded of her happiest moment in Sunday school. When we took a trip to a Catholic church and I gazed upon the altar of St. Anne. The artist had taken very creative license with his depiction of a saint, and to young and impressionable Mercy, it was one of the first moments she could point to and say, “I should have known I was gay.”

  Mercy looked away from the strange woman who knew so much about her. “I guess I should admit that she never really loved me.” How could she, though? Marissa had been her whole life outside of work. Even when I was working, I thought so much about her. The signs of obsession, of a woman pulling her away from everything that kept her sane were there. The friends Mercy had lost due to Marissa’s isolation tactics could not easily be reclaimed, as proven shortly after the breakup. Nor could Mercy easily go out and get more.