Chapter Fifteen

The Gina had kissed her.

The Gina had done the kissing with Callana, and now Callana had no clue what to do—this was so wrong, so, so, so utterly wrong. The Gina’s lips tasted like… well, skin, mostly, but there was a certain tanginess to it. Honestly, the physical sensation was so much less prominent than the way it made her insides feel, trillions of her tentacles curling in on themselves in bliss. She’d leaned into it, and the kiss had gone on for a long, long time. One long, glorious moment like none she’d ever lived through before.

But then, she broke it off sat there, stunned at what she had just done.

Why did it feel so good? Why did her soul roil at the sight of this one random human being? The first one she’d ever spoken to, even. She’d shared a part of herself with the Gina tonight; the star was yet another a symbol of how far the Gina had stepped outside of her humanity. And yet, at the same time, Callana had indulged in human food, stepping toward humanity in the process. Perhaps neither would ever approach the other extreme fully—the Gina would never be a god, and Callana would never be human. But they had drawn each other toward a strange middle ground that was as wonderful as it was terrifying.

And for some reason, Callana just couldn’t shake this odd guilt.

She’d never felt guilt prior to coming to Earth, she was certain of that. And yet, this particular guilt seemed so… familiar. A holdover from pain she’d long since forgotten. The froth of her mind became nearly incomprehensible as she stared into the Gina’s shocked eyes, that eternal moment stretching on and on while each silently begged the other not to bolt off into the night. That instinct to flee almost overpowered Callana, but she anchored herself, summoning as much willpower as she could.

“Fuck,” the Gina said.

“Yes. Fuck,” Callana said.

“I’m so drunk, I’m sorry,” the Gina said.

“I believe I am the drunk, too,” Callana said, shaking her woozy head. “I did not know I could be the drunk…”

It was probably yet another symptom of her reduced state, being the ghost of a ghost. She doubted any amount of alcohol could have phased her before, but now? Now her vision swam in circles, a strange nausea permeating her very core.

“Are you okay?” the Gina asked. “Like, are you…”

“I do not know,” Callana admitted. “I… enjoyed—but I do not…”

She trailed off, unable to articulate the strange, incorporeal idea that had flooded her senses. That she was abusing her power, turning this innocent person against her better nature and corrupting her for her own sick, twisted pleasures, all because she had power—and if she did not lead by example, how were the others supposed to know what was right and wrong? Surely, the test of a true leader’s mettle…

Wherever that thought was pointing, she couldn’t recall. But it lingered there, torturing her from afar as she strained to hold herself together for the Gina’s sake.

“I do not think I can… eth-ic-ally do this,” Callana said, shocking herself with her own words.

“What?”

 “I do not know!” Curling up in a ball, Callana gritted her teeth and rocked back and forth. “I do not know why it feels wrong—it should not, but it does, and I do not know why!”

The Gina just sat there, blinking, her hands flitting between touching Callana’s shoulders and recoiling.

“I am stuck in my own head,” Callana said, trying to keep her words from slurring. “I—I cannot tell where the f-feelings are coming from, but it is—it is a dia—dia-lec-tic.”

“Oh,” the Gina said, her eyes red.

“I want to do the kissing with you,” Callana admitted, forcing the words out. “I want to! It is… nice! Yes! But—I—I, like—there is something… I do not know! It hurts, Gina. I—it’s, it’s, I… I do not feel good.”

“Are you gonna be sick?” the Gina asked, shuffling to her knees.

“I don’t think I can be sick,” Callana said, wiping her cheeks. “I—I’m not… I wish I was not the drunk.”

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“Here,” the Gina said, scooting ever closer, making Callana’s many hearts pound in unison. She wrapped her arm around Callana’s shoulder, pulling her close and hugging her tight.

“Is this okay?” the Gina asked.

As far as Callana was concerned, this was the most okay she’d felt in days. She nodded, nuzzling closer in. Damn it all if this was wrong. Damn those expectations. She’d failed to instate any kind of moral character in those fools anyway, so why restrict herself now?

That thought made her feel even guiltier, but what was she meant to do? The Gina had hugged her on her own accord, right? Was that enough? It was a miraculous coincidence that she’d found someone so perfect so quickly.

“Thank you,” Callana said.

“Shh,” the Gina said. “It’s okay, Cal. Let’s just sit here for a while, okay? I’ll call a taxi to take us home, and we’ll go to bed. It’ll be okay… we’ll be okay.”

Callana nodded, her breathing slowing in the Gina’s warm embrace. As the Gina whipped out her phone and started dialing numbers, Callana closed her eyes. How many eons had she gone without a hug? Too long, as far as she was concerned. Too long since she’d had a proper drink, too. She smiled as the Gina started talking on the phone, relaying numbers and street names. This was so comfy, this—this was everything she’d ever wanted.

There, lying on the Gina’s lap in the middle of a city park at night, Callana fell asleep.

Callana woke to a gentle ray of sunlight streaking through the Gina’s sheer curtains, highlighting the ugly, beige carpet with a red-tinged morning light. For a god, hangovers were no concern at all, and so Callana had the privilege of a few peaceful moments before she suddenly remembered what she’d done.

She’d kissed the Gina.

Well, the Gina had kissed her, but she’d kissed the Gina back! That wasn’t supposed to happen! No, no, no! No. No. That wasn’t allowed. She shook her head, glad the last vestiges of drunkenness had left her.

It was nice, though. As she turned around, she noticed the Gina lying splayed out on the thin mattress beside her, practically hanging off the edge as usual. Tangled in her poofy sheets, the Gina’s face looked so serene, so fundamentally beautiful—it was so frustrating.

She shot to her feet with a huff and started pacing the bedroom, dodging the pile of unkempt clothes on the floor where the Gina had probably disrobed last night in a drunken haze. Even now, the Gina was only wearing her loose sleep boxers, forgoing a shirt entirely. That fact only made Callana pace harder, trudging from the desk to the bookshelf, over to the dresser where a few pictures of the Von and the Nard, along with a few older humans who vaguely resembled the Gina, sat in simple photo frames.

“C-Cal?” the Gina muttered, half-asleep. She sat up straight, her chest bare. Callana did her best to look away, but… well, she maybe took a peek or two, but she chastised herself as soon as she did.

“Are y-you awake?” the Gina asked. “It’s, like, 5:00, Cal. Come back to bed.”

Callana shook her head silently, walking out into the kitchen so she didn’t disturb the Gina any longer. A real light sleeper, the Gina was.

Rifling through the fridge, she picked up a block of mozzarella cheese about the size of her fist. She unwrapped it, took a bite, and cocked her head. Not half-bad, actually. She took the cheese with her to the living room, then turned on the “teevee” to watch some trashy morning shows. She had to go to work in a few hours, sadly, but… maybe she wouldn’t, today. No, she didn’t feel like going. So, she fished out the little flip phone the Gina had helped her buy a couple days ago and texted the Ron that she hadn’t had a good night, and she didn’t want to come to work today, so she was just going to stay home.

Content with her message, she leaned back on the couch and watched The Morning Hour with Ted Hrivalok and Navskalia Stenkliski. Ted was interviewing some girl who’d done an “internet video” about some gymnastics move she’d learned, and it had gotten half a million views. She idly lost herself in the buzz of worthless content and commercials, drifting far from her own thoughts.

Then, the earth shook.

 

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