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Chapter Eleven

Ilyana

“A s the god Apollo touched the tips of her hair, her body stretches and harden. Her skin was transformed into a rough bark, her arms lifted unfurling myriads of branches. Daphne’s flight had ended, she became a laurel tree and not the lover of Apollo.” I close the book of mythology. My fingers scrape against the worn-out cover. I glance down at my son’s bright eager eyes.

“Mon Tresor. What do you think?” I murmur brushing away the dark curls that were falling over his face. He was due for a haircut.

His little jaw rocked back and forth. “I feel sorry for Apollo mom. Running after a girl that doesn’t like him. It’s pathetic.” His voice is clear.

I chuckle softly at the irony. “Yes, it is pathetic.”

“Mom, if I were a Greek god, would I be Zeus? He is strong and mighty.” He pushes up the arm of his pjs, trying to flex his nonexistent muscles.

I shake my head and push his hand down. Pulling his blanket indicating that it was time for him to slip down into bed,

“Zeus may have been the most powerful, but he wasn’t the smartest or loyal. You are Hades,”

My son’s face scrunches with disgust. “Hades? Mom no way. He lives with the dead.”

“Yes but the dead always stays with us. But Hades was most loyal, loving and true.” I drop a kiss to his warm forehand.

“Hades is lame. I want to be Zeus. But for you, I will be Hades. Night, Mom.” He yawns and pulls his blanket over his shoulder, snuggling into his pillow.

“Good night, honey.” I place the book back onto the shelf and turn to switch off the light.

“Mom, you should be Aphrodite.” His small voice stops me in my tracks.

I pause, my hand hovers over the switch, letting his words settle over me.

“I’m Icarus,” I whisper.

“Ica-who?” He rubs his eyes, his body is becoming heavy with sleep. It’s not every day I can do this, in fact it’s rare that I’m home here.

“I will tell you sometime. Now sleep,” closing the door behind me, feeling satisfied that I had the strength to push away the darkness.

Some days I want to wrap my son in my arms and hold him close. Other days there is an urge, an impulse, a darkness that I am afraid to name. Someday my mind drags me into the pit of despair, hate. Whispering to me ways that I could end all this pain, the hurt, the neglect.

Who do I cry to? Who would listen if I told them that my husband never wanted me? Or that for every wound he left me, I gave him one even deeper in return. Who will understand the silence in my head and how loud it can be? No one, no one will ever understand.

I stand by the upstairs window looking at the starry night sky, I think of Icarus and his dilemma. He just wanted to bask in the sun. He craved its warmth. Yes, I am Icarus and you Dereck are the sun, and I fear I may have flown too close to you. Now with scorched dipping wings all I can do is fall.