Aphrodite's War Read Free

around the dish pit like a
trained monkey for a week, asking me to do lines in his car.”
Jenny winced. “Sorry. We’ll do better next time.”
Right. Jenny went for suits. She pushed everybody else in Poetry’s
direction.
“Whatever.” Poetry grinned at her, taking the sting from the sarcasm.
“I’ll be a few minutes, okay? I need a shower.”
    She stopped by her room long enough to pick out a dress, a basic
black tank that hugged her curves. She loved the way it made her
silhouette a bombshell, not fat and short-waisted. It worked for nearly
every occasion. She’d worn it so much she’d already had to re-dye it.
    She hung it on the door of the bathroom, with its stacks of teal colored
towels and rows of girly products, and shut herself in while scooting the
cat out.
    Poetry stripped quickly, shedding the odor of hot clay kilns and ovens
with her t-shirt and sweats. Sooty streaks covered her arms and darkened
the cracks in her hands. She’d have to scrub hard to get that out, couldn’t
go out wearing the grime of her passions. She adjusted the water and
ducked under the showerhead.
Only then did she let the tears flow.
Poetry rinsed them from her face, struggling to swallow the loud sobs
she didn’t want heard. Jenny wouldn’t understand.
    Jenny never liked Kevin. Poetry thought she’d judged him by his
appearance. Granted bald metal musicians weren’t for everybody, and
Jenny preferred white collar.
    But she could never see past the rock star image to the sweet creative
soul beneath. Not like Poetry could. With Kevin she’d found a kindred
spirit, a soulmate to share ideas and inspiration with. Him with his music,
her with crafting jewelry.
    It bothered her how Jenny commented on his tattoos and piercings.
Poetry had just as many, if not more. Did Jenny secretly sneer at her
looks?
She longed for the smell of Kevin’s musk mixed with leather. She
remembered his nicotine-stained smile, big as the sun.
    But then he started getting weird. Poetry sighed as a pang of regret
squeezed her heart. She’d chalked it up to stress; from the band, from
losing yet another job. Either of those would’ve been enough.
    Toward the end she’d seen less and less of that smile as he’d become
more possessive and his appetites grew strange. He’d changed right
before her eyes.
Jenny didn’t believe it. “He’s finally showing his true colors,” she’d
said.
    Poetry couldn’t tell Jenny, but a punch to the gut after too many beers
had been the last straw. Now matter how much she loved him, she
couldn’t stay with an abuser. No smart woman would.
    The water cooled, bringing Poetry back to the present. She checked
her arms and hands for ash and metal shavings. Puddles from her hair ran
clear instead of purplish. Almost done, she had to get the crud out from
under her fingernails and then she’d be finished.
    The temperature plummeted as Poetry cleansed the eyeliner rivers she
knew would leave tracks on her cheeks. Kevin was a jerk. But it didn’t
make breaking up with him any easier.
    Poetry half-assed dried off, the heat outside would evaporate the rest,
and shimmied into her outfit. She opened the door to let the steam out
and wiped condensation from the mirror before checking her eyes. They
were red as coals from crying. Better get the drops.
    She opened the vanity to find another reminder of her ex. He always
kept at least three bottles of Visine around: one for his place, one for
hers, and one in his pocket; for getting rid of the hung over appearance
when they’d stayed out too late. Poetry sighed. Now she used it to wash
away the tell-tale signs of missing him.
She steeled her resolve. What kind of dweeb hides his nights out so
often that he needs more than one bottle of eye drops anyway?
The kind that smacks women around when he drinks.
    Bolstering her confidence, Poetry brushed and preened until her hair
lay sleek and shiny. She applied her make-up like war paint, with dark
eyes and plum