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I’ve never had anything against polyamorous relationships, theoretically. I’d just never given it any serious consideration. After all, if I struggled to make emotional connections and get a normal monogamous relationship to work, who was I to imagine making a relationship work withmorethan one person?
Yet it felt natural. Elias and Caelan clearly had no qualms about it. It clicked the same way I’d connected with them—a neat little triad. I like the idea of that.
I send two quick messages, the first teasingly letting Caelan know that I have workmates asking about the cutheleft and the second to explain I’ll be away from the phone for a while. No mobiles in the lab for biohazard reasons.
I don’t expect them to reply for a while anyway. They have another show to play tonight, so they’ll be busy.
Tossing my bag and phone into my locker, I head to the lab. Now, I have to actually focus. I can get away with daydreaming during lectures, but it’s not worth messing up blood samples because I’m too busy swooning over a pair of hot demon boys.
The mental break is nice, honestly. I do like my job. It’s the simplest role in the lab, merely processing samples, splitting serum from the rest of the blood into separate tubes for testing, and labeling everything with names and barcodes. And whatever other assistive tasks are required. It seems like it should be repetitive, but it requires sustained focus. I find the process almost meditative, in a way.
People regularly tell me to aim higher. The lab managers who assume I intend to progress up the career ladder once I complete my degree, the careers advisors at my college, and even Grace try to pressure me into doing something more her level.
I don’t want to. Not really. I feel more trapped by others’ expectations than anything about the work itself. They tell me I’m wasting my intelligence, that I could be so much more, and Icould. But if I’m not happy, then what’s the point? I’ve never wanted a high-flying, high-stress job, even if the pay is better. I don’t want that level of responsibility or the pressure of managing others.
Of course, the problem has always been working out what I want instead. I’ve never had an answer to that. The best I have ever come up with is to have the energy and creativity left to pursue my own hobbies in my free time and be able toliveinstead of having my existence drained by permanent stress and long hours.
But now. Now I do have something I want. For the first time in so long, to feel something likepassion.
Elias and Caelan. I can’t get them out of my head.
I get through the work, practiced and efficient. As distracting as Elias and Caelan may be, I can still focus when necessary. It’s nice to get caught up in something else instead of playing through endless daydreams where I get to see more of them.
As usual, the reception manager has to remind me to take my break. I don’t like leaving any task unfinished. If I’m in the middle of processing a batch of samples, I have to be dragged away, or I won’t rest until it’s done.
I sort of wish Ihadbeen allowed to take my break late. Grace has learned the pattern of my breaktimes, and she’s already in the breakroom when I enter. She’s finished for the day, being on an earlier shift, but must have waited for me knowing I would only be a few minutes more.
Dammit. I had all that time to think, and I didn’t even consider what I wanted to say to her.
I need someoneto be my confidante. Especially since—though I don’t like to think of it—Ihaveconsidered the possibility of things going very, very wrong. They’re demons, after all. I never got the feeling they meant any harm, and they never behaved in any way to make me doubt them, but maybe they’re just good actors. I don’t know for sure that I can trust them. I want to, though. Something in my heart does already.
Maybe the problem is that I can’t trust myself.
In any case, somebody ought to know. At least their names, who I’ve gotten myself tangled up with, if not strictlywhatI’ve gotten myself tangled up with.
“Hey, Grace,” I say. The sentence hangs in the air, lingering with my intent to continue, but I don’t have the words.
She sighs and runs a hand through her curls. “I’ve been worrying about you all afternoon, girl. Just tell me. On a scale of one to ten, how worried do I need to be?”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” I reply instinctively, then wince. Even when I’ve already decided I want to talk about it, it’s so deeply ingrained in me to not bother people, not burden anyone with my troubles, that I end up spewing little white lies to gloss over the whole thing.
“Maybe about a three,” I amend, then pause. “Or… seven.” Depending on how one views the whole demon thing.
Ten if they decided they didn’t want me around anymore.
I finally blurt it out. “I ran into Elias and Caelan.”
For a moment, I can practically see Grace’s mind ticking over and letting the names slot into place in her recollection, combining it with the awkward way I was behaving earlier. “Wait, the band guys?”
I nod, and she grabs my hands and beams.
“Hey, that’s awesome! I know how much you liked them! When was this?How?”
“Saturday evening. I went to the old theater they did their first gigs at, just as, like, a nostalgia thing, you know? And apparently… so did they.”
“Wow,” she says, whistling through her teeth. “That’s one hell of a coincidence.”
“Believe me, I know.”
