Heiresses of Russ 2013 by Tenea D. Johnson

Heiresses of Russ 2013 by Tenea D. Johnson

Author:Tenea D. Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, lesbian, science fiction, feminist, spec fic, sapphic, lesbian fantasy, annual anthology, lesbian action and adventure
Publisher: Lethe Press, Inc.


Harrowing Emily

Megan Arkenberg

“It’s like no matter how much I shower,” Emily says, “I can’t get the smell of grave dust out of my hair.” She stands in the bedroom door, wrapped in a burgundy bath towel, and all I can smell is her soap and banana-scented shampoo.

“I wonder if Persephone feels like this after she claws her way out of Hell.” She towels her hair brutally and leaves it as it falls, small blonde spikes sticking up at her temples and behind her ears, a crown of colorless thorns. With one hand pinning her wrap across her breasts, she rummages through the closet, settles on a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, and slips back into the bathroom to change.

She never used to be shy about changing in front of me. And she never used to talk about gods.

The therapist told me to stop listing the things that are different about her. Of course, the therapist doesn’t believe that Emily died in February—died and came back. And I have no proof. I didn’t call an ambulance, or the neighbors; I spent that hellish night curled around her cold body on our bed, too numb to move. Then, in the morning, she was here again.

Except it wasn’t quite her.

(She never used to eat rare meat. She never used to lie on the couch in her pajamas, watching daytime television. She never used to cover her face when she passed the hall mirror, as though afraid of her reflection.)

“You had a very frightening experience, Zoe,” the therapist says. She has settled on “experience” as the proper word for my girlfriend’s death, damnation, and resurrection. “It’s changed the way you view Emily. But you’ve told me yourself that this list, this catalog, isn’t helping you heal. It’s not helping you confront the reality of your fear for Emily.”

(She never used to wear long sleeves in summer. She never used to hate the smell of lilacs. She never used to go days without sleeping, standing at the kitchen window, watching the moon climb over our neighbor’s trees.)

“Perhaps we should have Emily join us for a session,” the therapist says. I tell her I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Emily’s brother has visited once since his sister died. We ate grilled cheese sandwiches at the kitchen counter. Kevin and I sat on the bar stools and Emily stood by the sink, nibbling at her sandwich as though she didn’t quite know what it was.

“Our family has…that is, there’s a history…” Kevin began, haltingly, and I was tempted to finish his sentence. Of coming back from the dead? Of going to Hell? He bit into his sandwich, chewed and swallowed slowly. “Our maternal grandmother used to see things. After Aunt Alice died. Grandma thought she saw Alice sitting at the piano in the living room.”

“Are you saying I only think I see Emily?”

“No, no…this isn’t about you, Zoe. All I’m saying is, people in our family have a habit of changing. And they don’t need to go through Hell to do it.



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