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6- I Don't Have To Like You

Aisha groaned and rolled onto her side, letting the blurred room come into focus. She found herself tucked in her own bed, staring at the familiar, concrete walls of her studio apartment. She was drenched in sweat and could hear the television buzzing faintly in the background. Had she fallen asleep? Aisha could smell popcorn... What the hell happened?

She sat up and grabbed her throbbing head. Why was it tender to the touch? Why did she feel like she'd been hit by a bus? Aisha felt disoriented as if she was still somewhere between dreaming and waking. Her mind was on the edge of remembering but it just couldn't get there.

Aiko. She looked quickly but found the bed still empty and perfectly made. Her stomach squirmed.

Throwing off her covers, Aisha stumbled to the bathroom. The comfortable routine of the familiar seventeen steps it took to get from her bedside to the sink calmed her worries a little. That small detail hadn't changed. She wobbled a bit. Was she hungover? Aisha didn’t remember drinking but then again, she didn’t remember anything.

She didn't glance at the mirror on her way to the toilet and as she sat there, she pulled her knees tightly to herself, cradling her head. Think. Think harder. She sighed, pulling at the roots of her hair. What had happened? Aisha tried to fish her mind for any explanation that made sense for why she couldn't remember a single thing since looking out the library window. Was that today? Yesterday? How had she gotten home?

She gathered her clothes around her, ready to head for the sink until she suddenly realized she was wearing a pair of sweat shorts. She hadn't realized it at first but the sight had her heart skipping. Why the hell was she in shorts? Aisha knew for a fact she only slept in her underwear because otherwise, she got too damn hot at night. So the question remained, nagging at her, telling her something was wrong. Had someone else dressed her?

At the sink, Aisha finally saw the reason for her pounding headache, a large bruise that purpled across her right temple. It was puffy and tender, definitely fresh. She fingered it lightly, edging around all the tenderness as best she could. In the center, there seemed to be a line of fresh skin, as if it had been a gash. What the actual fuck? The more she stared at it, the more she felt herself tugging at the memory. It was on the tip of her tongue but she couldn't pull it free.

Panic. That's what a normal person would do in this situation. Wake up with no memory and a physical wound, and any rational human would freak the hell out. But she simply stared at herself. For a long moment, she didn't think of anything. Her mind was silent, the apartment was still. She was... empty. As she looked back at the familiar brown eyes she'd known her whole life, Aisha was struck by the sudden realization that she didn't actually care what happened to her. Didn’t give a shit if she lived or died.

Was that normal? She was exhausted down to her bones. Beyond that to the grit that made up a person. She closed her eyes. What if she’d been the one to disappear instead of Aiko? Then maybe things would be right in the world. The good girl lives. The bad girl dies. Was she bad? Aisha snapped her eyes back open. Was she?

She wasn't really sure when she stopped caring about her well-being or why. Though if she wagered a guess, she would have to say it had something to do with her mother or her childhood. The connection between children and their mothers... a recipe for beauty or madness. And she knew hers was the latter. Not because she worshipped different gods than everyone else, or because she enjoyed the dark, dead and damned things of the world. Not because she often found herself attracted to villains in her stories or killers in her movies. But because there was something broken inside of her. Something that her mother hadn’t tried to mend. And at the core of that severing, was the knowledge that if she died, it would be the most peaceful thing she'd ever do.

Aisha choked back a strangled sound. Why had she let herself think that? Why had she let herself admit something so true? It hurt. Fuck, it hurt. She rubbed at her chest, as if she could rub away the years of pain she suppressed. And Aiko's absence hurt. And the silence of her life burned her ears. And the emptiness of their apartment stung. There was too much discomfort. Too much longing. Too much pain, for her to ignore. To bear.

She stripped down to nothing and turned on the shower. It wasn't entirely unusual for her to misplace her memories. She'd read short-term memory loss was an unfortunate side effect of depression and even undiagnosed, she knew whatever happened to her heart after Aiko went missing mimicked all the clinical signs. Hell, she’d been like this even before then but Aiko helped hold her together. Mauve that was the problem. People weren’t supposed to depend on others so heavily. But her whole world was her friend’s light. Without it, Aisha felt like she was standing in the dark.

Some nights she'd sink so low, she really couldn't tell the difference between the days. Sometimes she wasn't sure whether it was day or night. It was almost a miracle she was able to keep up in her capstone course. Thank the gods she could go into autopilot.

So, when she thought about it, she wasn't necessarily alarmed enough to be scared. But this was certainly unusual, even for depression because she had physical signs. Something serious had happened and she had no memory. That was vastly different than losing a couple of catatonic hours on the couch. Aisha checked the water temperature and entered the hot little enclosure. She kept up with her normal routine, shaving then exfoliating. She noticed the bluish purpling at her shin. It was also tender. She washed and scrubbed her hair, still trying to remember anything.

Clean and yet no closer to understanding all the strange pieces, Aisha headed back to her closet, naked as the day she was born. There was no one around to cover up for.

"Well, that's certainly a nice thank you," a buttery voice melted across the room. She knew that voice and the second she recognized it, the memories hit her like a truck. The library. Aisha froze, snapping her eyes up to the relaxed intruder sprawled out on her couch in front of the television. She grabbed her healing gash. She reached for her shin. None of this made sense.

Imset ignored her from twenty feet away. Technically, he was in the living area but in a studio apartment, it was all really one big space. There was nothing separating her naked form from his eyes. She moved her hands to cover her body, squealing as she scrambled into the closet. He smirked, turning his attention back to the television.

Holy shit. Holy fucking crazy unbelievable wild shit. There was a death god on her couch. Aisha snatched on a tank top and some sweatpants before returning to the room. She couldn't figure out what to think or what to say. She really did it... summoned a god. For a million different reasons, she couldn't stop staring. First, that had to be the most striking face in the whole of the world. Hell, in the whole of history. And he was looking at her like she was gum on his sandals. Second, she had absolutely no idea what would happen if she looked away. Would he disappear? Would he kill her? The whole thing felt like one part romance novel and two parts horror movie. And third, she literally just couldn't move her face.

The god was bare-chested, covered in only a black apron that wrapped around his waist.-- his incredibly strong, toned waist-- Her face flushed. She must have hit her head pretty hard to be stupid enough to ogle a man who could kill her with one finger. Which finger? Gods he probably didn’t even need the finger. Ugh! Aisha yelled at herself, get a godsdamned grip!

Aisha traced her eyes from the light brown dreads he had tied up in a ponytail to his intense eyes. Those eyes hadn't stopped assessing her either. Oh gods, was he watching her check him out? Was he trying to figure out if she was an idiot or not? Was she drooling? Aisha forced herself to take a shaky step forward. Neither of them had spoken for an awkward amount of time and it was beginning to get to her.

Perfect light brown skin, sharp, proportional nose, full lips surrounded by a trimmed, regal goatee. She traced over his body several more times, all the way down to his black sandals. He was... she hadn't expected... She couldn’t even put him into words.

"Thank you," she whispered, not really knowing what to say. Not knowing what to say to a god who had saved her from being raped and murdered. If she had liquor, she'd make him a drink. And if she had sense, she’d bow at his feet. But she had neither liquor nor sense, obviously, so she just sort of stood there awkwardly.

"I liked your first thank you better," he shrugged, turning his gaze back to the television, "Though the hard nipples are a nice touch too." It was impassively said, so much so, that Aisha almost didn't find it sexual. Almost. She wrapped her arms over her chest as she drew closer to him.

"Which one are you?" She asked without thinking, walking around the couch from behind, circling him.

"Guess right and I won't kill you...today," he smiled darkly, never breaking eye contact with the television. That smile was a thing of violence and so incredibly… nope. She wasn’t going to go there. She blinked her attention back.

"Am I entitled to any hints?"

"No."

"So I must guess your name correctly without any help or you'll kill me?" she doubtfully shook her head, finally realizing the kind of position she was being put in. A thrill went through her.

"A bit slow hmm? You keep asking what I have already explained perfectly."

An idea struck her. On one hand, he was clearly arrogant and enjoyed playing games at another's expense. But on the other hand, she had no doubt that he would kill her without a second thought. Maybe if she goaded him in just the right way, enough to get a reaction but not enough to get her head lopped off, she could get the answer out of him. She wondered why staring her own death in the face made her feel alive.

"But I'm already dead..." she trailed off, fighting the smirk that wanted to rise. This was a terrible idea and yet she couldn’t stop herself.

Imset angled himself back toward her, gazing as if she were stupid, "Then I've wasted my time in coming. I don't make deals with the dead."

"But...if I'm not dead...I mean the only way this makes any sense is if I'm dead...or is this a dream? I mean...you can't really be real," she muttered, laying it on thick. His eye twitched and she knew it was working. She was definitely twisted.

Imset sighed deeply, a frustrated growl coming out toward the end. Why was she not on her knees begging? Why was she not screaming and crying, the way he'd expected her to react? Humans often called him but they rarely handled it well when he actually arrived. She, however, was surprising him. He studied her soul and stilled. How old was she? A pulse of heat went through him. How long had it been since he’d seen a woman of her age untouched?

As if he couldn’t comprehend anything, Imset began talking without thinking, "You're not dead. You're not dreaming. You're standing in the very real presence of Imset, the wrathful son of Horus the divine. God of the south and violent death."

Aisha tried and failed to stifle a fresh smirk as he studied her face. "Yes, lord Imset," she whispered, lowering her head in deference. He'd made it too easy to learn his name. Entirely too easy. When she raised her gaze she watched shock wash over him before he jumped from the couch and wrapped a hand around her throat. His movements were so fluid she could hardly keep up before he was on her. His hands were unnaturally warm, radiating a heat she could feel in her chest. Aisha fought to hold herself together. The pressure was exhilarating, the moment itself so surreal she couldn’t keep a smile off her face. She’d actually summoned a fucking god and he was real, real enough to crush her windpipe. She should have been scared but all she felt was excitement.

"That was sneaky, little girl. And I don't like sneaky...though, aren't you lucky I don't have to like you to make a deal with you?" Imset snapped her head against the wall one good time. Her vision spun slowly before it caught back up. Little girl? When was the last time anyone said that to her? She thought most days she looked her age. No, twenty-two wasn’t old but it surely wasn’t little girl material. She actually found herself feeling damn offended.

Then again, she thought, he was an ancient deity. To him, she was likely far too young to know anything. Far too young to even be a blip on his radar. And yet he’d studied her openly a few minutes before. He must have seen something he liked. Or at least something that gave him pause… did she want that? To be liked?

Imset flashed his perfect teeth, fanning honeyed breath across her face. Her heart hammered, skipped, and stopped altogether. He could feel it against his fingers.

Imset leaned in, noting the knock of her pulse against his palm. Her pupils dilated. Gods, she really hadn’t been touched before, had she? Why did his mouth suddenly go dry? No. He could be forced into taking her bond by his father but no one could force him to go further. And he wouldn’t. No more fucking mistakes. To hell with her virginity and her warm skin. He tightened his hold. It would be so fucking simple to just...

"Are we n-negotiating?" Aisha managed to say through the increase in pressure against her throat.

"No, stupid girl. I'm telling you the terms of our contract. The minute you offered yourself in prayer, I accepted. The contract is already binding. I will slay your enemies but in return, you will serve me.” If the word serve was a snake, it would have bitten her. That’s how much it caught her off guard. She just hadn’t expected for it to sound so suggestive. And it was obviously not his intention because he was openly glaring.

Imset stroked a thumb over her bruise, lingering. Why her? Why had his father chosen her? He was never this informal with a human but in her presence, he felt his pretense slipping. That wouldn’t do. He rammed his walls back up.

“If you can survive to serve for the rest of your miserable mortal life. But based on your little games, I’ll probably be forced to kill you," he barked at her as his thumb heated to heal.

The throbbing of her head dissipated, leaving behind a relaxed sensation that settled in her shoulders. Aisha leaned closer and he let her, loosening his hold on her throat. His father had done this for a reason.

“I already regret this,” he grumbled, releasing Aisha's throat so fast she dropped to her knees hard. He didn’t allow her a chance to move, shoving his warm hand up her sweatpants to hold her shin. She gasped then the warmth relaxed her again. He withdrew his hand slowly, clenching and unclenching his fist as she slouched into the wall. Gods that felt...

“I’ve never had a servant before,” he said, “I hardly know what to ask of you.”

Admittedly, Aisha had no idea what he would request as payment for his help though she couldn't lie and say she hadn't hoped he would do it for free. That was wishful thinking, it seemed. Even seeing her nearly raped and bleeding on the ground, he felt no desire to avenge her on his own. He would have been just as fine with leaving her there. He'd already said as much. Compared to a gruesome death, servitude was an exceptional offer. In exchange for wiping those assholes off the face of the earth, her life seemed a fair trade. And in all honesty, without Aiko, her loneliness would probably kill her off anyway. Why not serve a god? Why not be worth something? She stuffed that sting down deep. She wouldn’t think about her worth.

Imset made an expectant face as he waited for some acknowledgment that she'd heard him, "Aren't you going to scream? Or run? Your kind usually runs... or begs. I’m saying you’ll serve me until you die either naturally or by my hand..."

"I accept the terms as long as I decide who, where, when, and how," she backed up, shoving her hand forward for a handshake, "I'm honored to be chosen."

Imset rolled his eyes menacingly, snapping his jaw closed for good measure and strode back to the couch. He'd never had a mortal react like that. She was happy she was chosen?! Servitude, especially under a god, was no small task and yet she'd basically thanked him. It would not be easy and most days she would probably wish she'd chosen death... and still, an honor?

"You weren't chosen stupid girl, at least not by me. And trust me I've already let my father know exactly how unhappy I am with your presence. Rest assured I won't make this easy on you. You'll be lucky to survive it. Regardless, I'll allow you control over those small aspects. So the deal is struck. From now on, you're stuck with me. And I’ll ensure you regret every minute."

Why was her reaction irritating him? Surely, she was simply pretending to be strong. Surely, underneath her calm face, she was petrified. He was a death god! A fear-inducing death god, dammit! And she just sat there negotiating and saying she was honored. Foolish. A damn fool of a human. He angrily changed the channel on the television, fishing into his now cold bowl of popcorn. His father had chosen poorly.

"What are we watching?" she asked, plopping down on the other end of the loveseat. She curled her legs to the side, nearly touching his own leg with her toes. Her eyes drooped sleepily. Perhaps he had used too much healing magic on her.

"WE aren't watching anything. I'm watching something. Go lay down or take another shower. Do anything that involves you not being here."

"I don't need to. And that's boring. Why would I do anything else when I have a literal god sitting in my apartment? I’m sure you have a million other places to be. But, I have so many questions..." Her brown eyes seemed to spark fire in the light of the tv and he hated it.

"Don't make me kill you… I-I don’t even know what name to call you, human. What is it?”

“Aisha, lord Imset. It’s a pleasure to serve you.” He pretended not to hear a double meaning.

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