I bit my lip innocently, “A love bite?”

“No,” he said.

I fought the urge to cry. Damn. This kid seriously brought out the worst of me.. he brought out the real Helena. And I wasn’t sure I liked it. No one liked her, so I put her away called it a funeral and became funny and sexy and the life of the party.

I grabbed my purse and the last sleeve of Chips Ahoy! and dashed out of their apartment, barefoot and mascara running.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I whispered, fumbling with my sunglasses stumbling onto the underground subway.

The man next to me smelled of incense and turpentine. He had an artists eye and was definitely not a mortal.

“I hate to break it to yah, love,” he mumbled in my ear, “but you are not pretty when you cry.”

“Not now Marl,” I whimpered.

“When? We havn’t seen you around for moons. You always drew in the tasty folk,” he complained.

I shook my head and begged the tears to stay put.

“Helena?” he asked, “Why the fuck are you sober?”

I choked and laughed ironically.