Exodus 23:20

"Holy fucking sh— er, sorry."

He was downstairs, in the room Helen had turned into a mini art studio — oil paints, canvases, charcoal, that sort of thing. Photos covered the walls too, all of the girls in various poses and states of undress. He wasn't in a single one — mildly offensive, honestly, he was a good-looking guy, some effort could've gone his way — but no, she had exactly the same obsession with the female form that he did.

He was looking at a charcoal sketch — Eve stepping out of the pool, no top, wearing one of the house's signature micro-thongs, hyperrealistic.

"This one's even better," Helen said, nodding at the canvas on the easel, back turned to him.

He walked over, looking at her as he approached. She'd adapted to the house dress code at record speed — practically naked all day, same as everyone else. When she was alone with Nick, she'd put on a robe or a t-shirt — not that it bothered him being seen, she never minded — he'd been the one to ask, since it's hard, being a carnivore, to have a steak paraded in front of your face and be told you have to go vegan. She understood, though she only covered up around him — sometimes she even forgot, and Nick suffered in silence. The real Helen, it turned out, was a free spirit, easygoing to the bone — the irony wasn't lost on anyone. Maybe she was overcompensating, but hey, everyone loved her this way, so good for her.

He caught sight of the canvas from the front — a portrait of his wife. He stood there, transfixed. It was stunning — that ruby-red smile, included — practically leapt off the canvas, made you want to kiss it.

"You've always painted this well?"

"Yeah — well, no, I don't know. Hadn't tried in years and years. Thought I'd lost it, and still — I don't remember being this good."

"Well, you've got some fucking awesome muses, er — sorry — shit, why do I keep swearing so much lately."

"You're probably stressed."

"Yeah, I can't keep up with this endless orgy of a life, it's killing me."

"Poor thing."

"Speaking of that — how's it going?"

"The endless orgy? Good — great, actually, from day one. Thought I'd need time to adjust, but I guess you get used to the good stuff pretty fast. I sleep with Eve most nights, more or less — started that partly to make up for lost time, I guess — and I've tried pretty much everything with everyone, especially Alex, she's like a GPS for pleasure."

"Straight up"

"Jen's incredible, she's... powerful. Feel a little bad stealing her so often — then I look over at the corner and see you going at it with Eve, and I get over it fast."

Nick laughed.

"I can give you two privacy if you want, you know that — and she's not mine to be 'stolen' from anyway, she's a gift to humanity from a higher power."

"It's nice having an audience, not that I'd ever appear in Alex's feed — but it's fun behind closed doors. Besides, the gift to humanity does the exact same thing with you and Eve."

"Never fully understood that until she sat me in the chair and did you in front of me — now I know I could watch you two for hours... in the name of fairness, of course."

"Exactly. No sister left unfucked, no pervert left without a show."

"Well said."

She'd become his best friend, practically. Everyone had been stunned by the total one-eighty she'd pulled from day one — the weight of the world had lifted off her shoulders, and now she moved through that house fast as a gazelle. She'd never felt afraid in it again, not even a trace, not since that first day. She was also living proof his wife had been right — as usual — none of this had affected her in the slightest, beyond helping her shed her earthly hang-ups.

"With Rose, honestly, not much — whatever she likes just isn't my thing, feel bad for her, hope she doesn't take it personally or think I don't like her, though it's useful having her around when I'm mid-chaos with someone else, and that tongue of hers, unbelievable — Alex uses her daily, sometimes multiple times, sometimes many, many times — I've even seen them... do it normal, which is weird, I think."

He loved this girl. The ease with which they talked, how effortlessly he connected with her — hadn't realized how much he'd missed having a regular, ordinary friend, if he'd ever really had one at all. She was sharp too — used to be only his wife could keep up with his jokes when they talked, though that was to make each other laugh; Helen did it too, but naturally, no purpose behind it. Not that things with his wife were wrong — he felt loved when she made him laugh, and vice versa — but with Helen it was different, no agenda at all, just talking to talk.

A long silence.

"I think Eve's going to leave Dan."

"She should."

"You think?"

"Been thinking it since day one — liking having a guy around who's into you humiliating him doesn't mean you have to call him a boyfriend, that title should be reserved for someone special. Jen says there are lots of ways to love, and that's true, but that particular way, in my opinion, doesn't leave room for a relationship like that. Could be wrong, though — I'm wrong plenty. Jen isn't, so who knows."

"He doesn't talk about me, not as a sister, not as a lover, nothing."

"Eh, glad, since you asked — I never saw those two making sense."

"There's one thing that bugs me — I know you all had wild orgies before, but not now, not with me — is it because I'm gay, is that it? Because I don't care. We line them all up, you go in from one end, I go in from the other, we meet in the middle, high five right over your wife, keep going to the other side."

She started cracking up — a joke, but not entirely, she'd genuinely be into it. She glanced at Nick and found him deadly serious; she dropped her gaze the moment their eyes met.

"Or, you know, just hide in the closet and watch, whatever works for you." She wasn't laughing anymore. Something was up.

"It's not... about you — well, it is and it isn't. It's complicated."

"Doesn't matter, if it was a joke, you don't have to explain, it's not that big a deal, it's stupid."

He loved how hard she tried to save him at any cost the moment she saw him sad — reminded him of his wife. She was a good friend, which was exactly why he had to tell her the truth — but he knew she carried her own demons and didn't want to dump his on top. She'd already sensed something, asked once how he always seemed to show up exactly when he was needed most; he hadn't wanted to lie, told her to ask him again some other day.

Today was that day.

Nick sat down on the stool he used in front of the canvas, looked at his wife on the linen — something in her painted gaze told him to trust her.

"I'm going to start from the beginning."

"Okay."

"I used to be a different person."

"So was I. And now I'm someone else. You could tell me you murdered someone and I'd still be sitting here."

"But you wouldn't look at me the same way after."

"Did you kill someone?"

"No."

"Jesus, you scared me. Go on, don't hold back."

He sighed.

"Some of this is going to sound insane. I swear on everything I love in this world—" he glanced at the canvas, "—that it's real."

Helen said nothing, climbed up onto the table, and sat.

"When i was dating Monica, my mother died, breast cancer, and — " and then he laid out his whole life story, every detail: what kind of person he used to be, Rasputin, the powers, how the first thing he did was abuse the first acquaintance he ran into, and her friend, and another friend, how instead of the punishment he deserved, the women he'd hurt gave him love back — especially the first one — how she turned him into an actual man, taught him to love others and take care of them, to use his gifts to protect them, not just for pleasure (though that too), how he swore eternal loyalty to her in that kitchen, made her his wife, and now followed her on a crusade to free the world of unhappiness. He told her his fears, his doubts, his newly discovered abilities, and why orgies weren't always a great idea — especially not with someone next to you who neither wanted, nor should, be possessed that way.

He felt light as a feather afterward — like he'd shed real weight, especially watching the girl, lost in thought. She wasn't looking at him with hatred, though. That was something. That was actually a lot.

Helen broke the silence.

"'I am sending an angel ahead of you to guard you along the way and to bring you to the place I have prepared.' Exodus 23:20."

"Don't fucking start you too..."

"Catholic school."

"Thought you'd detoxed from all that crap."

"Never got intoxicated in the first place. I was just faking it." Those words stung her; he could see it. Could smell it.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine... what do you want, Nick?"

"To go back in time and not say that like a fucking douchebag."

"Its fine, not that. In general."

"That's a pretty broad question."

"Not really. It's pretty simple."

He thought about it seriously.

"I want to be the person she sees. The one she needs to make her dream come true." He looked back at the canvas.

"She sees an angel."

"It's stupid."

"So be stupid."

"...How?"

"I don't know. This is way over my head, Nick, I just want to dra— heh."

"What?"

"I can't make you fly. But I can give you wings."

"What?"

"How fast do you heal?"

"What did you just take?"

"If you get burned — how fast do you heal?"

"Haven't tested that specifically, but probably fast as hell, considering that bastard took three bullets and kept walking..."

She jumped up. "I want you to give her the bang of her life tonight, right up to the edge of an aneurysm, and once she's out cold — come find me."

"I don't know how to do it any other way."

"Yes you do, asshole. You think I don't know you two get overwhelmed with love more than animal fury? Way more. But not tonight — tonight, give it to her like a broken drawer that won't shut."

"Nothing gets past you."

She rolled out a sheet of paper across the table, about a meter long, grabbed a stick of charcoal, and started sketching big, kneeing on top of the table.

Nick recognized what she was drawing almost immediately.

"I'm not following."

Helen pointed at a box on the wall shelf without looking up, still sketching furiously.

Curiosity killing him, Nick went and grabbed it, opened it, and looked inside.

"No. No-no-no-no. Bad idea. Terrible idea. Absolutely not."

"The things people do for love," she said, completely ignoring him, still sketching.

"No, seriously, you're out of your mind."

Nick was about to bolt out of the room in a panic, but the canvas kept watching him.

"Fuck. FUCK." He said it with fury... and resignation.

Finally, Helen stood up, admiring her work.

"Ugh, Jen's going to lose her shit. There's a real chance she don't survive this."