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We are alone in the rose gardens of Elysian, his fingers playing through my hair as I gaze at the stars. I am about to drift off in content slumber when he whispers in my ear.
“Goddess.”
I immediately burst out laughing. He tilts his head, confused. “Why is that funny?”
“Because, you know…” I trail off, blushing furiously. I don’t want to bring his attention to the widely known fact that the heir to Jupiter’s throne is simply long gangly legs, messy brown hair, and a strong right hook. What a shame, my people gossip, that Princess Jupiter is no comparison to that Venusian love deity, nor the exotic priestess-princess of Mars. Self-conscious and uncomfortable, I shift to lie on my side. My body is suddenly too big for me, and I don’t know what to do with my unnecessary height and too-long limbs. I try to avoid his penetrating, curious gaze.
But my General is nothing if not perceptive. With one swift movement, I find myself pinned against the ground, his powerful physique looming over me. He leans in confidently, and his long locks brush my cheeks.
“Goddess, I love this little bit of skin next to your ear.” He nibbles lightly on my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine. “It’s soft and pure. Just like you.”
His lips graze their way down my jawline, and he plants small kisses along the way. “Your features captivate me entirely. Your eyes sparkle with lightning, and only a fool would deny that strength and grace of the Gods shines through every lovely detail of your face,” - he kisses my nose and two eyes - “You are all I see in the night sky. Someone has drawn your portrait in the stars, Goddess,” he breathes.
He kisses his way down my neck and without hesitation begins to make his way further down my torso… The sensations are overwhelming, and I struggle to resurrect the go-to defenses of propriety and courtship.
“And these.” He cups my breasts, his blue eyes heated and smoldering. “Goddess.”
That night, I make love to the man who calls me Goddess. It is painful, scary, and probably clumsy. The air is charged with the electricity of our bodies, and Nephrite holds me in his warm, strong arms through it all. For the first time in my life, I find the courage to wield my true strength and power in front of a man. I wield it with tentative, blossoming pride.
My tall, dark stargazer swings his sword like a God, taking down every man in his path. Two thoughts crowd out the now negligible battle strategies playing in my warrior’s mind:
He’s here.
He’s still alive.
I release my head towards the heavens, inviting the Gods to come and play. Electricity and fire surge in my soul as a massive bolt of blinding lightning splits in crackles across the blood stained, muddy field. I barely notice the hundreds of men that fall. The path between us is clear.
We lock eyes and he strides purposefully across the battlefield. I start sprinting, no longer caring about the innocent blood being shed around us. I need to protect him. I need to close any and all distance between us. I need to feel the clash of our souls and bodies against each other. I can’t help the leaping of my heart as I wrap my arms around his strong torso. He cups my cheek and crushes his mouth to mine in a passionate kiss.
I don’t even notice the piercing of the blade until it has ripped all the way through the back of my uniform, exposing bone and raw meat to a rush of musty, thick air.
I break from the kiss and look strangely at the heavy sword skewered through my gut. My eyes trace the blade to the pommel to the battle-calloused right hand of the General still holding me in his embrace. He opens his eyes.
My vision blurs as I attempt to find the familiar sparkle of laughter in his dark blue orbs, orbs that read the fates of nations with a glance to the night sky. I discover simple, flat hatred.
My soul screams, and I grasp his blade with my two hands. I send deadly electricity through the metal and into his cold unfeeling heart. He shrieks, releasing his grip on his sword. He stumbles backwards and falls to the ground. I collapse to straddle him, and he scrambles furiously in my grasp as I pin his arms over his head. I bring our mouths together for one last kiss.
Our lips meet. Lightning crackles all around us. The smell of burning flesh fills the air, and I laugh as we sink into the darkness together.
My eyes snap open. My heart pounds and my mind races as I realize, The memories are back. I force myself to take deep, measured breaths. Out of habit, I run through basic details of my life to remind myself who and where I am. Name: Makoto Kino. Age: 18. Location: alone in my shitty ass apartment...again.
A tall shadow moves in my periphery and I whirl around to face it. I hold my breath as my eyes try to focus in the darkness on the imposing shape. I slowly reach out my hand, and flip the switch on my bedside lamp.
I breathe a sigh of relief: it’s just a coat hanger. I brush my bangs from my eyes and shudder, grateful that I don’t have to face my past-life’s lover. Soul mates? Yeah, right… I scoff sorely.
I stand and stretch because I know from experience how pointless it is to try to sleep on “Nightmare Nights,” as Minako bitterly calls them. I take in the clutter strewn all over my apartment. Pizza boxes lie next to takeout boxes lie next to crumbs on the floor I never bothered to clean up… Ugh. I’m inwardly disgusted with myself. My dirty laundry lies in small piles around my bedroom. I pride myself on keeping an inviting, cozy home...or at least I did, until recently.
I’m dragging my feet to the broom closet when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in floor length mirror. The emerald eyes staring back at me seem strange, unfamiliar. I step closer, evaluating my counterpart.
My right hand travels involuntarily to my face, and I delicately trace the line of my jaw and down between my breasts. I can’t help but smile as I remember the first time he kissed his way along that very same path.
A distant yet familiar vibration buzzes in my abdomen at the memory of our passionate night in the rose garden. It’s bizarre, regaining memories from another life. Not just the history of what happened, but the sensations, the feelings. I haven’t loved (at least not like that), but Jupiter did, and I can feel her life in my bones. I wonder where Jupiter ends and Makoto begins?
I find myself wishing desperately for the girls.
I slap myself. I need to get a grip. I can’t spend another sleepless night, jumping at every sound, afraid of shadows. I’m alive, and that bastard is dead. Deserves to be, too. Asshole. A sudden spark of anger crackles through my soul, and I give a grim smile. Because better than anyone I know, I can deal with anger.
I’m very, very good when it comes to dealing with anger.
Two minutes later, I pummel away at the heavy leather punching bag. Lately, this has become my favorite pas de deux to dance. I imagine the sound of the chain squeaking back and forth from my ceiling is the sweeping orchestral accompaniment, and the barely relenting leather is a faithful partner. It doesn’t squirm or shy away. It doesn’t try to escape. It meets me blow for blow. It takes its punishment, and keeps coming back for more.
And then I am Jupiter. I clutch onto the bag for support as incoherent sobs wrack my body. I fight to keep myself standing upright, but gravity coaxes me towards the ground, aided by sweat and tears that have made my grip slick.
He made me weak.
My love for him made me weak.
I allowed him to make me weak.
I scream his name to the Gods, my voice more animal than human at this point. I’m as weak in this life as I was in my past one, I think bitterly. The remaining strings of my self-control snap, and my broken heart manifests a broken body. I collapse to the ground.
My breath hitches in my throat as sinewy, tawny arms wrap around me.
“Goddess…” he whispers.