A Queen Among Gods (Book 6 in the Gods' Saga)

I don’t always get migraines, but when I do, I’m tempted to stab myself in the temple with a spoon and scoop out part of my brain in hopes that the torture will finally cease.

For as long as I can remember I’ve suffered from debilitating migraines. The funny thing is, is that, unlike most people, being exposed to light has never aggravated them, in fact, light seems to settle them down. I’ve been to every doctor and every specialist, had every test known to man and all I get is professionals with collectively hundreds of years of experience under their belt telling me that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with me. Sometimes I want to sink my fingers into their skulls and then shake their brains like a snow globe, and when they look up at me to tell me they are in pain, I can look down at them and tell them there is absolutely nothing wrong with them. Sadistic, I know, but hey, pain makes people crazy.

Here’s more information about me you didn’t ask for but are going to get anyway. My migraines always occur the day after I have one of my vivid dreams. This is going to sound crazy, but my dreams always end up coming true. Sometimes it’s something small, like a dream of a woman dropping a coffee at my local Starbucks, but the worst one was when I dreamt of my parents dying in a car accident. The night I had that dream, I leapt out of my bed, ran to their room, and begged them not to drive their car any time soon. They said it was just a bad dream and to go back to bed. But my dreams are never just dreams. The following day my parents were T-boned by a drunk driver and killed on impact. I was sixteen. I’m twenty-six now, but I remember that day like it was yesterday, and since then I don’t ever question my dreams.

Today’s migraine was brought on by a dream last night involving my boyfriend of 2 years screwing my neighbour. I endured the migraine at work for as long as I could, but then used it as an excuse to head home. I don’t give a shit about the migraine, after twenty-six years of pain I’m fucking indestructible. No, I’m going home to catch the bastard in the act.

I stand in front of my door, bracing myself. I know what I’ll find, and yet part of me hopes it really was just a dream this time. Not because I’ll be devastated and heartbroken that the twat is cheating on me – nah, he can get his dick sawed in half with a rusty handsaw for all I care. I just for once don’t want to feel like my dreams are going to earn me a one-way trip to the funny farm.

I slide my key into the lock and let myself into my loft and as soon as I enter I can hear the laboured moans of a woman who is definitely not me and the pleasured grunts of my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, ride daddy’s cock just like that,” I hear my boyfriend moan making me want to gag. Since when does he have a daddy kink?

I quietly enter the loft and slowly close the door being sure not to make a noise. I step over to the small kitchen to the right of the door and place my keys and bag gently on the counter. I then proceed to tie my long blonde hair up into a ponytail as I quietly retrieve the bucket I keep under the kitchen sink. I place the bucket in the sink, slowly turn on the tap, and let the bucket fill with water. I was going to fill it with boiling water, but I don’t want to end up scolding anyone and getting a lawsuit for hospital bills in the mail, so cold water it is.

As the bucket is slowly filling with water and I’m forced to listen to my boyfriend screwing another woman in my bed, I suddenly remember that viral trend from like 12 years ago. The Ice Bucket Challenge. With a malicious smile on my face, I go to the freezer, pull out the ice cube trays and do my best to quietly empty all the ice into the bucket. Once the bucket is full I let the ice sit for a minute to really bring the water down to an appropriate freezing cold temperature.

After waiting impatiently, I carefully lift the bucket out of the sink, walk over to the stairs that reside over my entryway, and quietly carry the bucket up the stairs. I make my way to the upstairs landing which is actually my bedroom with an adjoining bathroom. I love my loft. It’s spacious with a huge floor-to-ceiling window and a vertical garden against the brick wall to the left of the window. Downstairs has laminated floors while upstairs has grey carpeting and a small window off to the far side. I apologise to my poor defenceless carpet for what I’m about to do, but it has to be done.

I step up into the bedroom getting a nauseating view of my fucking neighbour riding my boyfriend in my bed. She’s really going to town, and I’m surprised she hasn’t thrown her back out. Mitchell is just laying back with his arms under his head like he’s the king of the fucking world, and I very much want to punch him in his smug face, but I’ll settle for making his dick shrivel.

Without them noticing me, I walk over and pour the ice water over them, smiling in satisfaction as my neighbour screams, climbing off Mitchell with the agility of a gazelle while Mitchell crawls back against the headboard screaming from the shock. My neighbour – also known as Julie – is trying to cover herself with her arms while she stands beside the bed shivering from the cold, looking wide-eyed and confused. For good measure, I tip the rest of the water onto Mitchell’s crotch, and I have to say, I’ve never seen a dick get so soft so fast.

“Sorry, you guys looked like you needed to cool down,” I say chipperly.

“What the fuck?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Mitchell shrieks, grabbing a dry pillow and holding it to his wrinkled dick while Julie wrangles up her clothes off the floor.

“Me? Absolutely nothing. Well, maybe my health. Since you clearly don’t wrap your dick while you fuck other women I guess I now have to go and get tested to make sure your disease-ridden crotch stick hasn’t infected me,” I say mockingly while gesturing to his dick.

“Are you going to let her talk to you like that? Just throw the bitch out,” Julie snaps indignantly.

“I’m sorry is there a reason your lips are flapping? Shouldn’t opening one set of them have been enough for one day?” I say cuttingly.

Her brown eyes glare at me between strands of her soaking-wet red hair, but I don’t find the drowned rat look to be very intimidating. Comical, but not intimidating.

“Mitch has wanted you out for months, he just didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but since the cat is out of the bag I think it’s time you get the fuck out of his apartment and out of his life,” she says haughtily, while throwing on her clothes with great effort as the fabric keeps sticking to the water on her body.

I look between the two and see Mitchell looking like he just wants the bed to open up a portal to hell like in A Nightmare On Elm Street and swallow him whole. I look from her to him and back and then clutch the metal banister as I burst with laughter. This sad, dumb bitch.

“What the fuck is so funny?” She snaps.

“Babe, I got this, but I think you should go,” says Mitchell, crawling to the end of the bed while still trying to cover his manhood.

“Me?! She’s the one who should leave! You told me you were going to dump her and kick her out, so do it!” She screeches like a banshee.

Tears pool in my eyes as I fall to my knees with laughter, “Stop. I can’t,” I say between laughing fits. I finally manage to get back to my feet and wipe the tears from my eyes. “It’s so pathetic it’s funny. You actually think he owns this place?” I ask in astonishment, before looking at Mitchell who can’t seem to look at me. “So the only way to get women to screw you is to pretend you own property?” I snort, then look back at Julie, “I’ve owned this loft for five years and only known Mitchell for two. Do the math. He is not anywhere on the official paperwork; he doesn’t even pay rent because he has been unemployed for a year mooching off me. So honey, by all means, take him. You two can go and live together and get the fuck out of my apartment and it won’t be any skin off my nose,” I say happily.

Julie looks like someone just took a dump on her car and if I wasn’t such a classy woman, I might consider doing that, but honestly, she’s doing me a favour. She looks at Mitchell who can’t even make eye contact with her either.

“She’s full of shit right?” She asks.

“It’s complicated,” Mitchell says pathetically.

Julie lets out an obnoxious screech and starts slapping him, before storming down the stairs and out the door, slamming it behind her.

“Well, that was fun,” I say nonchalantly.

Mitchell gets off the bed, still clutching that pillow for dear life – I’ll need a new one now – as he walks over to me with pleading eyes. “Look, can we just talk about this? I had a weak moment, but she didn’t mean anything to me, I swear,” he says desperately.

“Do I have the word ‘stupid’ tattooed on my forehead?” I ask in a duh tone.

His expression suddenly changes to one of anger, and I’m intrigued to see where this is going. “Fine, so it wasn’t a one-time thing, but can you fucking blame me? You give me nothing, it’s like you just don’t fucking care about me anymore and the bedroom was getting boring, you don’t do anything fun. I needed a real woman who could satisfy my needs and treat me and respect me like a real man. You didn’t even give a shit!” He screams.

“You’re right, I don’t fucking care. I stopped fucking caring when you sat on your ass every day letting me go to work to support us both. You play your videos – which I bought you by the way – and screw my neighbour while I pay the bills, do the cooking and the cleaning. What the fuck are you contributing? And sex? I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve made me come in the two years we’ve been together, so why the fuck would I bother putting in a hundred per cent effort in the bedroom to someone who is giving me fucking nothing. You’re a lazy, waste of fucking space who wants to be treated like the big man when he is giving toddler energy. I don’t need to waste my time or money on a manchild who can’t even clean up after himself. I am so happy that I can finally be done with your broke ass,” I say ecstatically as I grab him by the ear grabbing his shirt and pants off the floor as I drag him downstairs.

“Ow! Let go of my fucking ear Gabbie!” He cries.

“And for the millionth time, don’t fucking call me Gabbie!” I shout as I open the door and shove him out, tossing his pants and shirt at him, “Take these. I don’t need the cops showing up because you got arrested for public indecency. As for your wallet and phone, I will leave it in a box by the door for you to collect,” I say smugly.

“What about the rest of my fucking stuff?!” He screams.

“Well, as I see it, I bought everything you own, so technically that makes it my stuff, so… cya!” I cheer as I slam the door and lock it.

Mitchell proceeds to pound against the door and screaming obscenities at me, but I just don’t fucking care. I slump against the door and catch my breath as the adrenaline rushes through my system, and finally, when the realisation that I’ve finally gotten this freeloader out of my life and out of my loft, I break out in dance. I dance and jump around squealing with joy as 2 years of stress rolls off me. Ding dong the bitch is fucking dead!