Dear Diary,

When Saffron knocked on my door, she found me huddled up next to the door, my back to the wall next to the doorframe, my knees pulled up to my chest, my forehead resting on my knees. I unwrapped one arm from around my shins to tap the door handle, which is all it took for her to open the door.

"Holy shit. Again?"

I just nodded, at least as much as I could without my head leaving contact with my knees. She pushed the door open, stepped in, turned the light on, and pushed the door almost closed, leaving about a finger-width open. I flopped my hand over and nudged it closed.

"Diaz! People will talk!"

"Fuck 'em."

She stood there, hands going to her hips, and looked at me with a mixture of exasperation and something else I couldn't place, but something that put a small smile on her face. "That's more or less what they'll be talking about."

I flopped my arm back over my legs and buried my face further into the tiny safe space created by my body and knees.

"You realize if you fall asleep again I'll be stuck in here until you wake up?"

I couldn't help it, my head shook of it's own accord, and I shoved myself upright, pushing myself against the wall as I muttered something like, "Nope, no, no, can't sleep. Too dark. Can't sleep. Mustn't sleep. Can't sleep. Slept too long."

I had no idea where that last bit came from, but Saffron pounced on it. "Slept too long? I know you're kinda prone to sleeping until I wake you up, but you've never been the sort to go to bed early, and from what Raven tells me you actually make it to breakfast sometimes on Devotional days. Which... you spend with Loki? Really?"

I couldn't make with the words. Too much effort. I just shrugged, made something approaching a nod.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"If it was anyone else I'd take that as metaphoric. Like, you spent the day stealing shit, messing with people, maybe murdering somebody if you thought you could get away with it."

I have no idea why, but her assumptions irked me. "He's not a sociopath. He doesn't kill people to get his kicks. Hell, Other than Baldur I'm not sure he's killed anybody."

She shook her head, "The Aesir are war gods. Loki's killed plenty of people." She paused a moment in thought, "although I suppose killing on the battlefield isn't murder, really."

I just shrugged. She stepped up to me, reached up and used both hands to rake my hair behind my head. "Better. You know your Patron ought to be able to help with that."

I shook my head, and she let out an exasperated sigh. "Because you asked and he won't, or because you haven't asked him."

"Won't. Can't."

"You won't and can't ask, or he won't and can't do anything?"

I remembered his comment about self-image and shapeshifting, and realized how much of my own fitting in relied on me not thinking things. "I won't. I can't. Secrets."

"You keep secrets."

I nodded.

"From your Patron."

"Uh huh," I muttered.

"The God of Lies, Mischief, Trickery, and Secrets?"

I just shrugged.

She stood there for a bit, just staring at me like she could force me to change just by being stubborn at me. My gaze dropped bit by bit until I stared at the floor by my feet. Eventually she sighed and asked, "If I help you get ready, can you make it through class today?"

It took me way too long to answer. "Yeah."

"Okay. Let's do this."

Once more she dressed me, cleaning me up a bit as she did so, then walked me first to breakfast, where I ate whatever the Maids put in front of me without thought, without enjoyment, without really acknowledging anything but the need to bite, chew, and swallow. After that she guided me to class, fending off questions from Angel and Bill with quiet assertions I'd been ill, and that we'd go to the Infirmary tomorrow. I didn't want to, but couldn't muster the energy to argue with her.

Eventually, after dinner, she towed me back to my room and stripped me down. I found a pair of underwear, my nice old ones from Eastside, and dragged those and one of the linen chemises on more or less in the hopes that if I didn't sleep naked, she might stay longer. I almost couldn't sleep with the sandpaper scraping my tits with every breath, but two nights without sleep eventually emerged victorious and I passed out with her sitting next to me petting my hair.

She was there to hold me and gently comfort me and settle me back down when I bolted up out of bed screaming.

Both times.