CHAPTER TWELVE - APOLLO

Fraying Control

“So … where the heck am I going to sleep tonight?”

Apollo stood in front of The Red Diamond Hotel, contemplating his next move. Both of his eardrums nearly ruptured after the concierge explained to him it would cost six hundred dollars per night for a one-bed guestroom. That was basically all the money he had left after purchasing those new headphones. I guess that’s the price you pay for being in the heart of the city. Apollo looked at his watch: 10:51 p.m.

So far, the highlight of this night-time excursion was seeing The Toronno Sky Tower. Standing next to it made Apollo understand how insignificant he was by how far back he had to tilt his head to see the very top of it. A few people were taking selfies in front of the tower as it highlighted itself in various colors: red, blue, green, purple, and yellow. The CosmoDome next to the tower was pretty cool also. The baseball stadium didn’t look all that big on television, but seeing it in person, it was a lot grander than he’d anticipated.

Apollo made a left turn a few blocks down onto a street lined up with a variety of different pubs and restaurants. The patios of each venue had been packed with people laughing, smoking, and drinking. Hopefully, one of these pubs or restaurants would’ve allowed him to use their restroom as he was dying to piss.

Apollo reluctantly stumbled into a venue called The Token Fiddle, and the smell of fried chicken grease and alcohol lingered in the air. The clicking of billiard balls and old country folk music played in the background as he rested his headphones against the back of his neck. He’d yet to try out the new ones he purchased from Jeff earlier on.

Apollo looked up at one of the signs hanging from the ceiling, notifying customers it was their two-dollar chicken wings and beer special. So that’s why this place is so crowded tonight. Apollo walked tentatively between the tables, darting his eyes from side to side, making his way toward the mahogany bar where two barmaids served various mixtures of alcohol.

“Excuse me,” Apollo called, barely able to hear himself over the music in the background. “Excuse me,” Apollo repeated, waving his hand to capture the attention of one of the barmaids.

“How ya doin suga?” she smiled, showing a sparkling gold front tooth. “You look mighty young to be in hurr. What can I do fur ya?” she asked in a thick accent. She had to have been from the States or something.

“Can I use your restroom?” Apollo asked, cupping a hand around his mouth.

“Unfortunately, you hafta be a customer hurr to do that.” She nodded. “You musta missed the sign by thee entrance.” She pronounced it eentrince.

Apollo nodded his head.

“Yeah, thurr shudda been a sign down thurr that notifies all guests about our restroom policy. Sorry ’bout that honey,” she replied, tending back to her duties. Oh, give me a break; I just need to pee. Apollo solemnly left the pub.

At the end of the street stood a pastry restaurant with bright red fluorescent lights in the form of a cake shining in the window. From the number of people enjoying their desserts inside, this place also looked like you had to purchase something to use their restroom.

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“I suppose it doesn’t hurt to try,” Apollo said.

The sweet scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and caramel tickled his nose upon going inside. All sorts of decorated cakes, pies, and strudels taunted Apollo through the glass refrigerators they were stored in. Saliva developed in his mouth when he came across a tantalizing strawberry-swirled cheesecake slice, the edges gushing in strawberry sauce.

“Can I help you?” A raspy voice came from somewhere nearby, breaking his attention.

Apollo looked up at the individual who came from a room behind the counter. “Oh, can I use your restroom?” he asked, assuming he was the baker judging from his apron.

“Were you buying anything?” The baker’s stoic demeanor gave Apollo the impression he was annoyed with his presence. The shirt he wore had barely been able to cover his stomach.

Oh great, here we go again. “No, I just wan—”

“No,” the baker cut him off. “Now, get out of my restaurant before I have you arrested.”

Apollo shot him a bemused look. “Come again?”

“Get out of my restaurant before the police come and arrest you.” His voice was sterner the second time. “I don’t trust your kind.” Disgust turned his lips. “People like you have come into my restaurant and have taken hundreds of dollars’ worth of baked goods, which is why I had to spend my hard-earned money barring the windows and doors. I’m not going to tell you again. Get out.”

Apollo looked at him for a moment, squeezing his brows together. What exactly did he mean by your kind and people like you? Was he suggesting that he was more susceptible to stealing some of his baked goods based on his skin color? Because anyone whose skin was too dark or even had a touch of black or brown in them were criminals. Was that it?

“This is your last warning!” The baker reached for the phone hanging on the wall.

Apollo balled his hands, a surge of power building inside of him. To use race as an excuse for his business losing money was unacceptable. Judging an individual’s character based on the amount of melanin in their skin was illogical and usually led to evil. This man needed to die.

“That’s it I’m calling the poli—”

Apollo channeled the energy pulsing from the crown of his head and lashed out with his mind. He could feel the baker attempting to twist and push forward, his face straining with effort as he tried desperately to break Apollo’s mental grip. His efforts were futile. Conversations around the restaurant dropped to a whisper as Apollo sensed everyone’s eyes focused on him.

I know you are not a monster, or a demon, or whatever other pejorative people like to use, but you mustn’t make it a habit of being so reckless. If you continue to allow your emotions to get the best of you, you may end up doing something you’ll live to regret … you have to remember you’re not like the rest of these people. Saigon’s words broke Apollo’s concentration, causing him to release the baker altogether.

“Get out of my restaurant right now!” the baker exclaimed, rushing the phone to his ear. Apollo hurried toward the exit, holding the sides of his head. He grimaced at what felt like a pair of golf clubs swinging down against his temples. Why was it that every time this surge of power consumed him, his brain felt as if it were going to explode?

Apollo looked to the vast blackness of the night and wondered how mama would’ve felt about what he intended. Killing that racist prick would’ve been as easy as blinking. But would that have been the right way to go about the situation even to when he deserved it? Mama wouldn’t have believed so. Society already held their beliefs regarding darker-skinned people and how they were all criminals, whether they wanted to openly admit it or not.

Apollo had no intention of becoming part of that stereotype, but what if Odion was right? What if this power ended up consuming his entire being, stripping away the very essence of what made him appear to be human? I know you are not a monster, or a demon, or whatever other pejorative people like to use.

“Then why do I feel this way?” Apollo asked, meandering the streets of Toronno, looking for a place to sleep.

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