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earlier about my mom. He showed me a clip where animalistic humans soured the earth, and I hadn’t thought about the safety of my mom, even if she does always tend to get a little crazy with the idea of “consent.”
    I can’t stand the idea of her hurting, so I have to ask. “Have you heard from my mom?” I have to push aside the image of her cowering behind her bed—practically my twin, if you add a few sunspots to my face. Everyone says we look the same.
    Teo’s face grows cold, that spark of fire suddenly gone. “You are not listening! The Living Rot is already here.” He clicks on the TV once again, and then points at the bottom right-hand corner of the screen where it reads, “Live in Austin.” I look closer at the screen. Sam’s Ice Cream Shoppe. The park with the old lady and the shop that sells handmade hair barrettes. This is all of Sixth Street, right downtown. Where I live.
    I can’t believe this has happened, can’t believe this is my home. Where the street was once filled with bright memories, it’s been poisoned by the worst kind of death. My home, those people, all of them gone. And not just the barrette store lady, but my mom . One of the Clarissa songs Teo recorded for me reels through my mind. I can’t help her. I’ve been whisked away.
    The inside of my chest withers; my fingers twitch on my lap. To calm them, I shove them under my legs, and force my face not to twitch, too. Because I know what happens when my face starts twitching. I cry. And the last thing I want is for Teo to see me emotional again.
    Staring at my lap as I try to calm my twitching hands, I feel the bed shift next to me, and one of the hands I’ve come to love reaches over and pats my knee. “I do not mean to be unfeeling,” Teo says. “I suppose I’ve had more time to digest the truth. But if you ever feel like you need time to consider all the ramifications, just ask.”
    Almost any other time I would appreciate Teo’s offer to help me mull over the facts, but right now I can’t help feeling like he’s sweeping the world’s greatest nightmare under the rug. Doesn’t he know that eventually the mess leaks out?
    But I’m wrong in my dismissal of Teo’s offering. He’s the one who’s provided help. It’s his foresight and careful planning that have allowed any sort of asylum from the monsters outside.
    I take a deep breath and push my worries away. Sometimes it is better to hide away our hesitations and trust in those we love.
    “And now,” Teo says, moving to his feet and extending a confident hand, “allow me to introduce you to everyone. They are ever so eager to meet you.” He tugs my hand and pulls me toward the door, and as we exit the bedroom, a soft ballad wafts up Cleo’s sprawling stairs; I’m suddenly not so sure I want to be introduced. What if it’s like junior year all over again, where everyone already has their friends and sees no need to make more?
    Teo guides me by the arm and leads me across the upstairs hallway that’s open to the bottom floor. I can see seven couples eating and chatting, and Teo has me stop where part of the staircase curves out into a semi-circular balcony over the living room, like we’re on a stage.
    “Everyone,” Teo says, lifting his arm up, his baritone voice carrying easily over the music, “I would like you all to meet our last friend. The crowning jewel of Elysian Fields.” He pauses briefly, nudges me ahead, and cries, “I give you, Persephone!”
    Persephone?
    My blood runs cold. I know that tale; I read about it last week. Persephone is paired with Hades, the god of the underworld. The god who abducts and imprisons her by force.
    I thought he liked my name. I always liked it—my mom chose it specifically for me. After breaking down in a snowstorm in Wyoming while seven months pregnant with me, a lady took her in and fed her. For an entire week. In Cheyenne. It means something.
    But Teo’s hand holds mine still, like he’s displaying a