Untamed

candle. Aphrodite was sitting on her bed with her knees pulled up to her chest, her elbows resting on them, and her face buried in her hands. Maleficent was curled into a fluffy white ball beside her. The cat looked up at me when I entered the room and growled softly.
    "Hey, are you okay?" I asked.
    Her body shuddered, and with what was obviously a huge effort, she lifted her head and opened her eyes.
    "Oh my god! What happened!" I hurried over to her, turning on the Tiffany's light that was on her bedside table. When Maleficent stirred and hissed a warning at me, I told the beast, "Try it and I will throw you out the window and call down rain to soak the crap out of you."
    "Maleficent, it's okay. Zoey's hateful, but she won't hurt me," she said wearily.
    The cat growled again, but subsided back into a white ball. I turned my attention to Aphrodite. Her eyes were completely bloodshot—it was so bad that the whites of them were totally red. Not pink and inflamed like she was allergic to pollen and she'd just walked through a field of it. They were red . As in blood. As in blood filling her eyes and staining them scarlet.
    "This one was really bad." She sounded awful. Her voice was shaky, and her face was scarily white. "C-can you get me a bottle of Fiji Water from the fridge?"
    I hurried over to her mini-fridge and grabbed a bottle of water from it. Then I detoured into her bathroom, where I got one of her gold-embroidered washcloths. (Jeesh, she is so darn rich!) I quickly poured some of the cold spring water onto the washcloth before hurrying back to her.
    "Drink some of this, and then close your eyes and put this across your face."
    "I look terrible, don't I?"
    "Yep."
    She took several big gulps from the Fiji bottle like she was dying of thirst, then put the cold, wet washcloth over her eyes and leaned back against her mound of designer pillows with an exhausted sigh. Maleficent watched me with mean, slitted cat eyes, which I ignored.
    "Have your eyes ever done that before?"
    "You mean hurt like hell?"
    I hesitated and decided to just tell her. It wasn't like Aphrodite avoided mirrors. She'd see for herself soon enough. "I mean turn bright, blood red."
    I saw the little jerk of surprise her body gave, and she started to reach for the washcloth, but her hand stopped and plopped back down on the bed and her shoulders slumped. "No wonder Darius freaked and ran for you like the hounds of f-ing hell were after him."
    "I'm sure it'll go away. You should probably just keep your eyes closed for a while."
    She sighed dramatically. "It's really going to piss me off if these damn visions start making me ugly."
    "Aphrodite," I said, trying to keep my smile out of my voice. "You're too pretty to ever be ugly. Or at least that's what you've told all of us about a zillion times."
    "You're right. Even with red eyes, I'm better looking than everyone else. Thanks for reminding me. It just shows how stressed this vision bullshit is making me that I'd even consider worrying about it."
    "Speaking of the vision bullpoopy. You want to fill me in on this one?"
    "You know, you really wouldn't melt or anything if you'd cuss a little. My Goddess, bull poopy is unbelievably lame."
    "Could you please stay on the subject?"
    "Fine. But don't blame me when people tell you that you sound lame and annoying. Over there on my desk there's a piece of paper with a poem written on it. Do you see it?"
    I went over to her pricey vanity/desk, and sure enough, there was a single sheet of paper lying alone against the glistening wood. I picked it up. "I see it," I said.
    "Good. You're supposed to read it, and I hope you understand what the hell it means. I never can figure out poetry. It's all boring bull shit ."
    She emphasized the shit part of the word. I ignored her and focused on the poem. As soon as I got a good look at it, my skin started to tingle and gooseflesh lifted on my arms as if a cold wind had just blown over me.
    "Did you write this?"
    "Oh, yeah, right. I didn't even like Dr. Seuss when I was a kid. No damn way I wrote that poem."
    "I didn't mean did you compose it. I meant did you physically write it down?"
    "Are you getting stupider? Yes, Zoey. I wrote down the poem that I saw in my horrid and way-too-painful vision. No, I didn't compose it. I copied it. Satisfied?"
    I looked at her reclining back on her pillows in the middle of her expensive four-poster canopy bed with the gold-embroidered washcloth over her face and one hand petting her