Silent Gods

The sun over New York was high, a disc of light making its way through the skyscrapers like an eye opening after a long night. The morning light filtered through the windows of

Rhea's tattoo parlor, drawing gold streaks across the worn wooden floor. The neon sign — "Needle & Bone Ink" — was off, but the door was slightly ajar, as if someone was

waiting.

Rhea was behind the counter, her fingers resting on a small plastic bag. A trusted dealer had brought it to her earlier that morning, as he did every few weeks. The white powder

inside gleamed faintly under the neon light, a promise of oblivion, of relief, of a few hours of peace.

But that morning, something was different.

Rhea looked at the bag. She looked at her hands — the hands that had gripped the needle that distant night like a seal of her failure. She looked at the scars, a few still faintly

marking her skin, the pale lines telling a story she had tried to forget. A story no one yet knew. A story she herself had buried so deep that sometimes she could pretend it had

never happened.

Her fingers brushed the plastic. She felt the weight of the powder inside, the almost imperceptible rustle of a choice waiting only to be made. It was so easy. So simple. A

moment of weakness, a vein, a needle, and everything would fade away. The weight of what she had done, the weight of what she had lost, the weight of what she could never

become again.

She did not want it.

But it was not only the will to stop. It was fear. Cassandra. If Cassandra ever found out, she would never forgive her. It was the fear of never repeating the failure of that night

with Piper, when she had thrown everything away.

And she hid it.

She slipped it into a drawer, under a pile of old papers and used needles. The drawer closed with a click, a sound that seemed more final than it had any right to be.

The boy, the dealer, watched her for a moment. His eyes were two slits of indifference, used to seeing people who gave in and people who resisted. He said nothing. He simply

turned and walked out of the shop, his steps silent on the wooden floor.

The door closed behind him.

And he vanished. Like the powder he carried, like the promise he had offered, like all the choices Rhea had made and could no longer change.

Silence returned.

Rhea stood still, her fingers still resting on the counter, her breath slow and deep. She felt the weight of the decision she had just made, felt the emptiness the bag had left in her hand.

But she also felt something else.

Hope.

A fragile, uncertain hope, one she did not know if would last. But for now, it was there.

Rhea's phone vibrated on the counter.

A message. A photo. A takeaway coffee cup resting on a wooden table, the foam drawing an imperfect middle finger on the surface. The morning light filtered through the

window behind.

"I'm coming, bitch, I'm bringing it hot"

Rhea smiled. A slow, sensual smile that needed no words.

A few minutes later, Piper walked through the door. Her hair was tousled by the wind, her eyes gleaming with a light that did not belong to the morning. She wore a denim jacket

and a white t-shirt, and her smile was a shadow of desire.

— Rhea — she said. — I need to talk to you.

— I'm listening — Rhea replied, leaning against the counter.

Piper stepped closer. Her hand found the counter, then Rhea's arm, then her face. Her fingers were warm, trembling.

— Tonight — Piper said, her voice low — we're doing a ritual in the campus gym. With the fraternity. And I want to go with your mark on my body. I'm bringing the Viking too.

Rhea looked at her. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

— Your mark?

— Your piercing — Piper said. — The one on your nipples. I want it to be mine. I want to feel it on my skin while they... while they summon what they shouldn't.

— The barbarian's sister appeared out of nowhere, she was all strange, agitated, dressed like a warrior. What a weird chick — Piper continued.

Rhea did not answer immediately. Her eyes were fixed on Piper, and for a moment, the silence was total.

— We have everything — Piper said. — Black candles. The circle. Ivy printed the sequence. Her smile widened, almost cheeky.

— The circle — she continued enthusiastically — Ivy drew it on a white linen cloth. She put it at the bottom of her closet, under the winter sweaters. If anyone finds it, she'll say

it's a contemporary art project.

— Jack took care of the blood, showing a photo on his phone of a small glass container. — It's sterile. He took it from the biology lab. No one will notice.

— And the sequence? — Rhea asked.

Piper opened her phone again.

— Printed on heavy paper — she said.

Rhea saw the runes that seemed to move on the page like imprisoned serpents.

— Fuck, I've got chills, Piper — Rhea exclaimed.

Then Piper turned. Her steps were silent on the wooden floor. She reached the door, closed it with a sharp movement, and turned the sign.

From "Open" to "Closed."

The outside world disappeared.

— What are you doing?

— What we've always done — Piper said, stepping closer. — Last night, in the lecture hall, while Askel was taking me on the desk... I thought of you.

Rhea held her breath.

— Christ !!! Piper, have you lost your mind — Rhea said, smiling.

— I thought of you — Piper continued. — Of your piercing. I thought about how much I would have wanted you there, in front of my mouth, while he was taking me from behind.

I wanted you there.

Her fingers rose. They found Rhea's chest, the piercing under the black t-shirt. She squeezed it with a slowness that was almost cruel.

Rhea felt the excitement burning in her skin. Her breath broke. Her mind went back in time.

— Piper... — she whispered.

Piper's lips pressed against the piercing set in the nipple, her mouth filling as Rhea bit her lower lip.

Meanwhile, the radio was playing music. A song began to play, a guitar that entered like a breath, a voice that spoke of contradictions and acceptance. The melody was slow,

hypnotic, like a wave breaking on the shore.

The voice spoke of accepting who you are, of arriving without masks, of desires that find no answer.

There was something raw in that sound, something imperfect and sincere, like a confession made halfway, like an invitation to show yourself without filters, even when doing so

hurt.

The guitar continued to vibrate, scratchy, dirty, authentic.

It was music that did not console: it embraced. That did not judge: it welcomed. That did not ask you to change: it asked you to be real.

And Piper, for an instant, felt exactly that: real, vulnerable, exposed.

As if that voice knew something about her that no one had ever said out loud.

Piper lay down on the table. The leather was cold against her back, but her skin was warm, burning with desire. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but her mind was elsewhere.

The memory hit her like a wave. The video of that Friday night at the pub. Madison Square Garden. The beers on the table. Sometime before, when the world was simpler and

the future had not yet taken shape.

Her and Rhea in the middle of the drunk crowd at the bar.

And now, in her tattoo parlor, the same music filled her ears.

The singer's voice vibrated like a confession, like a thought no one had the courage to say out loud.

The guitar breathed, slow and deep, trying to synchronize with the beat of those listening.

And for an instant, the world seemed to stop.

Only that melody remained, that breath of strings, that voice sliding through the air like a promise whispered in a low voice.

Piper closed her eyes. The voice spoke of contradictions, of coming as you are, of desires that have no answer. And she was there, lying on the table, her heart beating too fast

and her legs opening like an offering for Rhea's lips.

Rhea approached. Her steps were silent on the wooden floor. Her fingers brushed Piper's body, tracing a path that needed no words.

Piper felt the touch. She felt Rhea's fingers exploring her skin, following the line of her breast.

— Where do I start — Rhea murmured, her voice broken.

— Start after — Rhea whispered. — First I want to feel...

Piper opened her eyes. Her eyes were two flames burning in the dim light.

Her hand found Rhea's. She took it, guided it, brought it between her legs.

— Here — she whispered. — Come inside, Rhea.

Rhea's breath broke. Her fingers found the warmth, the desire, the promise Piper was offering her. So much time had passed since that night.

Her fingers entered and they surrendered to each other.

The music continued. They were the living contradiction. Desire and denial. Pleasure and pain. Promise and betrayal.

The table creaked under their weight. Piper's moans were an echo mingling with the music, the slow guitar, the voice speaking of acceptance.

— Like that — Rhea whispered. — Like that.

The outside world disappeared. There was nothing left. Only the table, their hands, their bodies, the music that kept playing.

— Fuck me, bitch — Piper whispered in her ear.

Rhea felt Piper's legs close like a vise, her hands nailed to the flesh of her backside, pushing her against her.

Time did not stop.

Then Piper's head was pressed down onto the table, her mouth moaning against the leather while Rhea dominated her from behind.

— You're a whore, Piper, and you turn me on so much — Rhea gasped without stopping.

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— Shut up and fuck me now — Piper moaned back.

Rhea did not stop, and Piper did not want her to.

The two looked at each other in the mirror in front of them. Their eyes met in the mirror while their mouths were open.

— Between my legs, Rhea... now — Piper said.

The guitar had reached the final riff, the last round of chords, just like Rhea and Piper.

Piper buried her hands on Rhea's backside, bringing her violently between her legs in thrusts to which they both surrendered.

When the song ended, silence fell like a cloak.

Piper lay on the table, her body still shaken by pleasure, her breath labored. Rhea was beside her, her fingers tracing circles on her skin.

— Now — Piper said, her voice low — now the piercing.

Rhea nodded. Her lips were parted, her eyes full of a light that had not been there before.

— Yes — she whispered. — Now.

She took the needle. Her hand was steady. Her smile was a shadow of desire.

— It will hurt — she said.

— I know — Piper said. — But I want to feel it.

Her words were steady, but her body trembled slightly, a tremor that was not fear but anticipation. Her hands were gripping the edges of the table, her knuckles white, her

muscles tense.

Rhea leaned over her. Her left hand found Piper's breast, her fingers resting on the skin like a question that needed no answer. Her right hand held the needle, ready to pierce,

to mark, to leave an imprint that would last forever.

The radio came on again, another song in the radio sequence.

The song that began to play was different from the previous one. More intimate.

It was a slow track that moved like a car traveling on a deserted road in the middle of the night.

The guitar was heavy, tuned in drop-D, and its riff repeated like a thought, like a mantra.

The singer's voice was tired, worn, as if he were speaking at the end of a very long night.

The words spoke of driving faster in a car, of moving further and further away from who you are.

And then the chorus, repeating like an obsession.

Piper closed her eyes.

Rhea sang the chorus, like an obsession that gave no respite.

Piper felt the cold of the needle on her skin. She felt the light pressure, almost imperceptible, that preceded the pain. She felt Rhea's breath mingling with hers.

And then a flash of fire that crossed her chest, that spread like a wave, that filled her like a promise.

Piper held her breath. Her fingers gripped the edges of the table. Her eyes were still closed, but her lips parted in a sigh that was pleasure and pain together.

Rhea pulled back. Her smile was satisfied, almost proud.

— It's done — she said.

The song continued, the track spoke of superficial relationships, of conversations that kill, of souls consumed by too much walking and stumbling. It was a song about

exhaustion, about the effort of continuing to pretend everything is fine when nothing is fine at all.

Piper opened her eyes. She looked down at her chest. The piercing was there, a small silver ring gleaming in the morning light like a fallen star.

She touched it with her fingers. She felt the pain that still pulsed, felt the warmth of the metal against her skin, felt the weight of what she had just done.

— It's perfect — she whispered.

Rhea leaned over her. Her lips brushed hers with a tenderness that did not belong to the woman who had just pierced her skin.

— I've marked you — she whispered. — Forever.

Piper smiled. A slow, sensual smile, charged with a promise that needed no words.

— Tonight — she said — I'll go to the ritual with your mark on my body.

Rhea looked at her.

— And what will happen tonight? — she asked.

— I don't know — Piper said. — But whatever happens... Piper did not finish the sentence, Rhea's fingers closed her mouth.

— Why don't you come to my place tonight instead? — she asked, her fingers making their way back between her legs.

The music continued. The voice spoke of infinite nights and promises that are kept.

— I should stand everyone up... she said in a broken voice.

Rhea's lips were on her navel, moving downward.

— Cassandra is not home these days and I'm always alone in the evening — Rhea whispered.

Piper opened her mouth, feeling Rhea and her hands above her head pressing her between her legs.

The music seemed to suspend time, hold its breath, envelop every gesture in a sweet and inevitable melancholy. As if that melancholy were a great emptiness.

The singer's voice came tired, almost frayed, speaking of the taste of dust and wrong choices.

That moment between them had perhaps been a wrong choice, but it had been inevitable.

Rhea stood up and sat on Piper's mouth for slow, endless minutes.

— Come here between... — Piper begged.

The two locked together again, stronger and more violent than before.

Rhea moaned.

— Don't stop, please... hard... again — Piper whispered.

There was something melancholy in that sound of the song, a tiredness that did not seek consolation but only a place to rest for a moment.

The sound filled the space like an unkept promise, like a farewell whispered too late, like a secret no one should have listened to but which, once it entered the ears, did not

want to leave.

The song died in the air, the speaker's voice returned, just as Piper and Rhea returned to reality.

Piper sat up from the table. Her legs trembled slightly, but her smile was wide, satisfied.

— It's perfect — she said, touching her chest. She felt the metal against her fingers, felt the pain that was already beginning to transform into something else.

Rhea ran a hand through her hair. Her eyes gleamed in the light.

— Are you hungry? — she asked. — It's lunchtime.

Piper nodded. Hunger was beginning to make itself felt, an emptiness in her stomach asking to be filled.

— Yes — she said. — Hungry.

Rhea took a pack of cigarettes from the counter. She offered one to Piper, then took one for herself. Their hands brushed as they lit them, the fire dancing for an instant before

finding the paper.

They inhaled together. The smoke rose toward the ceiling, drawing spirals that lost themselves in the morning light.

— Outside — Rhea said, pointing at the door. — The air is good.

They walked toward the exit, their hands brushing, their steps synchronizing as if they had walked together forever.

Rhea stopped in front of the door. Her fingers found the lock, ready to turn the key.

It was at that moment that the fat man arrived.

He was a massive man, with metal chains on his jeans, a neck that merged with his shoulders and a face red as a ripe tomato. He wore a t-shirt too tight that revealed his belly,

and his eyes were two slits gleaming with arrogance.

— Hey — he said, his voice as fat as his body. — I want a tattoo. Now.

Rhea looked at him. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

— We're closed — she said. — Come back later.

The fat man did not move. His eyes fixed on Piper, then on Rhea, then on Piper again.

— I didn't hear well — he said. — I said I want a tattoo. Now.

Piper took the last drag from her cigarette. The smoke left her lips like a sigh.

— Get the fuck out of here, you sack of shit — she said.

Her voice was calm, almost bored. As if she were talking to an insect she had just crushed.

The fat man looked at her. His face grew redder. His hands clenched into fists.

— Now I'll teach you some manners — he growled, taking a step forward. — You fucking punk bitch.

Rhea did not wait.

Her foot rose, fast as a whip. It hit the fat man exactly where it hurt most. Right between his balls. Assuming he had any.

The man made a sound that was not human — a strangled groan, a kind of gurgle that seemed to come from the depths of his being. His hands clutched his groin, and his body

collapsed like a sack of potatoes.

He fell to his knees, then forward, his face hitting the pavement with a dull sound.

Rhea looked at him. Her eyes were two pools of ice.

— Get lost, you piece of shit — she said.

Then she took Piper's hand and dragged her away.

They walked quickly, their steps echoing on the pavement like a distant drum. Behind them, the fat man remained crumpled on the sidewalk, his massive figure seeming even

smaller than it was.

Piper burst out laughing. A free, contagious laugh, mingling with the smoke of Rhea's still-lit cigarette.

— Fuck — she said. — You were amazing.

Rhea smiled. Her smile was a shadow of desire.

— It was the least I could do — she said.

Piper looked at her. Her eyes were two flames burning in the morning light.

— Thank you — she said.

— You're welcome — Rhea said.

They stopped. Their hands were intertwined, their fingers gripping each other as if the world could collapse and they would remain together.

Piper leaned in. Her lips brushed Rhea's in a kiss that was a promise and an offering.

— Then take me to lunch — she said. — I'm hungry.

Rhea laughed. A low, sensual laugh that was lost in the noise of the city.

— Let's go — she said. — I know a place.

Behind them, the fat man remained crumpled on the sidewalk. The morning sun beat down on his face, but he did not move.

---

The restaurant was a small place, hidden on a side street no one would ever notice if they hadn't stumbled upon it by chance. The walls were exposed brick, and the wooden

tables were worn from years of plates and glasses. The air smelled of bread and spices, of freshly ground coffee and something that felt like home.

Rhea and Piper sat across from each other, their hands intertwined on the table like two roots reaching for each other in the dark. Their plates were almost empty, their

cigarettes were out, and the afternoon sun filtered through the window like a veil of golden dust.

Piper sipped her coffee, the piercing still pulsing under her shirt. The pain was a warm memory, a presence that accompanied her like a promise.

Rhea watched her. There was something in her eyes that had not been there before. It was concern. It was fear.

— Piper — she said. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. — I need to talk to you.

Piper looked up. Her smile faded slightly.

— What's wrong?

Rhea squeezed her fingers tighter.

— Don't go to the ritual tonight.

The words fell into the silence like a stone into water. For a moment, Piper did not answer. Her eyes were fixed on Rhea, and the afternoon light cast shadows on her face.

— I already asked you — Rhea continued. — Before, while we were having sex. On the table. But you didn't answer me.

Piper looked down. Her fingers tightened around the coffee cup.

— I know — she said. — I remember.

— I have a bad feeling — Rhea said. — I can't explain it. But it's there. Inside me. Like a weight I can't shake off.

Piper looked at her.

— It's just a ritual — she said. — A game. A thing between students.

— It's not a game — Rhea said. — And you know it.

Silence fell again. The restaurant was empty, and the noise of the city seemed distant, as if the outside world were suspended in another dimension.

— Tonight — Rhea continued, her voice softer — they're showing the replay of the Pearl Jam live concert on TV. At 10 PM. The one we listened to together on audio only. Do

you remember?

Piper felt a lump in her throat.

— I remember — she whispered.

— We could watch it together — Rhea said. — You and me. With the lights low and the music getting into our bones. Have a few beers.

Piper closed her eyes. The memory hit her like a wave.

Piper and Rhea had known each other for a long time, something had always remained stifled in their relationship. That day, however, everything was different.

— We could have a night — Rhea continued. — Just the two of us. No rituals. No fraternities.

Piper opened her eyes.

— I can't — she whispered. — I promised Ivy. I promised the fraternity.

— Promises can be broken — Rhea said. — Promises can be postponed. But if something happens tonight... if that ritual is really what I fear...

Her voice broke. Her fingers tightened around Piper's as if trying to hold her back, to stop her from falling.

Piper's tears began to fall. They slid silently, without trembling, without sobbing. As if her body had decided to cry in her place.

— Rhea... what the fuck do you care about me — she began. Her voice was a thread, a thread about to snap. — Do you remember when you cheated on me with the guy from

the New Jersey band?

The silence grew heavy. Piper's words were a dagger sinking into flesh.

— Do you remember, right? — Piper continued. Her voice was lower now, but sharper. — While he was slamming you on the table like any common whore and licking the dust

between your tits.

— I still have the image in my head, drunk and wasted as you were, you didn't even notice I had come to you from the hospital... and you still let yourself be fucked that night.

The guy working behind the bar counter at the restaurant had the TV low and turned it up, that song he felt inside like the images of the video on the screen. People

being born into each other.

The song had the energy of something that did not want to be ignored.

The guitar riff was fast, nervous, like a punch thrown too hard, like a fist that arrives before you even understand where it comes from.

Every note seemed to run, to escape, to chase something that could no longer be reached.

Like Piper's gaze in that moment.

The singer's voice had a particular urgency, a tone that spoke of difficult neighborhoods, of streets that swallow dreams, of lives that bend too soon.

It did not tell heroic stories: it told falls.

Like Rhea's fall that night, decisive and destructive for both.

It told of promises that had not been kept, of futures that had shattered, of people who had started with everything and ended with nothing.

The nothing, what had remained in Rhea's hands after seeing Piper in front of her while the New Jersey guitarist was between her legs.

The music had a rhythm that seemed like a heart beating too hard, too fast, as if trying to hold together something about to collapse.

There was a melancholy hidden beneath the aggression, a sadness that did not show itself openly but could be felt in every unspoken word.

Rhea lowered her gaze. Her fingers trembled around the coffee cup.

— And you were in the hospital — Rhea replied. — Your sister had died. Her voice was a whisper, a breath, a shadow of words. — Yes, I remember it, Piper. As if it were

yesterday.

— You had come looking for me and you found me with the band guy, I still remember the taste of whiskey in my mouth, I remember the dust between my breasts... I remember

everything.

She raised her gaze. Her eyes were full of tears she had not yet shed.

— And I will never be able to forgive myself.

The voice on the radio continued its story, the guy at the bar humming it and pretending to have a guitar in his hands.

It was a song that spoke of wrong choices, of missed opportunities, of regrets accumulating like scratches on the skin.

Of kids who had believed they could become something and instead had remained trapped in a life they had not chosen.

Piper closed her eyes.

That sound entered her like a memory that had never stopped burning.

The music spoke of mistakes that cannot be erased, of roads that always lead to the same point, of futures that crumble.

Like hers.

Like Rhea's.

Like everyone's.

Rhea lowered her gaze. Her fingers trembled around the coffee cup.

Piper looked at her. A scar that had never healed. Still open in both their hearts.

— Then why now? — Piper asked. — Why do you care now?

Rhea wiped a tear with the back of her hand. Her breath was short, broken.

— Because I understood — she said. — I understood that I was wrong. That I lost you for a moment of weakness. That I chose one night over a life.

Piper did not answer. Her tears continued to fall, but her body had relaxed, as if a weight she had carried for years was finally dissolving.

— I don't want to lose you again — Rhea continued. — I don't want you to go to that ritual and not come back. I don't want you to do something you can't undo.

Piper looked at her. Her eyes were red, swollen, but there was something in them that had not been there before. It was a glimmer of hope.

— Then come with me — Piper said. — Come to the ritual. Stand by me.

Rhea shook her head.

— I can't — she said. — I would like to be with you while we watch the concert.

— Stay at my place tonight — Rhea said. — After the concert. After everything. Stay and sleep at my place.

Piper looked at her. Her eyes were full of tears and desire.

— Sleep? — she repeated.

— Yes, I told you, Cassandra is away — Rhea said. — Sleep. Or not sleep. Whatever you want. But stay at my place.

Piper felt her heart beating too fast in her chest.

— I miss you, Rhea — she whispered. — But I think our moment has passed.

Rhea looked at her. Her eyes were two pools of pain.

— The Viking? What is he? — Rhea asked.

— He's just a distraction, a way to forget. A way to push away your memory, perhaps — Piper replied.

— I have this bad feeling on my skin — she said, her voice broken. — Listen to me, please — Rhea continued.

Piper closed her eyes. The weight of the choice was on her shoulders, a boulder she could not lift.

— I can't promise you I won't go to the ritual — she said.

Rhea nodded. Her fingers tightened around Piper's.

— It's enough for now — she whispered. — For now, it's enough.

The afternoon sun filtered through the window, drawing gold streaks on the wooden table.

And Piper, with the piercing pulsing on her skin, felt the weight of the words she had just spoken.

Rhea returned to the shop, she had a client shortly, she sat behind the counter, chose the machine and the ink.

Slowly her face twisted into a grimace of pain, her hand over her mouth. Piper in front of her while the guitarist was slamming her against the table. The tears, the taste of

whiskey still burning in her throat.

Her back leaned against the wall behind her, and slowly she slid down until she was sitting on the floor, in tears.

Rhea still remembered that moment with a clarity that had never faded. Her fingers finding the needle, her hand tightening the tourniquet, her skin searching for a vein now too

worn out. Her hands trembled, but not from fear — from need. That hunger that never subsides, that devours everything, that turns the body into a desert.

She remembered the moment the needle went in. The relief that came right after, like a wave, like a promise, like a lie that repeats itself every time. The warmth spreading

through her blood, wrapping around her like a silk cloak, making her believe that everything was possible, that everything was forgivable.

But it was not forgivable.

Nothing she had done was forgivable.

Rhea felt the weight of that life she had lived and could no longer change. Her hand was still over her mouth, and the tears fell silently, as if her body had decided to cry in her place.

Piper was outside, still hadn't left. She heard Rhea's choked sobs, she heard that the memory of that mistake had marked her soul. She heard that it was not only the betrayal

that hurt her, but everything that had come after — the years of silence, the nights spent trying to forget, the needles that had left scars on her skin and on her soul.

Piper was outside, still hadn't left, she heard Rhea's choked sobs, she heard that the memory of that mistake had marked her soul.

Piper did not go in, the back of her hand wiped the tear from her face and she headed toward the campus.

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