At nine o'clock in the morning, two hours into his eight-hour shift, Achilles takes his ten-minute break. He plucks a cigarette out of his pack and dials the familiar number on the phone in the diner's kitchen. He lights it and takes two drags before grinding it out as he listens to the phone ring. He doesn't like the act of smoking so much as the ritual; it gives him something to do with his restless hands.
"Hello?" comes the voice from the other end.
"Pat! Are you all packed for this afternoon?" Achilles says brightly into the receiver, twirling the phone's wire in his fingers girlishly.
"That's the thing, Achilles. I haven't asked my dad," Patroclus says. Achilles hears the nervous edge in his voice.
"Well, it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission, I guess. I get off at three. Be ready," Achilles says. He hears Pat start to protest but hangs up. Achilles always gets his way, and this occasion will be no different.
When he returns to the floor, he makes small talk with some girls he recognizes from school, refilling their coffee and gesturing around him and rolling his eyes when they ask what he's been up to all summer. Working there is something he does only because his father had wanted him to go to some expensive camp or another and Achilles did not want to leave Patroclus all summer. So Achilles had walked into the first establishment he saw with a "Help Wanted" sign in the window and tried to spin it to Peleus that it was good to build character. The crazy thing was, when Achilles had finished his speech about how it was important to stay humble and working at the diner all summer would be just as educational as whatever camp Peleus was looking into, he halfway believed it himself. Peleus had bought it, too. He'd even bragged to his pals at the country club about what a self-starter his son was.
So there he is, slinging cups of coffee and plates of bacon and eggs to customers and making next to no money. Not that he's hurting for cash. Peleus would—and does—give him anything he asks for.
By two forty-five, he's chomping at the bit. His duffle bag is packed and in the trunk of his 1966 Ford Thunderbird convertible, he's got the keys to Chiron's empty fishing cabin in his back pocket, and he licks his lips with anticipation, thinking about how there's only one bed. He'd rehearsed the discovery, shrugging his shoulders in the mirror and feigning innocence.
Sorry, Pat, I didn't realize. I don't mind sharing.
He grins as he counts out his meager tips, rubs his hands together as he climbs into his car, and, breaking the speed limit, arrives in front of Pat's house in less than ten minutes.
Achilles slams his hand on the horn and a few seconds later, Patroclus rushes out of the house with his bag slung around his shoulder.
"Whose place is this, anyway?" Patroclus asks as he hops into the passenger seat.
"My dad's professor in college. He's on sabbatical somewhere, so I've had the keys all summer. But I haven't been able to persuade you to join me so I haven't gone."
"It's only because your birthday is tomorrow," Patroclus says.
They turn onto the interstate, and Achilles purses a cigarette between his lips and struggles to light it as the wind from the convertible whips the fire out of his lighter.
"Smoking's bad for your health."
You're bad for my health, almost comes out of his mouth before he stops himself. There had been firm boundaries put in place by Patroclus when they had been fourteen and Achilles's flirting had gotten out of hand.
He had sprawled out across a young Patroclus on his couch, his left hand running under Patroclus's shirt, feeling the smooth skin of his back. He dragged his nails lightly down then, and had Pat stood up abruptly, looking away from Achilles.
"That's enough," he ground out.
"What's the matter, Patroclus?" Achilles asked, pouting slightly.
"You've got to stop with all the touching and shit," he'd said, and then, perhaps realizing that he sounded a little harsh, added, "Please."
"Why?" Achilles asked, quirking his head like a puppy who'd just heard an unfamiliar noise for the first time.
"Because-" Patroclus took a deep breath, and let the rest of his sentence come out quickly on his exhale, "-I think we're at an age where it's easy to get confused, so let's just not, okay?"
At hearing this, Achilles stood and faced Patroclus, who couldn't look at anything but the ground.
"Huh," Achilles said. He knew what Patroclus had meant. He had supposed, before, that maybe he was a late bloomer, finding all the talk about girls and which ones were known to give blowjobs and which ones were prudes boring. But the thought of Patroclus clumsily undoing his belt buckle sent a jolt through Achilles, and he realized that maybe he wasn't a late bloomer at all.
"I'm sorry, I'll leave. I shouldn't have-"
"No, it's fine. Let's just watch the movie," Achilles had said, sitting on the couch, leaving a comfortable amount of space for Patroclus.
Something came awake that evening, because Achilles went from never thinking about sex to thinking about it almost exclusively. He'd glance down at Patroclus' lips when they'd talk. He'd forget his jacket when he came over and would borrow one of Pat's for his walk home just to smell it. He'd show off on purpose in front of Patroclus, take his shirt off more often than necessary, delight in the rose of Pat's cheeks.
Now, nearly four years later, Achilles is planning to have things come to a turning point. He's sick of looking, of longing. He's sick of jerking off alone in his bedroom, imagining Patroclus's pretty lips clasped around him. The world belongs to Achilles, and now that he's turning eighteen, he's going to take it. Starting with taking Patroclus.
"Can you grab the map out of the glove compartment?" Achilles asks. "I forget which exit I gotta take."
Achilles hears Patroclus open the compartment and gasp. "Jesus. Why do you have a gun in here?"
"Calm down, Pat. It's just in case of snakes. Maybe we could do some target practice."
"Maybe," Pat says, like he's really saying no.
Achilles hears the crinkling of paper and then, "Exit 134."
They pass Exit 86. "Still a long way off," Achilles whistles.
In the distance, a pink neon sign flickers: "Road to Oz."
"I think that's a bar. Wanna stop and have a drink?" Patroclus suggests.
Achilles furrows his brow and takes his eyes off the road for a second to glance at Pat. "You'd have a drink?"
"Yeah, why not? I don't have to see my dad tonight."
"I'm pretty sure that's a gay bar, Pat."
"What's wrong with that?"
Achilles bites his lip to keep the wolfish grin off his face. "Nothing," he says as he turns off the interstate.
Road to Oz is a dive. A dive with a framed picture of Stonewall behind the counter, but a dive nonetheless. Everything looks somewhat sticky and the tinted pink fluorescents, Achilles notes, make Patroclus's face even lovelier than usual.
"Aren't you a little young to be in here?" asks the waitress, who sets down cocktail napkins in front of them anyway. Achilles has come prepared for that question, though.
"No," he says, sliding her a folded $50 bill.
The waitress, it seems, is not new to turning a blind eye. "What'll it be?" she says as she pockets the money.
"I'd like a Jack Daniels, straight up. Club soda back, please?" Patroclus says with a put-on air of confidence.
"Uh, same," Achilles says, raising an eyebrow at Pat.
"What?"
"Who are you?" Achilles asks, halfway serious.
"It's what my dad always orders," Patroclus admits. "Did I sound cool, though?"
Achilles cracks a grin and the waitress returns with four glasses. Achilles sips his thoughtfully, looking at the decor. There's a cardboard cutout of Judy Garland as the character of Dorothy near the jukebox and someone had wrapped a tinsel boa around her neck. The crowd is fairly large, which is to be expected for a Friday, he supposes. He turns his eyes back to see Patroclus's whiskey glass empty.
"Shit, you just slammed it? Are you trying to get drunk?" Achilles asks as Patroclus signals for a second drink.
"Is that bad?" Pat asks, a sheepish smile playing at the edge of his lips.
"No, it's just not like you. I've never seen you drunk before."
"Well, I've seen you drunk plenty," Pat counters. "And we're on vacation. Why not have a little fun?"
"You're right," Achilles says, hoping he's keeping the mischievous edge out of his voice.
Just as the waitress drops off Pat's second drink, a man approaches their table.
"What're a couple of boys like you doing in a place like this?" he asks, leaning in.
"Get lost," Achilles spits, just as Patroclus says, "It's my friend here's birthday tomorrow and we're going to a fishing cabin up north to celebrate."
Achilles glares at Pat. Perhaps the liquor has made him chattier than usual.
"Ajax, are you bothering those two young men?" the waitress calls from a few tables over.
"Just being friendly, Cassandra!" the man calls back.
"I've got enough friends, thanks," Achilles says, unimpressed, and looks the man over. He's maybe forty, muscular and balding, with a face that could have been handsome were it not for a broken nose that didn't heal right and the deep-set wrinkles from years in the sun.
"Achilles has a cousin named Ajax," Patroclus says pleasantly, his second drink already gone.
"Oh, he does, does he?" Ajax says, leaning a little too close to Pat for Achilles's comfort.
"Hey, Ajax, is it?" Achilles says, "I'd like you to leave me and my friend alone."
"Not a problem. See you around," Ajax says, with a wink at Patroclus, before going back to wherever he had come from in the first place.
"That was kind of rude," Patroclus says.
"Did you iwant/i that guy to be hitting on you?" Achilles asks, practically seething. He thinks his jealousy might be palpable, but Patroclus looks at his hands and mutters something.
"What's that, Patroclus?" Achilles says.
"I said, 'Don't make me say it.'"
"Say what?"
"I don't have a lot of options, you know," Patroclus says, fidgeting with the cocktail napkin and not making eye contact.
"Options?"
"Come on, Achilles. You know what I'm saying. Are you going to make me say it?"
Achilles does know. But Patroclus saying it excites him in a way that makes his stomach flip. Before he could squeeze it out of him, before he could say, Options aren't as limited as you might think, and lean across the table to kiss him, the waitress comes back.
"This one's on Ajax," she says, setting the drink in front of Pat and then looking meaningfully at Achilles, who nods. She's warning him. Ajax is bad news.
This drink, Pat sips. He's smiling lazily, drunkenly.
"I'm going to hit the head. When I come back, we're leaving," Achilles says, getting up. There's a line to the bathroom, and Achilles has half a mind to turn around and piss in the parking lot, but he sticks it out, and when he returns to his table, Patroclus is gone. He drops a $20 on the bar for the waitress and hurries outside.
He has a bad feeling, and retrieves the pistol from the glove compartment of his car before walking around the building, looking for Patroclus. It's then that he hears the whimpering cries.
Ajax has Patroclus bent over a car. He is undoing his pants, and Achilles walks up and presses the barrel of the gun to Ajax's neck.
"Let him go," Achilles bites out, so furious that he has half a mind to drop the gun and beat the shit out of this man with nothing but his fists.
"We're just having fun," Ajax says, but loosens his grip on Pat. Patroclus shakes his head, sobbing a little.
"You fucking let go of him or your brains are gonna be all over the hood of this nice car," Achilles says, pulling the hammer of the gun back. Pat worms his way out of Ajax's arms and buttons his pants back up. He moves behind Achilles, peeking out from over his shoulder like a frightened child.
"You missed your chance. You'll never get a fuck like that again," Ajax says, trying to get a better look at Patroclus, who holds on to Achilles's shoulders.
"Let's hope not," Achilles growls, backing away from him with the gun still aimed in his direction. To Pat, he tenderly says, "Let's get back to the car."
"Should have just gone ahead and fucked him," Ajax mutters, trying to get the last word in. At this, Achilles stops.
"What'd you say?"
"Should have just fucked him," Ajax says louder. "Not bothered with holding his hair back when he puked. He was already bent over, you know."
The trigger is easy to squeeze once, twice, three times. Ajax falls backwards, his eyes open in surprise as three holes in his shirt seep blood. Achilles doesn't feel the least bit bad and crouches down so that his indifference is the last thing the asshole gets to see on this mortal plane. He tilts his head a little and watches the life in Ajax's eyes get further away, until his breath stops. He hears gravel crunching under tires and turns to see Patroclus behind the wheel of his T-Bird. He must have fetched the car while Achilles was watching Ajax.
"Get in the passenger's seat, Pat," he says. He's surprised at how calm he is. "You've had too much to drink."
"Me? Achilles, you shot him!" Pat says, but slides over anyway. He's crying, maybe he never stopped from when Ajax had tried to overpower him.
On the interstate, Achilles presses his foot to the gas and soon they're going 90 miles per hour.
"We should go to the cops," Patroclus says.
"And tell them what, exactly?"
"I don't know, that he attacked me."
"About fifty people back there saw you accept a drink from him, and, I don't know why I need to remind you, but cops don't like brown people, or gay people, or teenagers…."
"Okay, okay, fuck," Patroclus sobs.
"There's some water in the backseat, I think you should drink it," Achilles says more gently, before pushing his foot down even harder on the gas pedal. The speedometer reads 100 miles per hour, and his knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel with an intensity he didn't know he had.
After an hour, Achilles pulls over at an empty rest area. In the dim light, he looks at Patroclus.
"Did he hurt you?"
"It's fine," Pat says. He's always doing that, downplaying shit, trying to keep an even keel.
"Did he hurt you, Pat?"
"He hit me, I don't think I'll bruise too bad," Patroclus admits.
"Bastard," Achilles says. By now, Patroclus's tears are dry, but Achilles still runs his thumbs over his cheeks. He leans his forehead against Patroclus's. "I'm sorry, Pat. I should never have left you alone."
"It's not your fault," Patroclus says. And then, clearly trying to lighten the mood, "Hey, it's after midnight. You're eighteen."
Achilles presses forward, so his nose touches against Patroclus. "Happy birthday to me," he says, and presses even further, so his mouth moves against Pat's.
He kisses Patroclus's mouth open and rolls his tongue in between his lips. He feels a low moan in the back of Pat's throat and, encouraged, shifts to straddle him.
"I threw up earlier," Patroclus says weakly in protest.
In response, Achilles sucks on Pat's pulse point, leaving a plum-colored bruise on his neck. He licks down to his clavicle and sucks there, too.
"Tastes fine to me," he murmurs as he bites a little. He feels Patroclus's cock, hard against his lap, and he grinds his own stiffness back.
Patroclus doesn't look drunk with alcohol. He's probably been sober since those bullets entered Ajax's chest. He looks love-drunk. He's heavy lidded, swollen-lipped, glowing, with his cheeks flushed and his breath heavy. He's beautiful, and Achilles stops to drink in the sight.
Patroclus pulls Achilles back, then. He presses a kiss into Achilles's hair, his temple.
"I love you," Pat breathes, and Achilles pulls Patroclus's shirt off.
"I love you," Achilles echoes.
"Me?" Patroclus says before losing focus as Achilles palms his hardness through his trousers.
Pat responds by sucking a worse hickey into Achilles's neck and shucking his shirt off.
"Unbuckle my pants," Achilles says.
Patroclus struggles with the belt buckle. "A little help?"
"I like watching you try. You're such a tease."
Pat fumbles worse then, aware of Achilles's eyes on him. His fingers finally figure it out, and Achilles's length springs free.
Achilles makes swift work of Patroclus's pants, and lays him down on the bench of the front seat. Patroclus's cock, Achilles notes, is beautiful, and he kisses his way down Pat's brown stomach and takes his length in his mouth. He has never done this before, but, like anything, he is good at it on his first try. His right hand finds its way up Pat's chest and to his mouth. Pat sucks on Achilles's fingers, earning a moan from Achilles.
"Fuck," Patroclus whispers, and Achilles might smile if his mouth weren't otherwise occupied. Achilles pulls his hand from Patroclus's mouth and moves it down to his perineum. He presses his fingers against it. Hearing a gasp, he moves his fingers along Patroclus's rim and dips one into him.
Patroclus thrusts into Achilles's mouth with unexpected force, surprised, maybe, and Achilles looks up. He can't make out much in the pale moonlight and the shitty light from the public bathrooms across the lot, but he imagines Patroclus's eyes closed, biting his lip. It's a wonder the boy under him has lasted as long as he has, and Achilles presses a second finger into him and sucks down to the root of Patroclus's cock.
"Achilles," he says, long and drawn out, as he comes. Achilles swallows him, salty and sweet, and Patroclus only has to pump him a few times in his hand for Achilles to follow.
Patroclus looks dazed, and Achilles rests his chin on his friend's chest.
"How long?" Patroclus whispers after a few minutes. "How long have you…"
"I don't know," Achilles answers, though he absolutely does know. "Years, I guess."
"We could have been doing this for Iyears/I?" Patroclus says in disbelief, and Achilles chuckles into Patroclus's silky skin.
Post-orgasm clarity hits Achilles then, and he sucks in a breath. "What the fuck are we gonna do, Pat? I killed a guy."
"I don't know, how much cash've you got?"
Achilles fumbles for his pants, pulling the wallet out of his pocket and counting the bills. "$462. It was for groceries and renting a boat and stuff when we got to the town near Chiron's cabin. How much do you have?"
"$20," Patroclus says sheepishly.
"Okay, so we have enough to get us at least to Seattle. We could go to Canada. Lay low. I could get my savings out of the bank, we could build a cabin in British Columbia." He can picture it-Pat in a flannel, chopping wood, broad and muscular with a beard. Achilles, bringing back trout or venison for dinner. Pat, falling asleep against Achilles's shoulder as they sit in front of a fireplace. Making love in the summertime in the tall grass, wanting for nothing but one another.
Patroclus nods thoughtfully. It warms Achilles to see him so ready to abandon everything and be with Achilles. He leans in to kiss him all over again, this time slowly, languidly. He hears Patroclus's breath catch, feels the heat of this friend's cheeks. As he pulls away, he realizes just how tired he is. Perhaps the adrenaline—from killing a man, from barreling 100 miles an hour down the highway, from fingerfucking his best friend—has worn off.
"I think we should get a motel room in the next town. I've been up since six in the morning. I need to rest."
"I can drive, if you're too tired," Pat offers, pulling on his shirt and blindly reaching for his pants.
"Okay," Achilles says, and they peel back onto the interstate.
Patroclus pulls into the Sandstone Inn just before two in the morning. Achilles looks angelic, asleep and leaning against him, and he tries not to wake him up as he turns off the engine.
An older man in an R.E.M. T-shirt reads a magazine behind the motel's front desk. "East or west side?" he asks without looking up.
"Whatever," Patroclus says. "West."
"$12. Check out's at noon," the man says, sliding over a key. Patroclus counts the money out from Achilles's wallet, sets in on the counter, and snatches up the key.
"Achilles," he says gently, nudging him. Achilles's eyes flutter open and he smiles.
"I like waking up to your face," he murmurs, shifting to a more upright position. Patroclus can feel himself flush. "Where are we?"
"We crossed into Oregon not too long ago. We're in room 7," he says, pulling their duffle bags out of the trunk. Achilles stretches, the hem of his shirt coming up, showing a sliver of his golden belly. Patroclus no longer has to guess at what his Adonis belt looks like below his lean hips, and the thought causes him to trip a little. He unlocks the door clumsily, his scalp prickling when he feels Achilles press a kiss into the back of his neck as they stand in the doorframe.
"You're flustering me," Patroclus says, the statement punctuated by a little laugh.
"Let's go to bed," Achilles says, pushing him into the room and closing the door behind him. He drags Patroclus into the sheets, kicking off his jeans and settling with Patroclus held tightly against him.
The morning comes too quickly, and Achilles is awake, showered and dressed, with a cup of coffee and a bagel in hand when Patroclus wakes.
"Got you something to eat," he says brightly. "Called my mom, too."
"Oh, God," Patroclus says. Thetis has never liked Patroclus, and he can't imagine that going on the lam with her son will do much to help.
"She's going to wire us some money, but she thinks maybe this whole thing'll blow over. Or maybe she could get my grandfather to do something about it."
Patroclus forgets how well-connected Achilles is. He spent his childhood running through Peleus's vineyards, eating fruit straight off the vine and racing Achilles through rows of grapes. He had only met Achilles's mother-a beautiful former socialite and current fixer whose sister is the First Lady of California, whose brother is a powerful Hollywood lawyer, and whose father was an advisor to the President years ago-twice.
"I don't know, Achilles, that sounds a little too iChappaquiddick/i for my taste."
Achilles rolls his eyes. "If you ask me, I was doing a public service. That man wasn't innocent, and I bet you weren't his first." Pat shudders, and Achilles seems to notice, because he leans forward and grins. "And I'm much, much better looking than Ted Kennedy."
"That you are," Patroclus says, and leans in to kiss him. Achilles reciprocates, and soon Patroclus is unbuttoning Achilles's shirt and rutting against him. He delights in this: he is allowed to look, allowed to touch. No longer does he have to shift uncomfortably, try to subtly tuck himself into his waistband when he's hard. No longer does he have to pretend that Achilles, shirtless and sprawling, has no effect on him. He takes his time with Achilles, opening him up with his tongue first and then his fingers, and when he's done Achilles lays, boneless, on the queen-sized mattress.
"Where is Thetis wiring the money?" Patroclus asks as he steps into the shower.
"Portland, some fancy hotel called the Benson," Achilles calls over the sound of running water.
"Okay, so we'll be there by dinnertime if we don't stop too much."
"I think you ought to call your dad, let him know you made it to Chiron's cabin."
Patroclus shuts the water off and steps out, his eyes wide. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."
"I could have my mother call your father. If she figures out a way out of this, it'd be good not to have your father as a loose end."
"Is she mad?" Patroclus asks timidly.
"This is what she does for a living. She's seen way worse than some lowlife getting what's coming to him, believe me. I think she's mad that you saw, though. She's had half a mind to pay you to leave California for years, and now that you've witnessed her only son commit a murder, we're stuck together." Achilles grins. None of this, Patroclus realizes, is even the least bit stressful for him. Perhaps it's that nothing has ever gone wrong for Achilles, perhaps he has a deep-seated belief that the rules truly do not apply to him. And, for just a brief, awful moment, Patroclus wonders if Achilles had enjoyed killing that man.
"Why would she pay me to leave California?" he asks instead of lingering on that last thought as he steps into his pants.
Achilles shrugs. "A couple years ago I threw a fit when she wouldn't let you come to Los Angeles with me. She figured out I was in love with you."
Patroclus looks at the ceiling. "So, I was just the last person in the world to know? That's how it is?"
"Aw, are you mad at me?" Achilles teases, putting his arms around Patroclus and pecking his cheek.
"No, I'm just glad to be in the loop now," he says, and it's true. Maybe Achilles ihad/i been obvious, but Patroclus would never be so presumptuous. Short of jumping him, which Achilles did last night, Patroclus would never assume that a touch here, a glance there, meant anything.
That day, they drive north on I-5, through lush, green farmland. It's late summer, and they pull off to gather wild blackberries that stain their skin and lips.
"You have some…" Pat says, gesturing to the dark purple juice that dribbles down Achilles's chin, before leaning in to kiss it off. Achilles smiles at this, his usually-white teeth made lavender by the berries. Patroclus guffaws at the sight, and Achilles throws a handful of berries in response, splattering all over Patroclus's white shirt. Patroclus gives chase, and when Achilles allows himself to be caught-for that is the only way, as no one can catch him-they wrestle, and when Achilles pins him to a bigleaf maple, Patroclus realizes that they're both hard. And when Achilles undoes Patroclus's pants and sucks him off there in the middle of the dense wood, he thinks the world begins and ends with Achilles.
They stop just south of Eugene for gas, and Achilles kisses Patroclus before hopping out to pay inside. Patroclus shakes out one of Achilles's maps and reads it as he walks around to the bathroom behind the service station. He runs straight into someone, dropping his map and falling flat on his ass.
"I'm sorry-" he starts.
"That's fucking right, you're sorry! Just who do you think you are, walking around with your nose buried in a fucking map like you're not in a crowded public place? You wanna get hit by a car? You wanna fall into an open manhole?" says a young woman, maybe two years older than himself.
Patroclus, shocked at first, starts laughing. "I didn't realize we were in a cartoon version of New York City."
"Fuck you," she says.
"Beware of anvils and grand pianos falling from the sky," he calls after her good-naturedly, and chuckles as she flips him off and marches away.
When he returns to the car, he watches the woman finish up a call at the payphone. She slams the receiver down and he hears her iGoddamn it!/i from across the way. She paces, pulls a cigarette out, and lights it. He likes watching her, and, after a minute, she notices.
"Can I fucking help you, you clumsy asshole?" she asks, and stomps over to him.
He grins easily at her. "How's your day going?"
"Bad!" she says, dragging on her cigarette aggressively. "My brother was supposed to drive me up to my school in Washington, and he bailed. Am I supposed to hitchhike all 200 miles? Girls go missing on this interstate! And you know, they never caught the Green River Killer. He's still—don't even know why I'm telling you this."
"We're going to Portland," Patroclus offers. He can't help it. He likes her. "That's 100 miles you won't get hurt, if you want."
She regards him suspiciously.
"I mean, it's not up to me. This is my friend's car, so I would have to ask him."
Just then, he sees Achilles come out of the convenience store. He's carrying a paper bag and looks like he's in an incredible mood. And Patroclus knows this is going to spoil it. Achilles does not like company. As he approaches, he raises an eyebrow at the woman, and Patroclus sees the judgement there. She's in acid-wash jeans and a flannel that she'd cut the sleeve off of. She's probably part of the grudge scene at whatever university she goes to. He could picture her reading feminist poetry and starting riots against cops. He could see her making other girls fall in love. He could see her leading a revolution. But he also knows what Achilles sees: a girl with bushy eyebrows and greasy hair and thrift store rags.
"Achilles, this girl's trying to get to school and her ride bailed on her and I was hoping-"
"I don't take in strays," Achilles all but growls, looking her up and down. And despite Patroclus himself being evidence of that decidedly inot/i being true, that's not why Patroclus protests.
"Achilles, girls go missing this north on the I-5. I don't feel right about leaving her here. Just until Portland?"
Achilles looks at Patroclus and relents. "Okay," he says, ruffling Patroclus's hair. "You're lucky I can't say no to you."
"I'm Briseis," the woman says, hopping into the back seat of the convertible.
They'd been on the highway for twenty minutes when Patroclus got the nerve to turn and look at her. She's got dark skin, like him, with full lips and long lashes. Her bright eyes make her look intelligent and something about the way she keenly observes him without an ounce of judgement draws him in. He thinks, maybe, they're cut from the same cloth.
Briseis is interesting. She goes to a university in the middle of the forest where they don't have grades and all the buildings are of the brutalist style. Patroclus is enthralled.
He can feel Achilles next to him seething as he and Briseis fall in love with each other. Achilles has always been a little jealous, a little unwilling to share. He drums on the steering wheel with his thumbs, rolls his eyes every time Briseis talks. Patroclus ignores Achilles's petulance.
Achilles has always thought that Thetis underestimates Patroclus. That's what he thought when he'd dialed her number for a second time that morning and asked her to call Pat's father to buy some time just in case.
"Are you sure it's the father we should be worried about?" she'd said, like Patroclus would ever betray him. It seemed silly to him, suddenly, that he'd been so worried about Briseis. As if to prove it to himself that he trusts Patroclus, he leaves them both in the car and goes into the hotel alone.
"It's not under Pelides? Can you try Nereid?" Achilles asks the hotel clerk.
"I'm sorry sir, nothing's come in today."
"I wouldn't say nothing," says a voice from behind him. Suddenly the room smells like sea mist and he feels his mother's cool, graceful hand on his arm.
He grins from ear to ear. There's a peculiar coldness about the two of them that's particularly jarring when they stand next to each other. Alone, Achilles's green eyes might remind someone of dense canopies of leaves overhead, of clover and moss and life. Next to Thetis, an observer would realize, with a start, that his eyes are not the green of earth but the green of the ocean when a storm is coming. Dangerous, deadly. The two look nothing alike and yet anyone could see that they're mother and son. The only common physical traits they share are the same severe bone structure-a sharp jaw and sharper cheekbones, their stature at 6'2, and their distinct otherworldliness.
"I think even the Kennedys would run from you," Patroclus had said when he observed them together. It had shamed Achilles. It felt like he and his mother were cruel children with a magnifying glass, lighting ants on fire, and Patroclus was the only person who could make him see it.
"I didn't expect to see you," he says, and she grasps his hand.
"Let's get your bags and have a chat, my love," she says, guiding him out. Achilles had parked not too far from the hotel, just around the corner, and Thetis spots the car with Patroclus and the hanger-on in the backseat.
"What is she still doing here?" Achilles asks, his voice cool and venomous. He does not miss Patroclus rolling his eyes. He'd been an asshole the entire way, he knows, and he's almost pleased to have found where Patroclus's saintly patience begins to falter.
"Hello, Thetis," Patroclus says. "We gave this young lady a ride because it's not safe for hitchhikers on the I-5."
"Nor is it safe to pick them up," Thetis says pointedly, and Briseis scurries to gather her things.
"It was really nice to meet you, Patroclus. Don't lose my address! I really want to hear from you," she says, leaning in for an awkward hug and scrambling out of the car.
Thetis looks meaningfully at Achilles and turns her magnifying glass from the girl to Patroclus.
"My son and I are going to have a family meeting. I got you a room, as well. Why don't you go take a nice, cold shower?"
"iPlease/i," Achilles scoffs. "Mother, you can't be serious."
In truth, having his jealousy validated by Thetis only reignited his dislike of Briseis. He wishes he had pulled the car off the road a second time to drag Patroclus into the woods and fuck him until he forgot his own name, let alone the name of the grubby bitch in the backseat. Maybe he wouldn't have even waited to get to the cover of trees. Maybe he'd have snaked his tongue into that pretty, pink mouth right in front of her like staking a claim.
More worrying still, Patroclus does not deny it. Thetis has a keycard in her extended hand, waiting expectantly for Patroclus. He gets out, grabs his bags. He's in no particular hurry, and Achilles respects this. Patroclus will not be cowed by the great and beautiful Thetis.
Achilles has always thought that Thetis underestimates Patroclus. When she'd floated the idea of paying Patroclus off to leave, she'd been as subtle as a fucking brick, all "Your little friend is interested in medicine, correct? All the best pre-med programs are on the east coast, and I have some connections in Boston. I think I could get him a full ride." Achilles thinks it might have been a bluff, but if it wasn't, it was well-executed. He'd agonized over it for a while, wondering if he was holding Patroclus back. But then he'd asked Patroclus. He'd said, "Have you given any thought to college?" and Patroclus had earnestly said that he'd go wherever Achilles went. He hadn't even paused to think. And Achilles realized that if Thetis had approached Patroclus with this Devil's deal, Patroclus would have turned her down. It wasn't in his nature to choose what was best for himself over others.
In Patroclus, Thetis has met her match. Her tricks are often based on the assumption that most humans will act in their own self-interest. They do not often work on exceedingly kind people. Thetis is lucky, Achilles supposes, that in her occupation, she rarely runs into altruists.
They match a graceful stride, perfectly in sync, as they stroll to the room she rented. When the door is closed, Thetis sits on the edge of one of the two queen-sized beds. Even in private, she is perfectly poised.
"I'm sure you know that it doesn't help that you waited a full twelve hours to call me," she says, smoothing an imagined wrinkle out of her perfect skirt.
"There was a lot going on," Achilles said, feeling foolish. There were a lot of things he could've have done differently. Not shooting that guy wasn't one of those things, though.
"If you'd called right away, this would've been done with. You'd be at Chiron's cabin, giving that poor boy out there an aneurysm right now."
At this, Achilles beams. "You think?"
Thetis rolls her eyes. "The sheriff in that county isn't on the take, either."
"I'm sure there's plenty of people who wanted him dead, Mother."
"Actually, you're right. You see, your victim wasn't your average scumbag. He owed a significant debt to Athena Pallas. You know the name?"
Achilles shakes his head.
"Just as well. She owns half of Los Angeles, and her dealings aren't always on the up and up. There was a rumor going around that Ajax struck a deal with the FBI and was planning to talk. So Pallas sent her goon Odysseus after him."
"That's good, right? People will think it's this Odysseus guy, and his boss'll cover it up."
"Except everyone knows it wasn't a hit. Professionals aren't that sloppy, darling." She examines her nail bed and Achilles can't help but feel like he's being strung along.
"Is Odysseus going to take credit or isn't he?"
"I'm working on it. But you have to lay low for a few weeks while I sort everything out," she says. "But that's not why I'm here. I didn't just fly two hours in icoach/i to talk about some lowlife you shot."
"Did you come to see how much I've grown?" Achilles drawls.
Thetis laughs. "I think you should come live with me in Beverly Hills. This little incident proves it. I can't come running every time you kill someone who looks at your boyfriend the wrong way."
"Will the boyfriend be included in this offer?" Achilles asks, matching her flippant tone. He likes talking like this to someone. His mother is the only person, he thinks, who understands his particular brand of cruelty. Patroclus forgave him, instantly, for killing that man, but Thetis saw nothing to forgive in the first place. They're savage together, egging each other on.
"There are better-looking boys in Los Angeles. We can get you ten shiny new boyfriends who will worship the ground you walk on, just like him."
Just like him. That irks Achilles quite a bit. He thinks that no one could possibly love him the way Patroclus does, so fully and completely. Patroclus sees who Achilles really is-ferocious, leonine, naive and stubborn and bad-tempered and selfish and shallow. Yet Patroclus loves him anyway.
"We can't," Achilles says. "There's no one like him."
Thetis and Achilles have similar attitudes about people. They exist to be useful. So why not get her son a new boy to play with in Los Angeles. He could see her standing outside a modeling agency, full of handsome, desperate young men who are beginning to realize that making it in Hollywood is not as easy as they thought it might be, looking over them like someone might look over peaches at the farmers market. Deciding which one is worthy of her son.
iNone of them. They aren't Patroclus,/i he thinks.
"Well you can't stay on that vineyard in Napa much longer. You'll whither in that sleepy town. We both know it."
She's right, but Achilles doesn't want to admit it. "I iwas/i looking forward to fleeing the country. I liked killing that guy, too. Feels like I'm built for violence."
"You're my son, so you're probably right," she says, then pulls a keycard out of her bag. "Your friend might want company. The room number is written on it. Consider my offer."
She gives him a peck on the cheek, an action not borne out of tenderness but of good breeding, and she's halfway out the door before she seems to remember something. "I called that boy's father like you asked. Bought you as much time as you need in case the Odysseus thing falls through. Maybe you can go to Chiron's cabin afterall."
He thinks he knows why she's suggesting it. They have the same temperament. Being holed up in a cramped cabin with just about anyone would make him commit murder a second time. But Patroclus isn't just anyone. Achilles has always thought that Thetis underestimates Patroclus.
Patroclus hears a knock on the door and, thinking it's Achilles, swings it open while saying, "What did she say?"
It is not Achilles.
Briseis blinks at him. "I asked the front desk where you were. Sorry."
Patroclus beams. "Come in, please."
She does, makes a beeline for the bathroom, and stuffs a towel and the toiletries in her backpack.
"Deviant," Patroclus teases, and she thumbs through the room service menu.
"You have no idea. I robbed a gas station with my brother, once. Paid for all my tuition that week."
"Really?" Patroclus asks. He shouldn't be so surprised. His best friend-lover? just murdered someone yesterday. "How'd you do it?"
"It's not so hard. I couldn't pay for college and it seemed like the quickest solution-"
"No, I mean, how'd you do it? With a gun? What'd you say?"
"We walked in late at night, when there weren't a lot of customers, wearing masks," she says, and hops up on the bed like it's a stage. She picks the telephone up off the nightstand and points it like a gun. "We said, 'This is a robbery. Everyone stay cool and no one gets hurt. Fork over whatever you've got in the drawer. No one try to be a hero. You don't wanna die over someone else's money, do you?'"
"And that worked?" Patroclus asked.
"Yeah, it did. Cops aren't as good at their jobs as the movies will have you believe. I went in the next day and got a Coke. The cashier didn't recognize me."
It's then that Achilles walks in. He regards Briseis with less contempt than before, and takes his wallet and keys out of his pocket to set on the desk. He crosses the room and, quite purposefully, kisses Patroclus. Patroclus is surprised at first before he reciprocates.
"When you've gotten rid of her, join me in the shower," he says, and goes into the bathroom. He doesn't close the door before he undresses, and it's evident that he's trying to make Briseis uncomfortable. Patroclus is embarrassed, and sheepishly looks at her.
"So it's like that, eh?" Briseis says.
"Sorry, I thought you knew. Are you angry with me?"
She looks startled. "No! Of course not. I guess I'm disappointed, is all." She touches his hand sweetly. "I thought…."
"If things were different…." Patroclus starts.
"If things were different," she agrees. "Don't keep your boy waiting for too long, now."
He doesn't. When he's standing, naked, under the hot water, Achilles kisses him again.
"Thetis brings out the worst in you," Patroclus says when they part.
"I don't want to think about my mother right now," Achilles jokes, his cock hard and rubbing against Patroclus.
"What did she say?"
"That she's fixing it. We'll have to lay low for a few weeks. She called your dad. It's all taken care of, baby."
Patroclus gets the feeling that something is being omitted. "That's not why she flew here," he says carefully.
"She thinks I ought to come live with her in LA," Achilles allows.
Patroclus snorts. "That's just what that city needs-a pair of sadistic, well-connected psychopaths enabling each other." He hadn't meant to say it out loud, and he claps a hand over his mouth in shock.
Achilles cannot help his grin. "You've been awful mouthy since I started fucking you."
"I'll show you mouthy," Patroclus says, sinking to his knees.
When they emerge, pruny and still-wet, passing back and forth the only towel Briseis hadn't managed to nab, Achilles stops dead in his tracks.
"Did you move my wallet?" Achilles asks.
"No, why?" Patroclus says, looking through his bag for a fresh shirt.
"That fucking bitch!" Achilles says, opening his wallet to show Patroclus that his cash is gone.
Patroclus furrows his brow and opens his own wallet. His twenty is still there, as is a scrap of paper with Briseis's address. It seems odd to him, that she'd rob Achilles blind and yet trust Patroclus not to rat and give Achilles her information.
"You can always get more money."
"It's not about the money, Patroclus. Your little fucking girlfriend stole $400 from me."
It almost seems unfair to Patroclus. $400 is nothing to Achilles, but to Briseis, a broke college student who had to rob a fucking gas station to get her education? That's months of food, rent, electric bills. She needed it more, and though Patroclus doesn't say it, he does not blame her.
"You're being cruel," Patroclus says.
"iI'm/i being icruel/i? Are you gonna pay me back? How the fuck did she even manage to steal my money directly in front of you? Was she just that fucking magnetic?"
Patroclus is rarely at the receiving end of Achilles's rage. Even now, he knows this anger is misplaced. Still, he dresses in silence.
"I'm going for a walk," he says, and, taking the keys, he leaves.
Downtown Portland isn't such a sight to behold, Patroclus thinks. Maybe it's prettier the further you get off the highway, but all cities reek of piss and tobacco and Portland is no exception. He sees, in the distance, the gates of Chinatown and a gas station in an odd spot just before it. Something occurs to him, and he retrieves the gun from the glove compartment.
An hour later, he returns to his hotel room. Achilles is sitting on the bed staring at his hands.
"Patroclus, listen, I'm so sorry. You're right, it was only my pride that was hurt."
Patroclus throws down a bunch of money on the bed.
"What the fuck?" Achilles asks, counting it out. There's over $1000 there.
"Robbed a Texaco," Patroclus says. "It's ensured, you know? I wasn't really going to shoot anyone, and-"
Achilles looks wonderstruck.
"-stop looking at me like that."
"You robbed a fucking bank because I was mad at you?"
"No," Patroclus says, then assesses the situation further. "Yes."
"What'd happen if I gave you the silent treatment? Would you steal a car?"
"Stop," Patroclus says, but he's starting to giggle.
"Commit arson?" Achilles says, getting closer, playfully running his fingertips over Patroclus's sides. "Huh?" He tickles him, and Patroclus falls to the bed, with Achilles following after him.
They zip back south on the 1-5. "What's your biggest fear?" Achilles asks, the sunset painting the right side of Achilles's face ochre.
"Now, or before you shot a guy?" Patroclus asks.
"Before."
"I thought you'd outgrow me, and soon," Patroclus says nervously.
"Huh," Achilles says. "You know how you said Thetis and I bring out the worst in each other? I always thought you brought out the best in me. You're right, about LA. I'm a monster without you."
Achilles feels Patroclus reach across the bench of the front seat and touch his thigh. "What about you? What was your biggest fear?"
"Before?" Achilles asks, and sees Patroclus nod out of the corner of his eye. "Before, it was taking over my dad's vineyard. I think I'm meant for something more than being a big fish in a small pond." He pulls a cigarette out of his pack and struggles to light it. Patroclus takes it from him and lights it, passing it back. Achilles smiles. "Now….well, I saw that man hurting you. I saw that girl wanting you, saw you wanting her back." Patroclus opens his mouth to argue. "Don't. I know what I saw. I'm not mad. My greatest fear, I think, is losing you."
"These past two days," Patroclus says, looking down at his hands, "I've never felt so real. I think loving you is what I'm meant to do. If you want to go to Los Angeles, I'd come. I'd go anywhere for you."
What a pair they make, Achilles thinks. One built for love and the other built for violence.
"I don't wanna go to LA," Achilles says. The stars are out now, and the clear summer skies and minimal light pollution gives them a gorgeous view of the galaxy.
"Where will we go?" Patroclus asks as they pull onto a dirt road somewhere in northwestern California.
"I hear all the best pre med programs are on the east coast," Achilles says. "My mom mentioned she could get you a full ride in Boston."
"I won't leave you," Patroclus says. "Even for a few years."
"I'll come. I'll figure something out to do. I'd go anywhere for you, too."
They reach Chiron's cabin, and Achilles turns off the engine and leans in to kiss Patroclus. They've made it.