I awoke with an ache in my lower back that made my face contort while I tried to get up. I knew it was a bad idea to sleep on the couch and yet I did it so often - almost every night I spent by myself. I stretched my arms high above my head and bent forward, savoring the stretch as my back hung down.
I felt around between the couch cushions for a few seconds, then pulled out my phone to check the time. It was still early - the sun had only just risen. Maybe I would go for a run, if my back allowed. There was plenty of time before I had to go to work.
There was a text, too. From Noah. Of course it was from Noah.
Emms, I'm out of town for a bit. Not sure yet when I'll be back, but text me if you need me and I'll be there asap, or call Hermes if it's urgent. See you soon.
The attached number had the name 'Nicholas'. That had to be Hermes. I saved it in my phone, just in case, but I already knew I wouldn't call it.
At least now that I knew, he was thoughtful enough to inform me of his absence. It was cold comfort.
Five days later, I found myself on Noah's sidewalk, staring up at his house from the Sunday morning shade of an oak tree. I still didn't know what to do. I had decided to stop googling him and to try to stop thinking about him, but of course I'd spent all this time with a racing mind and an aching heart. I'd slept fitfully. He had called me twice more and sent me brief texts checking if I was okay, but I hadn't answered and eventually, after the third day, he'd stopped reaching out.
I'd avoided my friends, too. I'd made up a lame excuse for not going to Rachel's birthday party, and fortunately they'd believed it. I couldn't pretend I was fine. I couldn't talk about Noah as if he had just been away for that whole weekend instead of coming back earlier and as if nothing had happened. I didn't want to talk about what had happened, or nearly happened, on my way home from the bar on Friday night, either.
So I stood there, hiding in plain sight, debating whether I should walk up to his front door or turn on my feet and go back home. Eventually I decided to go for it - sitting at home wasn't going to change anything, so I might as well talk to him and see what would happen.
I rang the doorbell once, twice, but no one answered. I knew he had to be home; I'd seen the flickering light of a tv. Without really expecting anything I turned the knob, but the door swung inward and I stepped inside.
There was a lot of noise and some loud cussing in Noah's low voice. I followed the sounds into the living room and found him lying on the sofa and playing some sort of winter sports video game - his right calf was swung over one armrest, his left foot on the ground and his head propped up on a cushion on the other armrest, and he hadn't heard me come in.
He jumped up the moment he saw me, his controller falling to the ground and his game character face-planting in the snow.
"Emma!" He wore nothing but a pair of light gray sweatpants - not even underwear, I confirmed when I saw how low on his hips the sweatpants sat - and his chest was full of scratches streaked red and gold and bruises that were in various stages of fading. I could swear I could actually see them fade - just like I saw the purplish swelling of his black eye gradually shrink and change to greenish yellow.
He saw me staring and rubbed his ribs. Did something jut out a little under his skin there or was I imagining things? "I only just got back, Emma, I would've called, but I wasn't sure if you..." He pulled a hand through his hair and stopped talking.
I was still in the doorway. "I wasn't sure either," I said, and I honestly still wasn't sure if I would have wanted him to call me after all. But I was here, wasn't I? I couldn't help but feel conflicted, on the one hand wary of who he was and what he could do and what the hell was I doing here with a guy that was almost literally described as a mindless killing machine, but on the other hand... I couldn't look at him and not want him. It was his innate corporeal pull, sure, but even more than that it was seeing the strong arms that had hugged me tightly so often, the legs that he'd wrapped all around me in bed in the cutest display of sleepy affection I could imagine, the eyes that had shared my joy and my fear and my sadness. Even if one of those eyes wasn't completely visible now.
On the tv, Noah's opponent was apparently doing a victory lap. Noah glanced back at it a little sorely and I couldn't stop myself from softly laughing at this ordinary display of competitiveness.
"What?" he said sharply, whipping his head back around, but his face mellowed when he saw my smile.
We just stood, neither of us knowing what to say until we both opened our mouths at the same time.
"You're here," he said.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
When we both paused to let the other speak, he answered. "I'm fine." And he would be - half of the scratches I'd seen when I came in had already disappeared from his body and left only small blotches of red and gold blood. "Are you okay?" he asked then, coming closer but halting in the middle of the room when I didn't move.
"Yeah, I'm great," I said airily.
He tilted his head slightly to the left. The swelling around his eye had almost dissolved entirely. "I mean, last week…"
"No, all good," I interrupted him. "I barely even thought about it."
"Emma." His voice sounded patient.
Of course he wouldn't believe that foolish lie. The whole past week came rushing into my thoughts, all at once. "Fine, yeah, I googled you!" I spit out. "I read all about your bloodlust and your destruction and how you slept with half of Greece and about all your children and I don't remember a single one of their names except for Eros and Nike because there were so many!"
"Oh, Emma," he groaned, "I wish you hadn't done that."
"Why not? You don't want me to know how much of a slut you are?"
"No, I don't mind you knowing, it's that half of it isn't even true!" He threw his hands up in exasperation.
Oh. That changed things. But I wouldn't just go and admit I might have been a little self-righteous. "That still leaves a really big other half," I said stubbornly. "But then your brother did mention dirty little secrets. So I guess you have lots of them, right? Dirty secrets?"
He sat on the back of the sofa. "I don't know what the right answer is here, Emma."
I crossed my arms. I still hadn't moved away from the doorway. "How about the truth?"
"Fine," he sighed. "Of course I have dirty secrets."
"What are they?" I asked.
"They're hardly secrets if I tell you, are they?" He laughed, but quickly stopped when he saw the serious look on my face.
I frowned. "Don't get sarcastic on me. You owe me the truth."
"Do I?"
Those two words lacking all lightheartedness of just a moment before, combined with how cool and grim his face suddenly became - not to mention those insane muscles that were still on upsetting display - made my arms fall to my sides and my legs take an involuntary step back. Had I gone too far probing him? Had I forgotten my position as a simple, weak human that was for all I knew completely inferior to him? When he straightened and advanced on me, I felt my heart rate quicken and I recoiled further into the hallway.
But the darkness in his eyes retreated and made room for confusion, then agony. He stopped his approach, wavered, stood still. "Wait, Emma…"
"What?" I averted my glance. I couldn't look at him being all apprehensive and uneasy. He was the one with the upper hand, he had no reason to be anxious.
He took a small step closer. I stiffened all over. He stopped himself again. "Are you scared of me?" he asked quietly.
"What? No." What was the point even of pretending by now? "Of course I'm scared of you." I felt my heart beat hard against my chest and grabbed the fingers of one hand with the other to stop them from trembling.
"Emma, I'm still the same person."
I looked up from underneath my lashes and saw his pleading expression. Fidgeting, picking at the nail of my ring finger, I tried to buy myself some time and figure out what to do. "Are you, though?" I asked then, looking up to meet his eyes.
His shoulders fell. "The only thing that's changed is that you have been reading things from thousands of years ago."
His discomfort empowered me, my voice grew stronger, "But most of it is true, isn't it? And it changes everything! It changes everything I thought I knew about you, it changes everything I thought I knew about us. It changes everything about how I thought you saw me. What am I even to you? Just the next one in a long line of girls that you can use and then throw out once you're bored of them? Just because you can, because who's gonna stop you? Who's gonna stop you?" I indicated his towering body with a sweeping wave.
I saw then that he had balled his hands into tight fists and his knuckles were going white. But his face wasn't heated with displeasure or indignation so much as despair, and I was not ready to hear what he said next in a voice that he clearly tried to keep balanced -
"No, Emma, you got it all wrong - I - I love you."