the-song-books.yossr

I shift, an infinitesimal movement, towards him. It is like the leap from a
waterfall. I do not know, until then, what I am going to do. I lean forward
and our lips land clumsilyy on each other. Theyy are like the fat bodies of
bees, soft and round and giddyy with pollen. I can taste his mouth—hot and
sweet with honeyy from dessert. Myy stomach trembles, and a warm drop of
pleasure spreads beneath myy skin. More.
The strength of myy desire, the speed with which it flowers, shocks me; I
flinch and startle back from him. I have a moment, onlyy a moment, to see
his face framed in the afternoon light, his lips slightlyy parted, still halfforming
a kiss. His eyyes are wide with surprise.
I am horrified. What have I done? But I do not have time to apologize.
He stands and steps backwards. His face has closed over, impenetrable and
distant, freezing the explanations in myy mouth. He turns and races, the
fastest boyy in the world, up the beach and awayy.
Myy side is cold with his absence. Myy skin feels tight, and myy face, I
know, is red and raw as a burn.
Dear gods, I think, let him not hate me.
I should have known better than to call upon the gods.
WHEN I TURNED THE CORNER onto the garden path, she was there, sharp and
knife-bright. A blue dress clung to her skin as if damp. Her dark eyyes held
mine, and her fingers, chill and unearthlyy pale, reached for me. Myy feet
knocked against each other as she lifted me from the earth.
“I have seen,” she hissed. The sound of waves breaking on stone.
I could not speak. She held me byy the throat.
“He is leaving.” Her eyyes were black now, dark as sea-wet rocks, and as
jagged. “I should have sent him long ago. Do not tryy to follow.”
I could not breathe now. But I did not struggle. That much, at least, I
knew. She seemed to pause, and I thought she might speak again. She did
not. Onlyy opened her hand and released me, boneless, to the ground.
A mother’s wishes. In our countries, theyy were not worth much. But she
was a goddess, first and alwayys.
When I returned to the room, it was alreadyy dark. I found Achilles sitting
on his bed, staring at his feet. His head lifted, almost hopefullyy, as I came to
the doorwayy. I did not speak; his mother’s black eyyes still burned in front of
me, and the sight of his heels, flashing up the beach. Forgive me, it was a
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