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I met Achilles when I was twelve. I had just lost my sight in the incident a mere eight weeks ago. I needed help doing everything and I was fragile: flinching at every touch and would be easily sent into a crying fit. I was in a constant state of distress, unable to see anymore. The darkness enfolded me, visually and mentally. I was being sifted through the foster system and my few friends drifted off, scared to break me.
Nobody was quite sure what to do with me. I was stubborn and I refused to leave my classes when I returned to school six weeks after the incident. But it was difficult to work me through them without my sight. I lasted two weeks. I had a breakdown in health class when talking about alcohol dangers and that was it. I was moved out of my regular classes. Lunch and breaks were my only chances to interact with my classmates. Loneliness was my new best friend. Most kids didn’t even want to talk to me. I let Skops, my new seeing-eye dog, drag me around. He knew where to go, unlike me.
One day, we sat at the end of my old table. My friends still sat here, but on the other end. We never spoke. Suddenly, the weight on the table shifted as someone sat across from me.
“My name is Achilles. What’s yours?” He’d said. It took me a moment to realize the question was for me.
“M-Me?”
“Yes, you.” He laughed a little.
“Patroclus,” I replied.
“Patroclus.” He repeated. I liked how he said my name. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I nodded. “Are you new? You don’t sound familiar.”
“Sort of, I’ve been around for a few weeks.”
“Oh,” I merely replied.
There was a heavy silence for a moment.
“I like your dog. What’s his name?” Achilles asked. His voice was closer now, so I guessed he was reaching over to pet Skops. He wasn’t supposed to do that since Skops was on duty, but I really saw no reason to stop him when we were just sitting here.
“Skops,” I replied, “weird, I know. I didn’t name him. I kinda like it though.” I reached out my hand and Skops pressed his head to my palm. I scratched behind his ears.
“I like it too.”
Achilles began sitting with me each day after that. Soon he also began walking with me in the halls, talking at my side until we split up for classes. It was heaven for three weeks until Achilles asked: “Do you want to hang out after school?”
“Sure,” I’d replied, laying back. We were outside after lunch, sitting on the hill. Skops laid beside us as I fed him chips.
“Think we could go to your place? My mom isn’t the most . . . friendly.”
I winced. There it was. I didn’t know if I was ready to open up to Achilles about my foster home. He’d be able to tell as soon as we got there. I didn’t exactly look like my foster dad, Chiron.
“Pat? You okay?” Achilles asked.
“I-uh-” I stammered. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just . . . where I live isn’t exactly my home .” I tried to explain.
“What?”
I sighed, “I’m in foster care right now.” I said flatly, knowing there was really no way around it.
“Oh,” was all Achilles said for a moment. “That’s cool.”
“You-You don’t care?”
Achilles scoffed, “Why would I? It’s your business and you can tell me as much as you want about it. I’m kind of curious, but it’s your life, not mine.”
I couldn’t help sighing in relief. “Okay, then yeah, we can hang out at my place. Chiron won’t care. Chiron is my foster dad.”
“Cool,” Achilles replied and that was that.
He was cool about it that afternoon too. He was respectful to Chiron and was fine with just hanging out in my room. I let him pick music for us and we hung out and talked.
“Hey Pat?’
“Yeah?”
“I know I said it was up to you but can I at least ask you something?”
I knew what was coming, but Achilles had earned the right to ask to some degree. He was a better friend than any of my old ones had ever been. “Go ahead.”
“Why are you in foster care?” He asked, voice cautious.
I sighed, “You have to keep this to yourself, okay? Nobody at school knows.”
“Of course, Pat.” I felt Achilles hook his pinky with mine and I smiled. He always made pinky-promises.
“My blindness . . . I wasn’t born with it. It happened a little over two months ago. My dad was always rough with me. He just snapped one day and hit me over the head with one of his bottles. It shattered and the glass in my eyes screwed it up so bad that I can’t see anymore.” I kept the story vague because my breathing picked up already. These few sentences made my eyes sting with tears. “CPS didn’t want me to stay with him after that so . . . here I am.” I shrugged.
I felt a touch on my shoulder and I flinched strongly, still lost in my memory.
“Sorry, sorry,” Achilles said softly. He pulled his hand away. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Pat. Is that-that must be what caused those scars on your face.”
I reached up and traced the scar that ran from the top of my head down my left cheek. “Yeah,”
“Well, uh, where’s your dad now?”
“In custody. His trial is in a month.”
“Wow,” Achilles said softly. “I don’t know what to say, Pat.”
“Just . . . nothing, please.”
“Okay,” Achilles put his hand gently on my shoulder and this time, I didn’t flinch.
Achilles and I grew close the next few weeks. He came over the morning of my father’s trial to wish me luck and give me support. He held me while I cried, terrified. He rubbed my back and it was the first time I realized that Achilles was shorter than me.
He was at Chiron’s house after the trial too. He brought cookies and treats for Skops. He held me again as I recounted the trial, letting me cry as much as I needed too.
“You won, Pat.” He whispered in my ear. “You won.”
I don’t know what happened after that day, but Achilles seemed to hold a higher place in my heart after that. Maybe it was just him being there, supporting me through all of it. Whatever it was, we were inseparable after that. Other than classes, we were always together. We made other friends, like Deidamia and Briseis, but it was always Achilles and I.
Three years of our friendship passed. We were sophomores and I’d been hearing a lot of how attractive Achilles was as everyone’s hormones went crazy in high school. My curiosity got the best of me and I had to ask.
“Achilles?” I spoke up. We were eating lunch with Briseis and Deidamia.
“Yeah?” Achilles replied, his voice muffled with what I assumed was food in his mouth.
I heard Briseis snort and rolled my eyes. “I have a question.”
There was a moment before he responded, probably swallowing his food. “Fire away, Pat.”
“What do you look like?”
“Gorgeous!” Deidamia cut in before Achilles could reply.
He chuckled tensely. “Thanks, Dei, but I think Pat wants an actual description.”
“Yeah,” I nodded.
“Well,” Achilles began. “I’ve got long hair and—”
“What color?” I asked.
“Blonde.”
It took me a moment to recall what blonde hair looked like. “Okay,”
Achilles hummed in thought. “I’ve got green eyes.”
“Oh please, they’re not just green, they’re this really deep sea green. That’s why that girl in algebra liked you so much, remember?” Deidamia cut in again.
“Right,” Achilles chuckled again and he was obviously flustered. “And I’ve got fair skin but I’m covered in freckles.”
“Are you tall?” I ask.
“No,” Achilles mumbled.
“Achilles is very petite.” Briseis said, laughing.
“Hey!” Achilles protested, “There isn’t anything wrong with that!”
Briseis snorted, “One hundred percent bottom material.”
“I take pride in that.” Achilles retorted. “But just because I’m ‘petite’ doesn’t mean I’m some sort of twig. I think I’m rather graceful.”
“Fair, you’re built like a girl though.”
Achilles was quiet for a moment. “Well am I a pretty girl?”
I couldn’t help laughing, having been silent for this conversation. “You sound like a very pretty girl, Achilles.”
“Awesome,” Achilles replied, seeming content with being pretty. “Someone here has to be pretty.”
“Excuse you!” Deidamia protested as Achilles cackled.
Briseis just chuckled, “Don’t worry, Pat, you and I can be not-pretty together.”
The conversation didn’t really come up again. I was just glad I had an idea of what Achilles looked like now. I always imagined him, willowy and bright: long blonde hair, a face covered in freckles and a sunshiny smile. Even though Deidamia said his eyes were deep green, dark, I imagine his eyes shone like stars, no matter how dark the color. It was one of the many ways, I learned, Achilles was my better. Not that I minded too much. I liked admiring it all.
It was a few months after that conversation, though, that I thought about it again. That was when Achilles asked me to be his boyfriend. It was quite the show, Achilles serenading me at lunch on his ukelele, which he knew I loved to listen to him play. I was nodding and probably blushing like crazy, returning his kiss and burying my face in his shoulder when he hugged me.
We went to my house that night and broke the news to Chiron. He only said that it had taken us long enough and told Achilles not to hurt me. We’d laid on my bed that night with Skops laying at the foot of the bed, talking as Achilles randomly strummed at his ukelele.
“Hey Achilles?” I asked, my head on his stomach.
He stopped strumming. “Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something? It’s kinda . . .” I trailed off, humph -ing as I couldn’t think of the right word.
“Of course you can.”
I took a deep breath. “Why did you ask me out?”
I felt his muscles in his stomach tighten. “Because I like you?” He said, but it seemed more like he was asking me.
“Why?” was my initial response. I clamped a hand over my mouth at that, surprised at myself.
Achilles made a sound like he’d choked. “Are you actually asking me?”
“I hadn’t meant to but . . . yeah, sort of.” I shrugged. “It’s just . . . you’re so amazing and beautiful and I’m just me : plain.”
“Pat,” Achilles breathed. He sat up and I was forced to as well, facing the direction of Achilles’s voice. I felt his hand on my scarred cheek and I tensed for a moment before leaning into the touch. “You are anything but plain. There are so many things about your appearance alone that I’m absolutely in love with.” He said quietly, pressing a soft kiss to my lips.
“Really?” I reply, hating how small my voice sounds.
“Really.” Achilles kissed the top of my head. “I love this: I love your hair, curly and fluffy.” He kissed my nose next. “And this. I love your nose, the few freckles on it and how you scrunch it up when you’re happy.” He pressed another kiss, a sound one, to my lips. “And this: your lips are all big and pink and I’ve wanted to kiss them for so long. I also love how you bite your bottom lip when you get an idea or when you’re nervous.”
“Achilles—” I tried to cut in, but Achilles stopped me with a finger over my lips.
“Nope. You asked, I’m answering.” He kissed my neck next. “This too. I’m not sure why I like your neck so much, I just do. You’ve grown quite Adam’s apple.” He traced his fingers over the lump in my throat, prompting a swallow from me. He nudged the collar of my shirt away, kissing my collarbone. “I love this,”—he kisses my shoulder—“and this. When we were little, you were kinda scrawny, honestly. But you’re grown now and you’ve got broad shoulders that I like more than I’d like to admit.” He chuckled.
Achilles switched from his lips to his hands, running his hand down my side. “And this, all of this.” Achilles’s voice took on an awe that made me shiver. He brought his hand to my hip and pulled me closer to him. “All of this that you can’t see, Pat. You are absolutely gorgeous and I wish you could see that. But since you can’t, I’ll have to love all of this for you.”