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Achilles grips the sink, looking into the mirror. The lights in the bathroom were shut off, as soon as he entered the room. He always hates when lights are too bright. He’s always had light sensitivity, but he especially doesn’t want the bright lights burning into his eyes when he’s having a particularly bad moment.
The blond runs both of his hands over his scalp, sighing shakily as tears fell from his eyes. He felt pathetic, getting upset over something that was completely out of his control. He always wanted to be in control of his life, but there were some things that he just couldn’t grasp.
It had been a while since he had spoken to Patroclus. He was always the one that Achilles went to when his mental health days were particularly bad. Patroclus was always so gentle with him in these moments. He was so kind, in fact, that Achilles found himself believing that he didn’t deserve him. All his life, everyone around him had struggled to help him when he had his episodes. When he felt so overwhelmed and upset that he lashed out, many people didn’t understand it.
Patroclus had been busy between work and college, and hadn’t had as much time to talk to Achilles recently. Between juggling school and work, Patroclus had only had the time to visit Achilles once or twice a week, and the two would sometimes go the whole day without talking, only calling at night, and falling asleep on the phone together, so that Achilles could sleep.
On top of missing Patroclus, Achilles was unable to keep a job, due to his unstable moods. He had been applying to multiple jobs, even calling the companies himself to express interest. Yet, every time he went to the interviews, he never got a call back. Achilles guessed that it was due to his lack of experience. He only ever had two jobs beforehand, and neither of them worked out very well. He spent less than a year working at both of them. The first one, he was fired from after six months, after making a mistake on someone’s order. The customer had gotten in Achilles’ face and started being rude to him, resulting in the blond throwing the drink in their face. It was a coffee shop that he had worked at, and at least he had the decency not to throw hot coffee in someone’s face. It had been cold coffee, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t punished by being fired the next day. His second job was at a fast food place, and Achilles only worked there for about half a month before he quit due to lack of basic training and poor treatment of employees, including himself.
On top of everything else, he had overeaten. At least, in his mind, he had. Achilles had fixed himself something to eat that day, and ended up eating all of it. It wasn’t a large portion, but his disordered brain thought otherwise, and now he was in the bathroom, looking disgusted at his reflection.
Achilles quickly wiped the tears from his eyes, but more kept coming. The tears continued to flow and flow. A choked sob escapes his lips as he lifts up the toilet seat. Anxiety bubbles in his stomach as he feels himself start to feel sick from eating much more than what his body was used to. He begins to wonder if his recent intake of food will make him gain any weight. Achilles shoves that thought deep in the back of his mind before he curls his finger, slipping it down his throat. It takes a while for his finger to reach the very back, but once he does, he retches into the toilet. At first, it’s only dry heaving and mucus. It takes a while, before Achilles can feel the food he had yet to digest, come up from his throat. He does this a few more times, until he feels empty on the inside, no longer filled with the food he had previously eaten.
Cringing, Achilles reaches into his hair, pulling out chunks of vomit that had gotten stuck in between his blond curls. The smell of it makes him want to vomit again, without the help of his finger this time. Achilles always had a horrible gag reflex. Even smells that he disliked were enough to make him gag, dry heave, and sometimes even vomit.
His breathing was shallow, yet heavy as he stood up, combing the rest of the vomit out of his hair before flushing the toilet and walking back over to the mirror. He tears up again, looking at his reflection. Achilles tries to think back to a time when he didn’t hate himself, and no such time period in his life comes to mind. He’s always second guessed himself, despite being told that he had all these “gifted” abilities, in things like music, archery, and hell, he was good at sports, too. Achilles seemed to have it all on the surface. He was good looking, quick witted, and knew how to talk to people and make friends quite easily. It seemed like he had it all together on the outside, but when he was alone like this, he found himself doing things like this to himself all of the time.
With shaking hands, Achilles pushed the door open, darting into his room and walking to the side of his bed, where his dresser was. Pulling out the drawer underneath the desk, Achilles felt around until his hand landed on a familiar object. His hand clutched the object, a safety pin, before pressing down on the center of it, letting the sharp point free.
Achilles sighed, tears still dripping from his eyes as he pressed the sharp end of the safety pin down onto his wrist, swiping fast and hard. He did this once more. Two swipes. Three, four, five. Achilles clenched his fist as he watched the red dots of blood form from his destruction. Some of them were deeper than others. He knew that he could very easily use a tool much more dangerous than a safety pin, but it was just enough to break the skin, and that was all Achilles needed. He hated that he enjoyed the sight of his blood. He knew that it had to be a result of his disordered brain. No normal person would enjoy the sight of their own blood.
Achilles’ knees buckled beneath him, but luckily, he was right in front of his bed. He flopped backwards, landing softly onto the mattress, watching the droplets of blood from the cuts he had created on his arms become larger.
He took his thumb and pointer finger, trying to stretch out the cuts, so that he would bleed more. It’s what he thought he deserved, after all. He viewed himself as such a pathetic excuse for a human being, someone that couldn’t get his emotions under control, no matter how hard he tried.
Achilles bit his lip when he watched the blood squeeze its way out of the cuts. Again, he knew that he could achieve bigger, deeper cuts, if he used something other than a safety pin, but the fear of the possibility of having to go to the hospital in result of cutting too deeply, caused Achilles to stick to his safety pin.
The blood that he was squeezing out with his fingers began to drip slowly down the length of his arm. With a shaky hand, Achilles reached the safety pin to his throat, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t kill himself with this, he didn’t think. The point was too small, too small to even make his cuts as deep as he wanted.
Achilles jumped, gasping softly when he heard his phone buzz. Suddenly, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and examining the contact.
“patroclus 🍁🧡”, it read.
After wiping the tears away from his eyes, Achilles quickly clicked the green answer button as he grabbed his earphones, plugging them into his phone, and placing the buds into his ears.
He was silent for a moment, not immediately saying hello when he answered the phone. He was too focused on the blood dripping down his arm. It could have been so much worse, and Achilles knew that. He knew that he could have dug so much deeper into his skin, and Achilles was disappointed with himself that he had not.
“Hello?” A soft, low voice on the other end of the phone sounded the room, making Achilles flinch.
The point of the safety pin was still pressed against the blond’s throat. He felt anxious. Deep down, he didn’t want to die. He wanted his pain to end, but there were things about his life that he loved, things that he enjoyed.
“Achilles? Are you crying?” Patroclus’ voice became even softer, once he became somewhat aware of the situation.
Achilles wanted to scream. He wanted to pull his hair out.
“I’m scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t know what I’m doing. I miss you.” It was a jumbled mess of words through his shaky sobs. “I know you’re busy with school and work, I know you can’t spend every second with me. I’m so sorry. I wish I wasn’t like this. I wish I didn’t need you so badly. I don’t want to be this way. I know that you have a life outside of me. I just miss you, I miss you so much. My heart aches for you.” He sobbed.
The other line was silent for a moment, as if Patroclus was carefully considering what to say. He knew about Achilles’ struggles with mental health, specifically his struggle with Borderline Personality Disorder. When Achilles first told him about this diagnosis of his, Patroclus researched the disorder, and how to help with it, for hours a day. He did extensive research, in hopes that he would be able to help Achilles in troubling times like these.
Patroclus knew that he was Achilles’ ‘FP’, or ‘Favorite person’, which he learned was a type of relationship that many individuals with BPD experienced. He knew that Achilles trusted and valued him above all other individuals, was intensely attached to him, and had an intense fear of Patroclus leaving him, which caused emotional deregulation for Achilles.
Healthy boundaries were set by Patroclus, so that Achilles would not develop an unhealthy codependency, but even Patroclus knew that he had been particularly busy recently, and had not taken it upon himself to visit Achilles every day. They spoke on the phone most days, but it had been a week at the least since Achilles had seen Patroclus in person, and deep down, Patroclus couldn’t help but feel like he was neglecting him. He had to remind himself that although he loved Achilles, he was not his responsibility. And yet, he still cared deeply about him, and wanted to help him through these moments of emotional distress and deregulation.
“Are you hurt? What do you mean you don’t want to die, Achilles? Have you hurt yourself?” Patroclus asked carefully.
Silence falls over the room once more. Achilles didn’t want Patroclus to think that he was getting worse. He had been clean from self harm for about two weeks now, and he didn’t want Patroclus to be disappointed in him.
“Achilles?” Patroclus’ voice, through the phone, cut through the air. He didn’t hear Achilles respond for a considerably long time. “I don’t want you to die either, love. Can you tell me what happened?”
Achilles, who had been scratching at the fresh cuts he had recently given himself, stopped momentarily, to listen to the voice of his lover, who he knew deep down, cared deeply for him.
“I did.” He admitted, frowning as the tears in his eyes blurred his vision. Achilles sniffled, lifting his arm to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Hurt myself, I mean. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m scared to be alone, but I know you’re busy. I’m just— I don’t know. I’m scared. I don’t know why I have to think this way. I hate my brain. I hate it.” He sobbed, feeling helpless.
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.” Patroclus’ kind voice momentarily caused Achilles to stop crying so hard. “I know it can be hard, and I can’t imagine how much pain you must be in to find comfort in your own blood. You’re just… very hurt right now. Do you need me to come over? Have you cleaned yourself up?” His voice is as gentle and soothing as a sweet summer breeze. It makes the violent thoughts in Achilles’ brain come to a stop, if only for just a second.
Turning around to his desk, Achilles reaches over and grabs the dab pen that his brain just now decided to remind him of, instead of earlier, when he was having so much trouble keeping food down that he decided to throw it up himself. Achilles sighed, clicking the button on the dab pen five times, watching the light blink on and off, signifying that it had turned on. He then put it to his lips, inhaling for about five seconds, allowing the smoke to fill his throat. Achilles took a deep breath and exhaled, right before the smoke could choke him up. He placed the pen back on the desk, standing right side up, so that the juice inside wouldn’t lean to the side. The orange soda flavored smoke caused him to cough a tiny bit afterwards, making his voice sound even more choked, when he answered Patroclus.
“No, I… I haven’t. They’re still bleeding. I can clean them up, but… if it’s not too much trouble, could you come and see me? You just… you make me feel better. It’s like there’s a tornado in my brain, and you make it stop.”
“Please clean your wounds, I don’t want them to get infected, lovely. I’ll be right over there, okay? You just hold tight. Do you want me to stay on the phone while I drive over?” Patroclus asked. His voice was so careful when he knew Achilles was having a bad day. He always tried to look for ways to improve his mood, when it was dropping like this.
“I don’t want you to get distracted on the road…” Achilles mumbled, looking down at his feet. “If something happened to you while you were driving because you were distracted from talking to me me, I… Well, I…”
He couldn’t finish his sentence. Achilles knew that it wouldn’t be healthy to tell Patroclus that he couldn’t live without him. He tried his best not to be dependent. Today was just a particularly bad day for his brain, spinning his emotions out of control, like a tornado, as he had said. He tried to tell himself that Patroclus wasn’t the only way to stop it, but he loved the man above everything else, more than anything else in the world. He knew that this would be so much easier to go through if Patroclus was here with him.
“Don’t think about that. I know it’s easier said than done, but I’m a very careful driver. I’m not like you, I don’t have road rage.” Patroclus speaks through the phone.
A smile appears on Achilles’ face, and even the smallest hint of a snicker can be heard. “I didn’t think you had it in you to—“ Achilles placed his hands on his throat after putting the phone on speaker and placing it to his side. He could feel the food that his body was still trying to digest gurgling around inside of his body. In a fleeting moment of panic, Achilles ran back to the bathroom, phone still in hand. He felt ashamed as he closed the door behind him, falling to his knees in front of the toilet, holding his stomach as acid continued to bubble in his throat. “I ate… too much.” Achilles shook. He was disgusted to be in his own body. It was a living nightmare to him to have a physical form right now. To be perceived by anyone other than Patroclus would greatly overstimulate him at the moment.
“Do you have something to drink?” Patroclus asks calmly, still on the other end of the phone.
Achilles hears the sound of a car door shutting on the other end of the line, which must have meant Patroclus was on the way. He balled up his fists, trying to keep the food down. He most certainly did not want to throw up with Patroclus on the other end of the phone.
“No… no, I just got home, after going on a run. I made myself something to eat, and that’s what started this whole spiral.” And that was on top of missing Patroclus. Missing his now usually busy lover was the reason that Achilles decided to go for a walk, which turned into a run, to try to get his mind off of things.
“You didn’t get yourself something to drink after a run?” You could almost hear the frown in Patroclus’ voice. It wasn’t that he was disappointed, he just wishes that Achilles would remember to take better care of himself. However, he knows it’s not something his brain can easily manage and regulate. “Well, at least you got something to eat.” He spoke with encouragement and pride, exactly what Achilles needed to hear.
Achilles felt like he was fighting for his life right now, trying not to throw up. He was hovering over the toilet, breathing heavy as beads of sweat began to form on his forehead.
A beeping sound came through Achilles’ phone, a sound that he knew. It was the sound of Patroclus’ car starting. He sighed shakily in relief, knowing that the drive from his house to Achilles’ was not that far. He swallows the acid in his throat, trying to make sure the burning vomit in the back of his throat didn’t spill out his mouth.
“I’m going to get something to drink. I just feel awful. I wish I could express it in a way other than words.” Achilles looked down at his bleeding arm. That was technically a form of expression, as to how he felt. Frowning, Achilles grabbed a roll of toilet paper, pulling a bit of the soft, white tissue, and folding it up, placing it onto the wounds on his left arm. “My throat burns so bad.” He cringed, making a disgusted face.
“Get some water. No soda. Water is what you need.” Patroclus suggests.
“I wasn’t going to drink soda with a burning throat…” Achilles almost wants to laugh. Patroclus knows him, probably better than anyone else in the world, so of course he knew how much Achilles liked soda. Dr Pepper was his favorite, but right now, he was craving the cold rush of water, more than anything.
Rising off the ground, Achilles opened the door and walked out of the bathroom, and through his room, passing the pictures of the ocean that he had hung up in his room, after taking them with his camera. Achilles had printed out these pictures long ago, filling his walls with them, as well as pictures of him and Patroclus. There were also some pictures of the sunset accompanying his walls. Photography was just a hobby of Achilles’, in his spare time.
Once he made it to the kitchen, Achilles stretched out his arm to open the refrigerator. He sighed, opening it up. His eyes scanned back and forth until they landed on a cold water bottle, sitting amongst many others. Achilles unscrewed the white cap, popping it off with his thumb, before he placed the bottle to his lips, feeling and listening to his throat make the “gulp” sound, as he swallowed a few swigs of the water.
Achilles coughed a few times as the acid in his throat rose to the top once more. He took another drink of water. Finally, the acid mostly subsided when he burped, though it was small, and tasted like vomit. At least that meant his body was digesting the food that he was able to keep down. Achilles swallowed, turning away from the fridge as he walked to the living room, sitting in the teal rocking chair that his dad mostly sat in.
“I have water.” Achilles spoke into the phone, kicking his feet up and leaning back in the chair, looking up at the ceiling. He still had the folded up piece of toilet paper, and was holding it to his fresh wounds, which now were not bleeding as much as they were when he had first made them, now that he was applying pressure to them, just like Patroclus had taught him. “And I’m cleaning my cuts.” He said the last part a bit more softly, more ashamed of it.
“Don’t forget to apply pressure. Keep drinking water, if you start to feel sick again.” Patroclus offered through the phone. “I should be there in around ten minutes. Think you can hold on for that long?” He asked carefully.
The sigh that Achilles sighed turned quickly into a yawn. When Patroclus arrives, Achilles hopes that he lets him fall asleep on his chest. That’s exactly what he needs right now, for Patroclus to hold him and run his fingers through his hair, and tell him that he loves him. Achilles wanted Patroclus to also tell him that he was proud of him, but what is it that he could be proud of him for? Achilles had relapsed into self harm, as well as his eating disorder. He pondered what Patroclus could be proud of him for at all.
“I think so…” Achilles gently removed the folded up piece of toilet paper from his arm, his eyes instantly fixating on the bright red of his blood contrasting with the the stark white. He sighed, placing it back on his arm.
— — —
Achilles had flushed the bloody piece of toilet paper down the toilet as he heard the door bell ring. Instantly perking up, he ran quickly to the door, looking through the hole of the door to see Patroclus waiting outside. Achilles smiled. Patroclus’ hair was tied back, and he was wearing his reading glasses that he usually wore while doing online school.
Placing his hand onto the golden doorknob, Achilles twisted it, turning it until it opened.
Patroclus looked at him for a moment. Achilles’ eyes were so tired. The stormy gray eyes of Patroclus darted down to his lover’s left arm. He gently reached out, turning his arm over, so that he could fully view the damage he had done to himself. Patroclus sighed sadly, shaking his head as he pulled out a length of ace bandage wrap, surprising Achilles as he started to wrap them around Achilles’ arm.
Guilt washed over Achilles. “They’re not that deep, you don’t need to…” But Patroclus looked up at him, dark gray eyes meeting bright green. Achilles couldn’t object to those eyes. They held a deep love for him, and it was evident in his actions as well. Patroclus didn’t have to show up. But he did. Because he loved Achilles.
Once he was done wrapping his arm, Patroclus sighed again before gently wrapping his arms around Achilles’ frame. “You worry me.” he muttered into the blond’s shoulder, placing one hand up into Achilles’ hair, his fingers brush through the blond waves. “I don’t like when you’re here by yourself… your mind wanders.”
Achilles’ arms were instantly wrapped around Patroclus as well, missing his familiar scent of pine cones and pumpkin spice.
“I don’t want to die, Patroclus…” Achilles rests his forehead against the other’s.
“I know.” Patroclus reassured, rubbing circles around Achilles’ back. “I know, and because of that, I know how scary it must be to live in your head.” He spoke softly, breaking the hug for only a moment, so that he could walk into the house and shut the door behind him. Once the two were in the house, Patroclus wrapped his arms back around Achilles. “I’m so glad you’re alive. I know you get frantic when you harm yourself.” Patroclus held him tighter, closing his eyes. “I had a dream the other night…that you did this, and you called me to come help you, but when I got here, it was too late.” Patroclus reached out, cupping Achilles’ cheeks in his hands. His face looked distressed as a tear rolled down his cheek. “I’m so sorry… I know I shouldn’t be the one getting emotional. I just can’t get the image of you bleeding out in my arms out of my head. I don’t want that to become real.” He sniffled, raising his hand and wiping the tears from his cheeks. “It scared me so much.”
Achilles looked down at the ground for a moment as guilt consumed him. He didn’t know what came over him when he did things like this, and it was something that was occurring more frequently lately. The blonde reached out, thumb brushing against Patroclus’ cheeks. “I don’t mean to scare you… I wish I wasn’t like this. I wish I could be normal. I wish… I wish we could put the money together to get a place to live together. I don’t… I don’t want to be dependent on you, I just think… I would be more comfortable living with you. I practically live alone.”
Looking up at Achilles, Patroclus’ eyes grew softer. “I know it’s hard for you to look for work right now. So many people don’t understand your emotional deregulation. I wish more people would take the time to research your disorder when you tell them about it. It doesn’t take long to read up on it.”
Achilles was so thankful that Patroclus loved him enough to look into something that he told him that he struggled with. “I can’t stand being this way.” Achilles admitted. His eyes looked heavy, tired, and almost completely drained of light. “That’s why I’ve been thinking that it would be better if I was gone, but then…” He sighs, taking both of his hands and resting his forehead against his own, “Then I see you cry from worrying about me. I don’t want you to have to worry about me all the time.”
Patroclus’ thumb started to rub Achilles’ palms back and forth. “Of course I’m going to worry about you. You’re stubborn, overly dramatic, and have the worst temper I’ve ever seen, but your problems are still real. Just because you can’t see your illness on the outside, doesn’t mean you aren’t still suffering on the inside.” He moved one hand to Achilles’ back, rubbing circles around it. “What you’re going through is a lot more serious than people think. Mental illness is hard, just like any other illness. The chemicals in your brain are imbalanced. I’ve learned a lot from you.”
It’s not uncommon for Achilles to go a long time without harming himself, only to once again fall back into the cycle when something triggers a mood shift. He finds himself craving violence against himself often, but didn’t always act on those thoughts. It was only then, that he realized how long it had been since he had taken his medication.
Achilles begins to wonder if Patroclus would still love him if his body was entirely covered in cuts, burns, bruises, and scratches. Maybe someone would notice that something was truly wrong with him if he broke one of his bones, or severed a limb. Shaking his head and whimpering softly at the thoughts, the golden headed Achilles buried his head in his lover’s chest, silently praying to whatever God may be listening to make these feelings go away.
Finally, Achilles bursts into tears, which nearly surprises Patroclus. Achilles puts his hands in his hair and tugs, only to be met with softer hands. Much kinder ones than his own, who only wanted to hurt. But that hurt was targeted directly at Achilles himself. It was an ongoing battle that he felt like he was losing.
“I don’t know what to do, Patroclus.” Achilles’ voice shakes. “I don’t know what to do! I’m twenty-four, and I have the emotional stability of a toddler. I can’t keep a job, i cant drive, I can’t communicate with people. I’m… so useless, and I would be better off dead, Patroclus, I just know I would. I wouldn’t hurt anymore if I just wasn’t here. It hurts, Patroclus.” Achilles looked up at him with tears streaming down his cheeks, falling to the ground. “And nobody understands, because they can’t see it. They don’t know what my mind looks like. They don’t know I want to be free from it. I want to be somewhere else. Please. Please…” It was a mix of jumbled words that was honestly hard to understand or comprehend, but Patroclus listened. He listened, and he held Achilles. Tightly.
“Dear, have you been taking your medicine?” Patroclus asks, voice laced with sweet honey as he pushes back Achilles’ hair, gently placing it behind his ears.
His head full of sunlit blond hair shook back and forth before he leaned into Patroclus’ touch. Achilles worried that he might be too clingy, and drew back a bit, only to be met by Patroclus cupping his tear stained cheeks. Both of them.
Despite Achilles’ clinginess, Patroclus did not seem to mind it, and being the reserved man that he was, that came as a shock to Achilles, as if he hadn’t known and been deeply in love with the man for several years now.
They met six years ago, when they were both seniors in high school, and now they were planning out living together in their dream home in the future.
Achilles, after knowing Patroclus for so many years now, knew that he was quite reserved, and wasn’t a fan of physical touch with most people.
It was different with Achilles, he noticed. Patroclus actually enjoyed touching him.
“I haven’t taken it today. Or yesterday. Or the day before that.” Achilles started to feel guilty. He thought that maybe Patroclus would be angry with him.
Patroclus sighed, and Achilles flinched. He didn’t want him to be angry. He had been angry with him before, and Achilles didn’t like it. It made him feel like his world was at a standstill, and nothing would go back to normal until Patroclus was no longer mad at him. Achilles looked down at the ground. He started to feel sick again as his hands began to feel clammy. He bit his lip, about to apologize repeatedly. before Patroclus took his hands, looking deep into his eyes. Patroclus had eyes like a thunderstorm, Achilles thought. He had never seen anyone with gray eyes before. They were almost a light brown, but no. They were certainly gray, and Achilles could get lost in them forever and ever. Nothing could break him from the gaze of his lover, when he held his hands. It was so nice to have someone who truly cared about him. Achilles hadn’t received that kind of treatment since he was with his son’s mother, back in Phthia. This was the first time since her, that he had felt so comfortable with a person. Patroclus was different from others that he had shared relationships with. He actually treated him like a human being, and not an object of desire.
When Achilles was little, it was hard to get him to stop talking. He would talk to anyone about anything, about how wonderful he thought the world was, through his eyes of childlike innocence. But now that he was older, Achilles had days where he did not talk at all. His mother, as much as she did care, didn’t always seem to understand why he fell completely silent on some days. Sometimes it was because he was upset, and others, Achilles simply preferred not to talk. He was only selectively mute.
It started when he was about ten years old. As a younger child, Achilles loved to speak. He loved to sing, even. Even now, Achilles loved to sing. As an aspiring musician, he’d written many songs, and even posted a few of them online, to his YouTube channel, and to his other social medias that he hardly uses anymore. However, Achilles gained a lot of attention for his music, and it became quite popular within its own little community. He wouldn’t call himself a celebrity, though other people might argue with this, but he was decently well known around the area of Opus that he lived in, as well as back in his home town of Phthia, which he moved away from, due to the war going on. Achilles thought that maybe he should get back into writing music, as his mother had always told him that he was musically gifted. She bought him his first guitar at thirteen, and he had been learning to play it ever since. Now twenty-four, he knew how to play both acoustic and electric guitar, though he now usually preferred the electric, unless he was using the acoustic for a softer sounding song. He had even written songs about Patroclus before, and their relationship.
Achilles finally looked down at Patroclus’ hands, that were holding his, and sighed softly, squeezing them both before swinging them back and forth. It was something that he did often. His smile soon dropped when the weight of the situation set in. Achilles was so tired. Mentally and physically.
“Let’s get you in your room, okay? We can lay down and talk.” Patroclus said in a hushed tone.
Achilles perked up at the sound of Patroclus’ voice. He still felt upset at himself on the inside for harming himself, and for making Patroclus shed a tear over worrying for him, but he knew deep down that he couldn’t help himself. He turned, walking up the steps and hearing as Patroclus followed. Facing the door, Achilles twisted the door knob once more, pulling the door back, so that the two of them could walk inside of his room. The wallpaper was blue, like the ocean, which there was a view of from the patio outside.
“And please, take your medicine. You aren’t going to feel better if you put off taking it.” Patroclus reminded him.
“Okay…” Achilles walked over to his dresser and picked up a blue pill holder, popping open the flap labeled ‘S’, meaning Saturday, as that was today.
“Good…” Patroclus put his hand on Achilles’ shoulder, rubbing it softly, as he watched the green eyed man swallow his medication with the bottle of water he had gotten earlier from the fridge. “Now, come sit with me, and let’s talk.” Patroclus offered, walking over to the bed and taking a seat down onto the soft mattress, which he practically sunk into, due to its memory foam. “You must have had a rough day, if your arm is any proof. I know that… You do this sometimes, so that people can see your pain, and know something is wrong. Mental illness presents itself differently, so if people can’t see anything wrong with you on the outside, then they assume everything is going well on the inside too.” Patroclus frowned, patting the seat next to him. Achilles instantly obliged, walking over and sitting in the seat next to him. He leaned his head on Patroclus’ shoulder and yawned. “Tired, my heart?” He asked, tenderness lacing his voice.
This made Achilles want to tear up again. He had greatly missed this voice. He simply nodded his head and leaned down further, now laying his head in Patroclus’ lap, smiling when the other started to brush his fingers through Achilles’ golden hair. This was very soothing to him.
If Patroclus hadn’t come over, Achilles was sure he could have found a way to calm himself down, but this was so much easier to him. The touch of a loved one would always brighten his mood, at least a bit.
‘Please don’t ever leave.’ Achilles thinks, closing his eyes.
He hadn’t realized how tired he was.
But Patroclus did.
He knew his Achilles like the back of his palm.
— — —
Achilles looks different in his sleep. Patroclus notices it later that night, when the two of them are laying in Achilles’ bed, in his room. For a moment, he stares at the LED lights surrounding the room. The color was set to light blue, which reminded Patroclus of the color scheme of Winter.
His eyes land on Achilles’ sleeping face when he hears a soft snore erupt from the blond beside him. Patroclus watches as his chest rises and falls. Achilles’ snores aren’t very loud. They’re quite soft, actually. It reminds Patroclus that he’s still alive after days like today. He looks down at Achilles arm, which he had wrapped in bandages earlier, after learning that he had harmed himself after one particular scary episode, while he was home by himself, and left alone with his festering thoughts of self destruction, due to his disordered brain. Because Achilles lived with this illness, Borderline Personality Disorder, Patroclus was almost afraid to leave him alone. It was hard to tell when his brain was going to act up like this when he was alone.
His golden, wavy hair fell gently over his face as he slept. Patroclus brushed it away from his face, softly placing it back behind his ear. He took his thumb, placing it onto Achilles’ forehead, brushing it back and forth.
He looked so different when he slept. When he was awake, Achilles face often either looked sad, angry, or like he was fighting for dear life to keep a tight hold on his emotions. But when he slept, there was no crease between his eyebrows. No frown on his lips. No tears in his eyes. He wasn’t harming himself. Not cutting, or forcing himself to throw up. He just looked peaceful, and this thought alone almost made Patroclus feel… sad. He wanted Achilles to feel that way when he was awake as well. He wanted him to enjoy life again. Most of all, he wanted to see Achilles smile. This was something he hadn’t seen in a very long time, not when it wasn’t forced or tired.
Patroclus closed his eyes and breathed deeply out his nose. He snuggled closer to Achilles, lips brushing against his forehead. His hands traveled into Achilles’, squeezing them gently before connecting his forehead with his own.
Achilles’ face twisted. He let out a noise of distress, grabbing a fistful of the blanket covering him and Patroclus. His eyes squeezed together, filling with tears, which spilled out almost instantly.
Patroclus notices this in an instant, reaching out for Achilles’ hands and squeezing them. “Hey…” he gently cupped his face with one hand. “Achilles, it’s only a dream.” He assured him, watching as the man quickly opened his eyes and gasped, grabbing the blanket and hiding his face with it. All Patroclus could see were his eyes, bloodshot and filled with tears.
Quickly turning the other way, Achilles curled into a fetal position, eyes wide and full of sadness and some kind of longing that he couldn’t place. He guessed that it was the desire to get away from his own mind. Achilles wanted nothing more than to escape the overbearing thoughts racing around his head. Even his dreams were plaguing him now.
Trying to gather his thoughts, Achilles did his best to jumble the words together. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave.”
Patroclus reached over, his fingers lacing their way through Achilles’. “I won’t.” His face pressed against the back of Achilles’ shoulder, giving it a soft kiss. “Tell me everything.” He squeezed both of his hands.
For a moment, Achilles didn’t speak. He tried to think of the best way to describe his biggest fear. To him, it was the scariest thing in the world to be abandoned. To be left alone, to him, was as great of a fear as spiders or heights were to some people.
Quickly, Achilles turned in the direction of Patroclus, burying his head into his chest, feeling his arms wrap around him, shushing him softly as Achilles finally let his guard down and began to cry into Patroclus’ chest.
“I’m afraid—“ His breath hitched as he sobbed, “I’m afraid it’s silly. It’s probably not that big of a deal. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Achilles apologized into his chest.
Patroclus’ fingers continued brushing their way through Achilles’ strands of blond, almost gold, in his eyes. “No, please. I want you to talk about it. It’s not healthy to keep things inside and repress them. Please, talk to me.”
Shaking, Achilles snuggled deeper into Patroclus’ arms, his head burying itself further into his chest. “Oh, it was so silly, Patroclus. You just— You said— You never wanted to see me again, and— It was a stupid dream.“
Achilles’ face was lifted up by Patroclus’ gentle hands, cupping each side of his tear stained cheeks. He looked at his lover with kind, patient eyes, that Achilles could always catch a glimpse of, even if it was pitch dark.
Patroclus knew how big of a fear abandonment was for Achilles. He knew that it was so great, the blond would often have nightmares about people he cared deeply about leaving him. Patroclus knew that this fear would often cause Achilles to react fearfully, shaking and crying, and sometimes resorting to harming himself, like he had done earlier that day.
“I don’t want to be this way.” Patroclus hears Achilles admit, face still cupped in his lover’s hands, “It’s not healthy to be this attached to someone, but I don’t want to lose you. I don’t know what I would do. I’ve known life with you for many years now, and it’s impossible for me to think of life without you. It’s impossible. I’m so scared… I’m so scared that you’re going to realize how much I am to deal with. I wouldn’t even try to stop you, because I love you, and I want you to be happy… are you happy with me?”
The last question cut through the tension in the air life a knife through butter. Achilles always wondered if Patroclus was truly happy with him. He wondered if his spiraling emotions caused Patroclus to want to leave him, and pursue other relationships with people who didn’t suffer from such harsh things.
Achilles hated the way he thought. Patroclus had always proved to him that he was happy with him, even without words. Achilles unfortunately had a lack of emotional permanence.
“Of course I’m happy with you… I do have my own life outside of you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make time for you.” Patroclus brushed Achilles’ golden hair out of his face, placing it behind his ear.
Achilles gave a deep sigh, not knowing what to do. He buried his face into Patroclus’ chest. “I need to start taking my medicine. I know I’m not going to feel better unless I at least try to take it. And I don’t want to piss you off even further.” Achilles felt his heart drop. He was constantly on edge, and the idea of Patroclus being mad at him would send him over the edge in a matter of minutes. “I’ll take it right now. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.” Achilles reached over to his nightstand, taking out the pills for Sunday, before Patroclus reached out his hand, taking the pills from him and putting them back into their container.
Achilles looked at him with fear in his eyes, especially because Patroclus was giving an expression that he couldn’t exactly read. Achilles wanted to burst into tears again.
Patroclus took each side of Achilles’ head and brought him forward, linking their forehands together. He began massaging the sides of his forehead with his thumbs.
“Achilles,” He said firmly, but gently all at once, “You took it earlier, remember?” Patroclus disconnected their foreheads momentarily, so that he could place a soft kiss to the center of his forehead. “But, I need you to start taking it every day, okay? You can’t only take it when you’re feeling bad. Your body needs to get used to it.”
“I’ll set a reminder on my phone, then.” Achilles spoke, pulling out his phone and squinting when the bright light of it hit his face. He did, however, smile at the wallpaper of him and Patroclus together. He opened up his alarms app, and set a reminder for himself, every day, to take his medication.
“Good.” That warm smile that was familiar to Achilles returned to Patroclus’ face. “But, I’m going to get onto you if you don’t take it every day, now that you have a reminder on your phone.” He warned him. “It doesn’t make you feel strange, does it?” His hands moved down to stroke the lines of Achilles’ jaw. “Is that why you don’t take it? Because it makes you feel off?”
“I, um…” Achilles shook his head. “No?”
“You don’t even know how it makes you feel.” Patroclus stated. It wasn’t a question. It was something that he knew, just from the way that Achilles responded to his question. “You don’t know how it makes you feel because you’re so used to not taking it. You’re practically unmedicated. You’re not afraid of the way it will make you act or feel, are you?” Patroclus was determined to get down to the bottom of the reason that Achilles refused to take his medication until he felt like absolute shit. “Do you think it will make you worse?”
“It makes me sleepy. It makes me sleep for the entire day.” Achilles huffed.
“Well, again, you have to get used to taking it. Think of it this way, the medication is fighting the chemical imbalance in your brain. It’s supposed to make you feel better.”
“Can I… come over to your house tomorrow?” Achilles looked up at Patroclus. “I promise I’m not trying to change the subject.”
Patroclus gave a low rumble of a laugh. “You have ADHD. It’s okay.”
Achilles yawned, stretching his arms out. “I’m so tired. What time is it?” He looked over to the clock, which read 1:44 AM. He sighed and rolled his eyes at the early time, almost two in the morning. “Tomorrow, can we, like… make it a whole day just for us? If you’re not busy, that is.” His eyes darted away.
Patroclus took Achilles’ head and gently placed it down onto his chest. His own day had been extremely long, and Achilles seemed to have an equally hard day.
“I would love that.” Patroclus smiled down at his lover, running his fingers through his strands of gold.
“I love you.” Achilles’ arms wrapped around Patroclus’ frame as he closed his eyes. “I love you so much.” Achilles smiled, eyes still closed.
Listening to Patroclus’ heart beat, Achilles was nearly lulled back to sleep by the peaceful sound. Everything else around him was silent, expect for the sound of the air conditioner, as well as the faint sound of the waves outside. Achilles lived by the beach, very, very close to it, actually. He had a patio outside of his room, and when one looked out, they could see the ocean. The sea was one of Achilles’ favorite things. He sighed happily, the sound of Patroclus’ heart filling his ears. Achilles thought of his stormy gray eyes and midnight black curls, as well as the star-like freckles that littered his body. He thought of his silky voice that could chase away Achilles’ bad thoughts in almost an instant. Patroclus wasn’t perfect, but Achilles loved his imperfections.
“I love you too, sunshine. But, I’m going to smack you in the back of the head if you don’t take your medicine again. I want you to get better, Achilles. But you won’t, if you neglect to take care of yourself.” He told him, snuggling closer to his golden haired lover. Their legs tangled together.
“Oh, fuck you.” Achilles’ smile grew, and he laughed a little bit. He felt confident until he felt Patroclus’ hand slide up his legs.
Achilles blushed, surprised by the sudden action.
“When and where, pretty boy?” Patroclus smirked down at him.
Achilles opened his eyes, looking up at him and biting his lip. “That’s one way to get me back to sleep.” He winked.
Patroclus’ lips were on his as his hand moved between his legs… And just like that, Achilles was in Heaven.