In Paradisum -- Patrochilles THE SONG OF ACHILLES

Chapter 7

I woke up with a gasp. Sweat beaded my back and my heart was racing. The inside of my tunic was covered in a thin, hot layer of white liquid.
It had been more than a month since I had last been bedded by Achilles. Of course since he had lost his memories, my sexual desires have been rather repressed. My skin craved his war-calloused finger tips and I went mad with lust. I decided to myself that I would not approach Achilles or see him until this phase had past and my sudden unquenchable thirst for intimacy had died down.
I always thought that the gods truly knew everything but apparently not. If they did, they would not have given us separate cottages both on opposite ends of our neighborhood, 10 minutes walking. Or perhaps they did know everything. Perhaps they knew we would find ourselves in such a moment when Achilles did not love me or yearn for me the way I did and I would need a place of refuge until my yearning diffused. Nevertheless, I lie in bed, once again in a fresh unadulterated tunic, persuading my mind to think of things other than the blond who sat a mere 10 minutes away from me, perchance playing the lyre, or eating plums by the window. Perhaps he was in need of something more exhilarating and so he fashioned himself a spear to throw. Or a bow and arrow. My quest to stray my mind has clearly been unsuccessful.
I realized that my contingencies had all been incorrect when I heard someone tap at my door. Painstakingly, I removed myself from my bed and hobbled towards the door. I cracked it open only part way at an infinitesimal angle.
"Ah, Achilles." His eyes burned into my skin and they oddly held a sense of...anger? "Is everything alright?"
"Yes, how about you? Are you well? You have not been to my cottage in a number of days."
"I thank you for your concern. I am in fact, a bit unwell, but I assure you, within the next few days, I will likely be able enough to darken your doorstep," I said with a chuckle.
"How could you be unwell, these are the Elysian Fields, Patroclus. The afterlife. The weather is tailored to suit us all and keep us well. There is no disease. There is nothing to make you ill." I fell silent.
"Achilles, I believe my illness is mine to tend to and mine to endure. I do not owe you the details. Good day."
"You would have," he muttered angrily.
"What was that?"
"You would have owed the details to the Achilles you once knew, before he lost his memories and became me."
"That man was my lover, Achilles."
"Are you sure this illness is not a farce. One you have constructed so you do not have to see me. One to prevent yourself from looking at the way your honorable, glorious companion has decayed into THIS?"
"What lies have you fed to yourself?" I said with concern. I cupped his face in my hands.
"You loved him so much. You admired him so much. I cannot imagine the hatred you must feel towards the barren carcass that is me, devoid of any of the memories you share."
"I promise to you that I am being truthful, Achilles. And I promise to you that I do not hate you. I could not hate you. Not when you have his face. His name. His voice. His musical ability. His humor. His laugh. His ability to make me crumble and burn and fly all at the same time."
"Your words are very pretty." He sighed. "Thank you. May I come in? I miss you so." Panic flashed through my body. My dirtied tunic was hanging in the living room, I had yet to clean it. That and, I did not know how long I was able to suppress my desire any longer.
"No, I am sorry! This illness is not a farce. Please believe me when I say that I shall see you soon and go home, Achilles."
"While it does indeed strike me as odd, I shall go. But if this proceeds for another three days, I shall barge into your home and force you to divulge the details of your illness. This feeling of concern, like nails digging into my abdomen, is highly unpleasant and I wish it gone."
"I understand, Achilles."