A Beginner's Guide to the American West ✓

chapter forty-seven

"I finished," he says. "Fuck. Oh, god, March, I'm so sad."

I bend down to pick up the book and I run my fingers over the pages. I don't have many physical books when all my reading is audio, but I have several different editions of The Song of Achilles. The one Arjun has was the first I got, and I've since added five more to my shelf. I flip to the end of the last chapter, and I don't need to be able to read the words on the page to know exactly what they say.

"It ruined me the first time," I say. "And every time since, to be honest."

"I don't know how you can reread that over and over. I..." He clutches his hand over his heart, shaking his head. "I feel destroyed." Hanging his head, he massages his temples and lets out a heavy sigh. "Fuck."

"Join the club," I say with a laugh. "I don't want to take joy in your pain, but I'm so glad you liked it. And, by the way, you're totally an Achilles."

He snorts. I notice his eyes are wet; he laughs to himself and dabs away the unshed tears. "Really? I don't know about that."

"I'm a Patroclus myself," I say, hand on heart. Every time I've read the book, I've felt a pull towards Patroclus, even more so when I started dating George. Now I want to throw myself back into the book for the millionth time and rewrite old memories.

"I'm an emotional wreck, is what I am." He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. "And just in time, too." Leaning across me, he peers out of the window. "We're nearly there."

"Mmm."

"You know, I thought I'd be more than ready to go home after more than two weeks away, but I'm not." He presses his lips together and runs a hand through his hair. "This is going to be hard."

"You're telling me," I murmur, staring out at the land and the sky for a moment before I return my gaze to him and give him a tight smile when he puts his hand over mine. I refuse to cry. Enough tears have been shed on this trip; I'm not going to cry just because my boyfriend and I are heading in separate directions for the indeterminable future. At least, not until I get home.

We hold hands until we land, as we taxi and pull up to the gate. We don't move when people start flooding the aisles and pulling their bags down from the overhead bins. It isn't until everyone has cleared from in front of us that we get up and Arjun hands me my bag, and I follow him off the plane.

I'm hit with a strange, unplaceable emotion when I walk down the jetway and know that I'm in England again. I'm almost home, even though it'll take me three hours for the last hundred and fifty miles of the journey, after the six thousand I've already done.

As though in protest, my ankle starts to twinge. I slow my pace and Arjun seems to sense it; he hangs back and slips into step by my side; he takes my hand, and then lets go to loop his arm through mine for a little extra support.

"It's a long way," he says. "But we're in no rush; the queue at border control is going to be huge anyway. Might as well take it easy."

"Or," I say, "we run, get it over and done with, and I'll deal with the pain on the train."

Arjun stops walking and I jerk to a halt. "No. I know you're kidding, but no. You've already pushed it enough and I don't want you getting on a train alone and being in pain."

"You could get on the train with me."

He gives me a sad smile. "I wish. I'm heading off with my parents this afternoon. Otherwise you know I'd be right on that train with you." He squeezes my hand and we set off slowly, swarms of people passing us on both sides. "As soon as you're home, you'd better rest up. I'll be texting your sister to make sure of it."