Page 88 of The Villains of Winter

“Professor–” Elliott tried.

“You may call me Aphrodítē. You are a sweet son to me. I can’t explain my affections. I quite adore you. Your life has been such sorrow. In fact, you inspired the titular role. I’ve titled it, The Tragedy of Erôs.”

​​ PART TEN: THE TRYST OF ERÔS

BANEBURY, CONNECTICUT

SUMMER

​​ CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

“I HATE LAUNDRY,” JAMES MUTTERED, counting the quarters for the machine with Elliott. He hired someone once a week to keep the apartment tidy for himself. Winterthur Hall had mammoth, over-sized, industrious washing machines and indecipherably complex dryers.

He couldn’t stand tedious laundry.

“I’ll pay you back for the coin costs,” Elliott commented, but James did not respond, simply slotting in the coins into the campus washer. James had paid for Elliott to join him on a surprise trip to the Montana Rampage hockey fans off-season event. Elliott canceled at the last minute.

James invited Elliott to dive off the coast of Msikaba Island, South Africa for the summer, and Elliott declined without explanation.

James purchased a private viewing of the rare meteor shower at the Landsear Planetarium’s observatory. Anything to get out of the state of Connecticut. Elliott mentioned he couldn’t make it, he wanted to be at Æscwulf College despite the peril of it.

Elliott clearly had a date with a woman. He’d written her dozens of letters. There were details of his afternoons, his fears, what comic books he was reading. He confided in her for all of it. It was different from the previous letters–heartfelt. Their special date was for the thirteenth of July. His pomade ensured his hair wasn’t even an inch out of place. His tuxedo was steam-pressed. His breath was pristine.

He hung his bow tie in preparation a month early. Elliott never hung his spring jackets or winter coats, no matter how rained or snowed they were, let alone his bow ties.

James didn’t even know her name and he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Hazel Scott used to read comic books in her bed with him. Was he with her all over again? Harmony Henderson used to write him cute little notes. Was he with her? James worked up the courage to ask, but the confirmation would’ve felt like an execution, therefore he silenced himself.

James was confused and irritated at his own inner turmoil. He couldn’t admit conflicted feelings. James analyzed Elliott’s past relationships. How affectionate Halle had been. How instantly Elliott had fallen for her. He couldn’t tame his love for her.

James’s mind often filled in the spaces on his own to torture himself. Elliott is moonstruck for women, I understand. At last, Elliott sensed, “Is this about Halle?”

“What about her?” James asked innocently, and he was so good at it, Elliott almost believed he didn’t care at all. Until he noticed James refused to meet his eyes. Instead, James reached for the bow ties on the hanger. “Are you seeing her next month?”

“No, not her.”

“But there’s a woman, isn’t there?”

“It’s not like that, really. I don’t think of it that way–” Elliott started, but the loud, clangoring machines overtook his words. The dryer started working.

James shook his head anyway and swung an arm over his shoulder. “Even if you were seeing Halle, it would be fine. You two are like attracted magnets. You always find each other. I love that endlessly for you. I’m glad to see you happy, Elliott.”

“It’s not Halle.” Elliott felt a roseate flush spread across his cheeks. “Really, I promise. It’s not what you think at all.”

“You have a hot date next month. There’s nothing to hide.” James teased him. He smiled with a twinge of pride. A twinge of something else darkened his expression briefly. “I want to know who it is. Why are you hiding it from me?”

Am I not your best friend anymore?

“No one that you know personally. It’s not a date.” Elliott studied his dirty sneakers and his gray hoodie in greater detail than he’d had in his entire life. Warner Hammett wasn’t returning his phone calls. Warner left him a single cassette with one sentence—the expense wasn’t worth the risk.

For a minute, not even Halle was on his mind.

Elliott had dated Halle for three years, and he’d lived two years without even trying to date anyone else afterward. When he finally tried dating again, it was abysmal. He couldn’t keep a girlfriend for longer than a month since Halle. His attachment issues were all he knew.

At the moment, Halle didn’t know Elliott had been the honorarium, he didn’t want to worry her. It was better she never knew.

He’d met Halle Mercer on the night of the truck incident. After the police released him with his statement, and a breathalyzer test, he’d wandered the streets for hours, unable to process the horrors he witnessed. Heading home from ballet rehearsal on Cannon Road, Halle had followed him in the earthy, damp, electrical storm, even if it ruined her soles; she’d recognized him from their Honors English II course. Halle asked if he wanted to stay the night, and he spent the rest of his high school years sleeping in her pillowed, airy, lilac-scented bedroom.

He experienced his first time with her. He befriended her kind parents.