Page 65 of Elysium

THEY STOOD ON A PRECIPICE.

Odysseus, by the bed that would take him away from his family, by the tree where his life had truly begun, and would wretchedly end.

Penelope as her hand hovered over her son’s door, heart pounding in her chest.

“You can go to him, Mom.” His voice broke through the silence of his bedroom, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. She turned to face him, to face the man her son had become.

“What about you?” Her voice was quiet, hand still paused just in front of the door.

“I had you to myself for twenty years, Mom.” He tried to laugh, but the sound was strained. “I will miss you. I will wish you were here. It will be hard for me. There is no mistaking that. But I won’t be the reason you don’t go after him.”

“When did you grow up?” She turned to face her son, tears visible on her cheeks. “What a wonderful young man you are, my son.” She laid her hand on his cheek, trying her best to smile. “I am so proud of you.” Her voice faltered as she spoke.

Telemachus grabbed her hand, squeezing gently. “I love you, Mom.” His own tears carved paths down his face. She pulled her son into an embrace, clinging to him in their last moment together.

“I’m sorry, my son. I-” She hiccuped, but she felt him shake his head.

“Don’t be sorry, Mother. If you could have sailed away with him to Troy all those years ago, I think you would have.” He pulled back, kissing his mother on the forehead. “You have shown me the most selfless love anyone could receive. Go, be selfish.”

With a final, lasting embrace, she pulled away. “Be good, my love.” She said with a watery laugh.

The door shut behind her, but she didn’t hear it close over the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

What a reckless thing she was going to do.

She stood outside their door, pausing for a moment. There was no going back, no altering the path she was on.

But that path was leading her back to him.

With a shove and a creak, the door opened.

His back was to her, arms braced on his knees, head in his hands.

He did not turn at the sound of the door.

“I wonder,” she whispered. His shoulders tensed at the sound of her voice, “if my feelings should be hurt. There was a time when my husband always knew when I entered a room.”

Penelope tried to laugh, to make light, but it came out as a ragged sob instead. He finally turned, bloodshot eyes falling on her. “What are you doing, Penelope?” His words were tight, short. His voice was raw. “Please, please, wife. I am not strong enough.” A tear fell down his cheek as he rose.

But he kept his distance.

“Not strong enough to fall asleep next to your queen?” Her voice was a breath in the air, as light as the breeze itself. “You’ve done it before.”

“You can’t, Penelope. You heard the gods.”

“I did.” She took a step towards him, hands out, cautious. “And yet,” carefully, she maneuvered herself over the bed frame so she was sitting on top of their blankets.

“Penelope,” he growled, leaning over the bed, clutching at the olive posts. “You have to leave.”

“No, Odysseus.”

“You belong in Ithaca. You belong here, safe, with our son. We have discussed-”

“And I changed my mind.” She moved up to where her pillows lay, settling herself with her back against the trunk of the tree. “Come to bed, I am tired, husband.”

“Telemachus-”

“Knows I’m here.” Penelope patted the bed beside her, pulling back the blankets. In a single motion, she nestled herself into the sheets, pulling furs up around her.

Odysseus slid into his place next to her, eyes a mixture of anger, confusion, and perhaps a little bit of awe. His hand hovered just over her skin, like he might not truly even believe she was here, in the room with him.

Penelope reached behind her, grabbing his hand and pulling him against her. His body was stiff against hers. Turning over, she smiled. “I haven’t slept apart from you since you came back, Odysseus. I will not start now.”

“But -” He furrowed his brow. She could feel the unease that was rolling off of him.

“I know.” She scratched her fingers against his cheek, through his beard. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into her touch.

“Persephone -” He pulled himself back to this moment, but not away from her hand. Odysseus turned, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“Husband, I was there.” She stretched up to press her lips to his. “I wouldn’t want to spend our last night any other way.” She snuggled against the planes of him. “Just hold me, Odysseus.” Penelope whispered, “Everything will be alright.”

Slowly, his arms tightened around her, his body softening against her frame. It was like a string snapped inside of him, and he was clutching at her, pulling her into him. His hands found purchase on the back of her chemise, holding her close.

He rolled onto his back, and Penelope settled with her cheek against his chest, hearing the rapid beat of his heart. “I love you, Odysseus.” She whispered into the dark, dragging a finger down his chest, memorizing each line in his skin, each dip of his muscles.

A rumble resonated in his chest, as if trying to disagree with her. But his fingers danced across her skin in a patternless way. For all the strength in his words, for the attempt to push her away, he clung to her.

Exhaustion took her quickly. The steady beat of his heart teamed with the rise and fall of his chest, lulled her to sleep before she could think of it. The warmth of her steady husband surrounding her.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep, if any time had passed at all, but she felt a shift in the bed. Felt the warmth retreat from her, and then felt herself be lifted. She curled back into the heat of his chest, realizing that she was no longer in the bed.

Odysseus pressed his lips to her brow as he laid her on the chaise seat by the window. He didn’t know she was awake.

He brushed her hair out of her face, gently cupping her cheek in his hand. “You are full of life and love, heart.” He whispered to the night, “You don’t belong to the underworld, not yet.”

When his back turned, when he moved away from her, she allowed herself a smile.

Penelope waited until he slipped back into the bed, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as he pulled the blankets up over him. As quietly as she could, she slipped off of the chair, padding back to their bed.

For the second time that night, she tucked herself into the bed, rousing a sigh from the man next to her. “Penelope,”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “No. No more husband. You don’t get to make this decision for me.”

“We don’t know what lies ahead.”

“I know.” Penelope replied with a smile, a genuine smile. “But it doesn’t matter.” She moved as close to him as possible, but could still meet his gaze. “We’ll face it together.”

“This isn’t a king or angry men, Penelope. I can’t protect you from what lies beyond the veil.” But his hands did not loosen around her, he did not move.

“I’m not asking for protection.” Her fingers cupped the back of his neck, tilting his head down so she could press her forehead against his. “I’m just asking to stay by your side.”

A dark otherness seeped into the room, flooding the floor. “Please, Penelope,” he pleaded. The shadows licked at their feet, drowning out the light of the moon.

She smiled.

“Together, my love.” She lifted her head, pressing her lips to his. “Or not at all.”