Page 145 of Crystal Iris
“Some say the bites made him blind. The exaggerated realism is similar to the Hellenistic baroque style, popular during the Roman Imperial period.”
“Isn’t Laocoön part of the Trojan War?” Marissa asks.
“I don’t remember him being mentioned in Homer’s work,” James says. I can’t help but notice how handsome he is. Leatherjacket draped over the back of the chair, both arms covered in tattoos, he is hot.
I tell myself it’s okay to say that, to see that—that’s all this is, an observation, even if it feels a little messed up to objectify a student. He had also surprised me with his answer. Even for a Harvard art history major, some books are only read if the professors grade them on it.
“No, he isn’t mentioned in the Odyssey or the Iliad. Even so, Laocoön is linked to the fall of Troy. The story says it was Athena and Poseidon, who were favoring the Greeks, who sent the sea serpents to kill him. It was a punishment for alerting the Trojans about the wooden horse.”
I’m relieved to have my first day back behind me.
I’ve debated going there all summer—not only because of guilt but also because a part of me will always care for him. I’m done weighing the pros and cons. By the time I arrive, I’ve rehearsed the conversation enough times to feel confident it could go well.
“Iris?” Aaron says, surprised, when he opens the door. He looks better than I expected, though still not close to the Aaron I knew. The apartment seems to have been cleaned up.
“Can I come in?” I ask, and he steps aside.
“You look well,” he says, looking at me.
“So do you.” Only I regret saying it right away; he knows I’m lying.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks.
“I’m all right, thank you.”
He pours me one anyway. I hesitate before taking a sip.
“For fuck’s sake, Iris, it’s not poisoned.”
I let the whiskey calm my nerves;maybe I do need it.
“Did you come for your things? They’re all packed. I triedsending them a month ago, but nobody was home,” he says, taking a sip of his own glass.
I don’t say where I’ve been.
“I heard about… your firm,” I tell him.
“Of course you did. So you’re here because of your lover’s money.”
“I’m here because… I was worried about you.”
He looks at me and laughs. “A little late for that, sweetheart.”
“Aaron, I never meant to…”
“Hurt me?”
“Yes.” Of course he’s hurt—I know that—but I’m hoping he’ll hear me out. “We met so young. You were all I had. Without my mom, and with Dad gone, I never knew life without you. I… thought it was love—and maybe it was, maybe it was dependency, fear of being alone.”
“So you’re saying you never loved me?”
“I did love you—a part of me always will—but it’s not the kind of love you deserve. You were always my best friend. I loved… what we had.”
“I love you,” he says, walking closer.
I take a step back. “I didn’t come here to…”
“To what?” He stops moving. “What did you come here for?”
