Page 2 of Serpentine Valentine
I was too preoccupied by wringing out my heavy, drenched hair, still chuckling, to note thesnickof the door locking behind us.
“Take a seat, please. I’ll get the water on. You must be freezing.”
I followed his gaze to my chest, nipples dagger points beneath the clinging wet fabric. It was a biological response to the cold, but his words sent a niggle of shame worming through me. As if I should be ashamed he noticed or had done it purposely to entice him.
I opened my mouth to retort, but he was already facing away, preoccupied with the electric kettle beside his desk. My mother had always called me combative and quick to offend.Breathe, she would tell me, pressing a hand to her own heart.Breathe and be still. I pressed a clammy hand to my sternum and breathed deep following the echo of her advice.
It wouldn’t do to ruin my chances with Professor Morgan, not when I wanted to be a professor myself one day.
“So tell me what drew you to writing about the homoerotic relationship between Patroclus and Achilles?” he started benignly, a pleasant smile on his face as he took a seat behind his wooden desk and steepled his fingers. “Let me guess, you readThe Song of Achilles?”
I startled over my own laughter. “I’m surprised you know about that book.”
He shrugged. “Some girls have written about it, but none so intelligently as you. They refer to the novel more than the actual text of Homer’sIliad.”
I settled the stack of books in my lap as I sat down across from him. My old, falling-apart copy ofThe Iliadwas on top, its cover cracked, the pages peppered heavily with my blue-inked annotations.
“I read it for the first time when I was eleven,” I explained, thumbing the thin, damp pages. “A local teacher took pity on me and gave me access to her library because my parents wouldn’t let me get a library card. I was drawn to it as soon as I saw the secondary title ‘The Wrath of Achilles.’” I shrugged, but a self-mocking smile twisted my lips. “Anger has always resonated with me best.”
Professor Morgan laughed. “What does a young, beautiful girl have to be so angry about?”
Condescending men, least of all, I thought, but I kept the words locked up behind my breastbone.
Instead, I laughed lightly. “You’d be surprised. Anyway, I was first drawn to the topic because I’m gay.”
The words tripped off my tongue lightly, skipping. I’d practiced saying them in the mirror since I was six and a neighbor told me that men loving men and women loving women was a sin. I didn’t know it wasn’t “normal” to want to kiss Penelope Hurst on the lips and hold her hand like my mother and father did until that moment.
Still, even with my ease of delivery, Professor Morgan seemed flummoxed. No, more than that, he seemed almostoffended.
“Not really?”
“Quite,” I confirmed with an arched brow.
His scrutiny sharpened, a pen tip tracing the edges of my face and the body beneath my wet clothes like a cartographer mapping new lands. And what he found, he didn’t like.
“Well, girls go through these phases in university. It’s perfectly normal,” he allowed with a magnanimous smile.
“Thank you,” I said, the sarcasm thick. “I feel much better about it now.”
His grin widened as the kettle gave a sharp cry. He pushed out of the chair to prepare our tea, giving me a much-needed moment to collect myself. That all too familiar feeling pushed at my chest from the inside, a caged creature furious within its cage.
Tell him he’s a homophobic, misogynistic prick, its growling voice demanded.
I ignored it as I had for years.
“It was clever to include Achilles’ enchantment with Troilus in your argument,” he continued casually as if the topic of my sexuality hadn’t come up.
“Why would Aphrodite pick a male object of affection to trick Achilles with if he was hetero?” I agreed, excitement flaring inside me again as I started to sink my teeth into the topic at hand. “Homosexuality in ancient Greece wasn’t shameful. In fact, it was often practiced by male warriors, who are often symbolized as the definition of masculinity. I honestly believe it’s only in modern times that the idea of Achilles as a gay man rankled and was obscured.”
“Interesting, as I said.” Professor Morgan flashed me that thousand-watt smile as he turned to hand me a large, cracked mug of tea. Jasmine wafted from the curling steam, and the heat of his fingers wound around mine as he pressed it into my possession. It was an unnecessary move but one that spoke of intimacy.
Here, my darling, warm yourself with the tea I made for you.
Only, there was no intimacy between us.
I pulled my hands away quickly with a brief smile to ease the sting.
Professor Morgan didn’t seem to notice. He leaned against the front of the desk, his calf pressed to mine before I moved it, so close I could smell the ocean brine of his cologne. The whole long, broad length of his body was on display in this pose, like a mannequin in a window best positioned for admiration.
