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She tried to catch her breath laying in the dry grass, watching the sky’s pink hue dim into a soft blue-grey before she moved again. The sky spinning in circles above her head, pink and white and orange clouds melting into the bluing sky as it spun.
Then she threw up.
Only when she stopped dry heaving against the tree that had unceremoniously stopped her free fall did she look back up the hill to see if her friends had followed her. They hadn’t. She was happy to have time to think, alone.
Persephone walked further into the trees, past the clearing she landed in upon every arrival, and deeper into the forest. Deeper than she had gone in years, heading for the ocean.
As she slowly made her way through the trees, stopping every few hundred steps when the world spun around her again, she let her mind wander into thoughts of Pelops.
§
The first time she kissed Pelops was the first time she had ever kissed a boy and meant it. Like all the girls her age she had kissed boys during particularly scandalous dares, and a few had stolen kisses from her without asking, but she had never kissed a boy because she actually wanted to.
Persephone had been searching for the boy who saved her life for weeks. Returning to the same sandy stretch of beach that stretched far into the ocean, sitting in the same spot he had smacked her back into consciousness every day for four months. Giving up less than a week after her mother and friends banned together to tell her to move on, that Pelops was a fluke, a boy sent by the gods to save her life and that was all.
They had never been truly convinced he was real, all three of them positive he was an extension of Poseidon’s, or possibly Oceanus’, powers to save her from drowning. Though Oceanus denied it when questioned, and Poseidon avoided them entirely, so nobody could be certain.
If she was being honest with herself, she agreed with them. It didn’t make sense that a boy his age was a strong enough swimmer to save her while they were pushed and pulled by the currents under the water, her being a dead weight in his arms. Then have enough energy to run back up the main beach before Persephone had even opened her eyes again.
Squishing the sand between her toes, sitting alone, far away from the prying eyes of her mother and friends, Persephone let her shoulders droop in disappointment.
The boy was never coming back.
She’d have to send word to Poseidon and Oceanus both, thanking them for saving her life.
Sitting there, she drew shapes in the sand around her feet until Helios’ chariot was dropping in the sky, quickly heading for the horizon. The sky hadn’t yet turned pink, but the brightness of the blue was diminishing quickly, if she didn’t leave now she would have to face her mother’s wrath.
Dreading the interaction she was going to have with her mother when she got home, Persephone slowly stood up and stretched. She cracked her back and knuckles, bent to touch her toes though she could only reach her heels, and stretch her legs. Buying herself as much extra time as she dared before heading home.
As she began turning back to the mainland, a warm calloused hand grabbed her shoulder.
Screaming loud enough her voice cracked, Persephone whipped her free arm around to hit her assailant, her elbow connecting with the soft skin of their cheek. She only needed them to get far enough away to vanish without taking them with her.
A male voice cried out as her elbow made contact, and she yanked her shoulder out from under his grasp and ran.
Except, she didn’t make it one step. His fingers wrapped around her ankle as she was mid step, the sand coating her skin rubbed roughly against the sand covering her hand. She cried out as he twisted his hand, her ankle burning from the friction.
As she fell she cried out, but sand coated her tongue and filled her nostrils faster than she could get any sound out.
The fates were cruel, horrible goddesses. A man showing up in the same spot they had tried only months earlier was no coincidence. Her time was up, her string cut.
“Are you okay?” She heard, muffled from the sand pouring into her ears. She kicked out as hard as she could, hitting something soft and warm – hopefully an important and beloved body part – with her heel. She felt him fall from her strike more than heard, and pushed to stand up.
Then she saw his eyes, glossy with pain, but she knew them. The beautiful green eyes that had saved her life.
“You!” She pointed dramatically at him, flinging sand toward him.
“And you,” the green eyed boy said, much quieter but in the same accusatory tone. “I have been looking for you, you know.”
“I’ve been looking for you!”
“Where?” He sat up, wiping the sand from his face. “Because I come here every morning before theagoraopens and wait in this spot.” Sand fell from his hair and he gently shook it out.
“I come every afternoon until the sea turns purple in the evening.” She crossed her arms, looking down her nose at him.
“You really come here every day? Looking for me?” His eyes were wide with disbelief.
“Of course I do,” she said, her voice laced with anger. She took a deep steadying breath, pouring some semblance of kindness into her voice as she said, “You saved my life.”
