Olympus Drive Book 3: According to Plan

Chapter 10

Axel

Phoenix's house is surprisingly small, with a surprising amount of furniture in it. Not good furniture, the old cast off sort. Just kind of pushed about into various corners not doing much but holding discarded coats and things. It's tidy as a little place can be, though. His room is even tidier, with wall to wall carpet that's always vacuumed, a well made bed, and movie posters hung neatly on the walls. All clothes put away except the odd hoodie of mine that I've left here. He has an old desk, and an old laptop for school work. My own slim Mac is ridiculously faster, so we typically use it. I tried to get him one like mine, but he's too proud to accept what he calls charity. You just have to give me your heart, Stitches, he laughed. Nothing else.

After about an hour of homework I can goad him into practicing fighting. He doesn't train himself, though he would go with me to the studio. That was before it mysteriously burned down. Now I just practice at home. I was loath to practice on him at first, but the rewards system is unparalleled.

"You brought me to my knees, Stitches," Phoenix says, tripping me up so that I fall and he can kiss me properly there on the well vacuumed floor. I kiss him quickly, letting my lips lock on his for a moment, before flipping back to my feet and kicking at his head. He doesn't catch my foot but of course I pull the punch and in doing so fall myself.

"And you're dead," he says, crawling on top of me to kiss me again.

"I'm very dead. I'm waiting for you to burn my body and carry my ashes with you till the day you die," I say flopping my arms out helplessly, as he kisses my neck.

"Don't say shit like that, really, we're not going anywhere," he says.

"No we're not, there's always gonna be a 'we'," I say, putting a hand through his smooth dark hair.

"Because we are for the ages. And you're not allowed to leave me. It's forbidden, on pain of----hmm I'm gonna have to think," he says.

"On pain of never being kissed again?"

"On pain of never being kissed again, there you go," he says, then he kisses my mouth. And we kiss and we just lie there on the floor mouths locked. I didn't think that kissing would feel this wonderfully safe, and gentle, I always thought it looked boring. But it isn't. It's little tiny bubbles of joy just seeping through you as you hold onto one another and know nothing will tear you apart. It's better than sex sometimes, more boyish and free, just to lie here, fully clothed, just kissing till we can't breathe anymore.

Once we can't and we're just smiling, Phoenix does make us go back to work.

"You have three classes to catch up on. I got all your homework," he did as well. I sigh.

"You're not going to let me copy are you?" I ask, opening my laptop as I sit on the floor still. He got up to go to his. It has to stay plugged in so he works at the desk.

"Of course not, that would be wrong," he says.

"Of course it would," I mutter. I would rather like to copy. It would make MY life easier.

"That was the door, I should go talk to my mom," he says, standing up, "Just a minute."

Do they know I'm over? Pointless, of course they don't. My parents tolerate our 'friendship', his aren't aware of it. My father suspects I think. But I don't know for sure. His does not and it would be disastrous if he did. I crawl over to the door to listen.

"You didn't have to get up—why are you still dressed it's late?"

"I'm still studying," Phoenix lies, smoothly, like he wasn't kissing me moments ago, "Dinner's in the fridge—I already ate."

"You stay up too late-------your father said that that friend of yours, that rich boy, got suspended again."

"Axel?"

"You had him over last night, yes."

"Yes, he did, so? I wasn't there."

"I don't like how much time you spend with him. Last night you were up so late, tonight again you're up late. Your grades are going to start dropping."

"My grades are fine, mother. I can choose my friends well enough I think."

"That boy has been trouble since he set foot in this town. I don't like seeing you get mixed up with him. You don't talk about your future anymore. How are you going to get into a good school if you aren't focus on your grades? You haven't even started applying yet."

"Mom it's ten o'clock can we call it a night and talk about my future in the morning?"

"I just worry about you. Before you wanted to be a doctor. Now you're hanging out with that rich boy, and the Rhea girl."

"Luna is in my class—"

"You know what they say, that family from the house on the hill is cursed, everything they touch."

"Oh good we're talking about curses now. I have an essay to do, night mom."

"Phoenix, I'm just worried about you—,"

"Don't be," he comes back into the room and slams the door a bit. I nod at him, knowing better than to speak yet.

"She's in her room," he says, finally moving from the door, "Did the notes make sense?"

"Yeah---definitely," I have not looked at it yet.  But she does have a point. Phoenix always used to say he was going to med school. He hasn't spoken of it though, not in ages. And he has gotten suspended a time or two with me. I realize it doesn't matter for me. I'll go to college no matter what I don't need scholarships. He does. I should pay more attention to things like that that matter to him. And worry less about whatever is entertaining to me at the time, like getting in a stupid fist fight with stupid Sol Rhea.

"Hey," Phoenix crawls on top of me on the bed to kiss my cheek and loop his arms around my neck. "Ignore my mom. Ignore that you're ignoring my mom. Just pretend she isn't here."

"I wasn't paying attention," I lie.

"Uhuh," he says, pressing his cheek against mine, "You haven't done anything there either, that's not much of an essay, Stitches." I'm staring at a blank word document. Well it's not blank I've been typing 'phoenix' over and over to try to entertain myself.

"I think it's beautiful, it's my favorite thing in the world," I say, leaning to kiss him back, "Now I think I should I get a kiss for every----twenty words."

"Make it one hundred."

"That's too many!"

"Do you have a lot of other homework prostitutes around?"

"Don't say that—don't call yourself that, you're not," I say, frowning.

"You heard them today---I'm your bitch. I'm okay with that, Stitches. It means I'm yours," he says, nestling a hand in my hair.

"I'm not. You're more than that---you're---I can't come up with a better word for it, I don't like boyfriend it sounds too cheap and small, we're something else entirely—"

"We're us. We don't have to have a name for anything, words don't necessarily matter," he says, "We know what we are, right?"

"Yeah," I say, but I'm afraid he doesn't know. I'm afraid he thinks that one day I'll tire of him and I'll just be the rich asshole who got his gay out in high school and leaves him to struggle by working two jobs to pay for school. When I'm not. We're more than that. "I'm not ever gonna let you go."

"Good," he says, kissing me again, "Last free one, now get to work."