The Classics and the Sin of Pride | The Secret History

Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow!

A Greek class, I had to remind myself that's why this all started. To this day I still don't entirely understand the series of events which got me here. Looking back on these years, it felt like the world itself was pushing me away from taking it- The subject randomly chosen on laziness, the year late decision of Hampton (to which against all odds, I got in), and not to mention the exclusiveness of Julian. Maybe my life would've been better if I simply had listened to that fate Julian seems so interested in during his little interview- In fact, I'm sure my life would've been better. I'd have married a nice California girl, and we'd have a beach house with a big dog. I sometimes like thinking of this alternative, I like to think that I'd have been happy with it, but deep down I know that this path in life is the only one which could've happened to me- I'm like a moth to a flame, but as much as this all has thrown my life as I expected it  off course, my near-death experience due to plain stubbornness over the winter break certainly gave me a bit of an extra surprise.

Not that I learned my lesson.

At least a few things changed because of this bout of cold induced sickness - I was being taken care of, and I assure you it was begrudgingly on my part. Nothing about "My savior" was particularly caring as the one who took me out of the snow was Henry himself. Although a very generous soul, he was more the type to throw money at you without a care of what you did with it, he was reminiscent of a dead-beat dad paying alimony in that regard. Though, in all honesty I could barely remember his rescue, a blur of warmth and the sound of someone else's heart beat in my ears. Everything was shadowy and blue except my blood- He'd gotten his jacket stained red for me. Plus there was a sharp pain in my forehead which he seemed to be messing with... or was it that? I can't really be sure, that's the frustrating part.

The night itself replayed in my mind the few days that came after that very cold rescue, and as I reminisced it seemed the moment only got more blurry- Though, it was really the only thing I could do. I was exhausted, I think that most people would say that coughing up your lungs every half hour takes a bit out of a person. Even if I tried not to let it show, I'm sure that at least some of it did- I'm not exactly a fantastic actor, despite my best efforts. Still, when I shot a glance at Henry, I couldn't understand how he could bear to sit in silence for hours at a time. I like reading as much as the next college student, but seeing him not glance up even once after six or seven hours of reading filled me with a certain sense of disbelief. How could any one person do that? It led to me staring at him a lot, focused eyes. The cover of what he was reading often changed, but it was almost never in English, nor in Greek, so I was a bit in the dark. I swear I caught a page of hieroglyphics in one of them, maybe Bunny was telling the truth on that Henry fact after all? Occasionally I'd stop on my own, or because he'd finally look up at me, and often he'd ask a question - Which was only ever really some variation of "Do you want a book?" to which I always said no, I wasn't in much of a mood for reading.

A part of me was tempted to ask him to read his book out loud, but many doctors were saying that bringing me here had saved my life, and although at the time I really didn't believe them, I still wasn't too keen on asking for a favor, especially after he'd done all this- Even less appealing was the fact that he'd likely ask me to explain why I'd want him to read to me in some east Asian language I likely couldn't even identify, much less understand. Though, the actual answer to it was quite simple. I just wanted to hear someone's voice; in a strange way it was comforting. Even listening to the mean old nurse lecture me on how I'm making her job harder for her was made at least a bit more bearable by the fact that it allowed me to hear someone speak. However, thankfully I could mostly drown out that little desire with sleep, and even more thankfully, my insomnia could be kept at bay with candy-colored pills. Still, when I woke up he was always there in the same spot, not even having moved an inch. In a strange way it was comforting, in another way it was terrifying. Though, as Henry himself seemed fond of repeating 'Beauty is Terror' and there was a certain beauty in looking at him, like a statue. His chiseled features really made him look like a work of art.