chapter three, adonis achilles athena

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[ tw for depiction of domestic violence ]

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[ tw for depiction of domestic violence ]

Clay dreamed inky and deep that night. The woman, her presence, twisted around him like shadows in the night. Again and again he turned, but every time she was just out of sight, dancing on the edge of his peripherals. Once he thought he heard her laugh — a sound conjured not from memory but from the impression she had left. Raspy and sharp. Grinding. A stuck door becoming unstuck.

It was not the sound of his alarm that awoke him, but the shake of a hand against his shoulder. Clay jerked awake, disoriented and sweaty. The world pulled lazily into focus. He found the pink and tangerine mass above him was none other than Kelly Pidge. With a start, he jerked backwards against the stiff mattress of his bed, his fingers threading in the cotton sheets.

Clay's embarrassment consumed him first. Since Brock's passing, there had been only one instance someone had so much as cracked the door to his room, and that had been when Brock's things had still lived in a storage shed. It was surprising she had managed to wade through the sea of boxes to find a path to his side. 

The mess seemed to be of little concern to her. Quickly, it dawned on him why.

"You're late."

Clay had already reached to his side, tracing the path of his charger cord. He found his phone in the mess of his duvet and yanked it free. It was 8am, a far call from the 4:30 he usually left by. 

Suddenly, his heart was jackhammering against his ribs. Clay whipped the sheets from his body, only half-aware that Kelly was seeing him in just a singlet and boxers. She stepped backwards through the mess to make way for him, almost tripping on a mound of clothes in the process. Only after she had cleared it did he stoop down and begin to dig in search.

"Want me to make a dent in here?" She asked, idling by the doorway. Against the adrenaline coursing through him, her lackadaisical tone was jarring.

"You don't need to touch anything." He snapped, tugging a pair of jeans free from the pile. He began to pull them on with shaking hands.

Kelly raised her hands in defense, face placid.

"No touching."

"I didn't mean to—"

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