Chapter 7 - Eros

Eros might have mentally made his decision, but his body refused to execute on it. Instead, he watched the Pharmakos’s exile unfold like a sick tragedy. The sheer stupidity of it was almost mindboggling.

How long had the Greeks believed they could rid their cities of the major problems --famine, disease, plague, drought -- by casting out a Pharmakos? It was ludicrous. Like just because some cripple left the city, everything else bad would follow?

As Eros looked on, four men wrestled the Pharmakos forward, driving him toward the gates. The surrounding mob readied their stones. Dragging his right foot behind him, the scapegoat struggled to keep up with his captors.

With a final, unforgiving surge, the horde jostled the man forward past the gates. He tried to run, but his crippled leg slowed him down. Two stones caught him in the middle of his back, nearly causing him to fall, before he managed to scramble outside of their range.

Deciding he needed to get a move on before he lost track of the wretch, Eros hopped to his feet. He suddenly wished he could impose his mother’s sentence on the woman who’d basically chewed up his heart and spit it out. But, he reminded himself, there were certainly more painful choices he could’ve made.

And at least this way, Psyche would never have the chance to destroy a man’s pride.

When Eros arrived in Sikyon, he hid amongst the long shadows in a forest of evergreens. There, he disguised himself as a traveler, donning a pock-marked face, greasy dark hair, and covering his wings and quiver with a heavy cloak. As he looked in on Psyche with his second sight, he saw she was alone in an isolated part of her family’s garden. The time had come. Eros’s palms began to sweat as he silently crept forward.

Eros told himself just to think of her -- the one who’d shattered his soul. He would not let his facade crack. He’d accomplish his mission and move on with life. Once the task was complete, he’d never have to think about it, or Psyche, or her, ever again.

When Eros approached the garden alcove, he saw Psyche sprawled face-down across a bench. Her shoulders visibly shook from sobs. Soft ringlets obscured her face, tucking her hypnotic green eyes away from sight.

Soundlessly, Eros slid his bow off his shoulder. Pulling an arrow from under his cloak, he brought it to his lips and whispered, “Pharmakos.” Then, he repeated the familiar process of placing the arrow in the string of his bow and drawing back the missile. Eros took aim and prepared to release the arrow.

But then he faltered.

Something in the back of his mind - or perhaps the back of his heart - prevented him from actually following through. He’d been sent to destroy the second mortal who’d rejected him, but right then she already seemed ruined. He wondered why Psyche was sobbing. Had someone hurt her the same way his own heart had been crushed?

In the seconds that he paused, Psyche raised her head. Wiping her tear-stained face with the back of her hand, she rose from the bench like smoke wafting from a fire.

“I don’t know who you are, but if you think a guy with an arrow is my biggest concern right now, you’re wrong.” She squared her shoulders and tossed her hair behind her shoulders. “Get out.”

If he’d been listening, he’d have heard Psyche kick him out of her home a second time. But her words weren’t registering. How had he missed it? She wasn’t like the first girl at all. On the surface, they were so similar, but underneath -- their cores were completely different. He’d dropped his guard long enough to really feel her, know her, the way he could any mortal if he payed attention long enough. Even with tear trails still fresh on her cheeks, Psyche glowed from the inside out.

As a soft breeze carried her heady scent to him, Eros vaguely heard her repeat her command to leave. The words didn’t carry her intended message, but instead bore her soul. Her emotions doused him; poured over him in soothing waves. Her anger and fear pulsed on the surface, but underneath those rhythms was the chorus of her spirit -- love, tenderness, good intentions -- a package that made Psyche far and away different.

Without realizing he was doing it, Eros lowered his bow. “Psyche,” he muttered just before the arrow grazed his knee. The tip left only the tiniest of scratches, but it was enough.

Eros rushed forward on instinct, grabbing Psyche’s arm and dragging her in close to his chest. Her lips froze in an “O” while her eyes went wide with fear.

What was he doing? Eros shook his head as if the sudden feelings that had just overwhelmed him could be cast aside as easily as shaking off a few drops of rain.

Dropping Psyche’s arm, he backed away. This wasn’t him. He didn’t fall for mortals. Wouldn’t fall for mortals. And certainly not his mother’s little minion….

Aphrodite. Could she have set this up somehow? Was she forcing him to love Psyche so he’d change his mind about marrying the girl? His chest labored under ragged breaths as his anger rose. He would not allow her to manipulate him like this. He’d made his choice. Psyche had made her choice.

This couldn’t be happening.

And yet there it was: an need in his core that made it impossible for him to do anything but stare into the loveliest green eyes he’d ever seen. His breathing slowed as a calm washed over him; knowledge that he could find peace again in someone’s embrace. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

His eyes tore from hers and traveled down her arms until he found her hands. Psyche’s hands could give him the comfort he’d been denied the last time he’d tried to love. Why did she have them balled into fists at her side when all he wanted was her to stroke his cheek? How could she not be feeling their connection?

Suddenly Psyche lunged, making a move for something just behind him. The arrow. He stomped on the tip before she could reach it, making it dissolve into a pool of light. Psyche sprawled forward, grasping for the missing weapon. Unable to leave her prone on the ground, Eros leaned down and gently lifted her to feet.

Even as Psyche trembled under his grasp, touching her again set off a concussive burst in his nerves. Before, with her, he hadn’t felt this strongly. This was something new entirely, almost like he was under a spell.

The realization made a shudder roll down his spine. Had he done this to himself? His mind cycled backward. He’d whispered Psyche’s name, that could’ve changed the target. Had he poked himself? It couldn’t be, the arrow hadn’t dissolved. He’d had to crush it into oblivion. But then again, he’d never shot anyone gently before either. Was it the impact and not the use that made the arrows vanish?

Psyche tore herself free, skittering back to her bench as if the stone would shield her. His heart nearly cramped as he felt her exposed fear. He yearned to sit beside her, pull her into his lap, soothe away her worries. He wanted nothing more than for them to be in love.

What did it matter whether these feelings were self-inflicted? He was on a high he never wanted to come down from. And he wanted Psyche. Wanted her love. Wanted her at his side. Wanted everything.

But he needed time to think. His mother’s curse had set certain events in motion. Taking Psyche now would have consequences. Maybe even ones he didn’t want to face. He had to get out of there before he did something even more colossally stupid than shooting himself.

“Go inside, Psyche. Someone will come for you soon.”

Whether Eros came back himself or he led the Phramakos to her door, one way or another, someone would be coming.

Pausing only long enough to catch the rising moonlight reflecting in her eyes, Eros turned and ran back to the forest.

Chapter end