Sometimes the line between myth and reality is hard to see. But sometimes, the line just isn't there. See warnings inside.
A/N- This was inspired by The Odyssey by Homer, if you can’t tell. I’m not exactly sure who the narrator is, and his lover could really be anyone. No names are mentioned. But I pictured the narrator as Gerard Way and the lover as Bert McCracken from The Used. And this is pretty long, so go pee before you read. Italics=narrator’s thoughts.
Warnings- language, suicidal thoughts, Greek mythology, slash…
Penelope waited faithfully, loyally, for twenty whole years for her husband to come home. She waited and waited and waited, raising her son alone. Her home was plagued with suitors, rude and vile men who only lusted for her kingdom. Her son, sensitive and without a father figure, was viewed as weak. He was not afraid to cry. And he did so often, as he never met his father in all his twenty years of life.
Penelope cried at night, wanting only one person to lie with her at night: Odysseus. She wanted her husband to come home. She wanted him to reclaim his throne as king of Ithaca and she wanted the suitors to leave.
Penelope was hopelessly in love.
She did everything she could in order to prolong the time before she had to marry one of the one hundred and eight men courting her. She promised to choose a suitor after she had woven a shroud for Laertes. And every night, the clever Penelope tore the shroud to shreds, starting over the next day. This went on for three years.
Time was running out when Odysseus, stronger than ever, returned.
The suitors fell at his hands and Penelope was reunited with her one true love. It’s so romantic, isn’t it? Beyond our comprehension. A lover waiting for twenty years. It’s unheard of in this day and time, where marriage isn’t revered as sacred any longer. In fact, the love story between Penelope and Odysseus is one of the most beautiful stories ever. Juliet and Romeo have nothing on Penelope and Odysseus. It’s such a beautiful story, one that is just perfect and romantic and leaves you wondering, would I do that for the one I love? Will anyone ever love me that much?
Unfortunately, the answer is no.
What Penelope doesn’t know will eventually hurt her. Or it’ll end up killing Odysseus on the inside.
Penelope was faithful. She was in love with Odysseus and she acted as a loving wife truly should. But Odysseus…hero and mortal man, was not the husband he claimed to be.
With not one, but two women, goddesses even, Odysseus cheated on the loyal Penelope. He lived with these two gorgeous women for many years: Calypso for seven whole years and Circe for quite a few. He pleasured them and lived with them. Sure, he was “unhappy”. Does that really forgive the sin of adultery?
It’s a load of fucking bullshit.
And now, as I stand on the edge of this balcony, staring down at the rocks below, I am Penelope.
I am Penelope, after The Odyssey had been told. I am Penelope, after Homer went home after a long night of telling his epic. I am Penelope, behind the scenes and after the pages of the book had long run out.
I am Penelope after the truth comes out.
Being faithful for so many months, waiting for my lover to be back in my arms…it’s all been for nothing. I honestly never thought this day would come. I never thought I’d feel so betrayed by someone I had trusted and loved and cared for. I never thought I’d be in this position, so hurt and broken.
Love is a myth.
The thought slams into me and I cannot help but to laugh. My own metaphors are getting out of hand, I think to myself. I am half-laughing and half-sobbing, doubled over on this windy balcony, gripping the metal guardrail with one hand. If someone were to find me now, they would declare me insane.
But maybe I am insane.
Killing myself over love. It’s kind of romantic, in a way. But wholly idiotic, and extremely irrational. But love never was rational. Love sees no gender, it sees no race. I know this for a fact. I fell for a man and I fell hard. Honestly, I had never before found a man to be even slightly attractive. But…
He was perfect.
He was the Odysseus to my Penelope. He was a superhero: a gorgeous, charismatic, and darkly witty in a way that I loved. I couldn’t help but to fall for him. But of course, he had his downfall. Just as Odysseus had, actually. In fact, I’m actually scaring myself with this comparison. I am Penelope and he is Odysseus.
Just as Odysseus, my lover was…is…filled with excessive pride.
I was a musician in a band that never truly made it. His band made it to the top. I had a high school education. He graduated art school. I had no family. His family was tight-knit and he was so close to his brother their relationship was often viewed as strange.
Now, I would have been fine if it ended with that. But his pride, his massive ego, got in the way. He reminded me of how much better he was than me every day. He shoved it in my face, taunted me with his success, mocked me.
Even there, if it had stopped, I think I might’ve been okay.
But, no. When he was on the road, our relationship consisted only of trust. But slowly, the stones in the thin and shaky wall that we sat upon began to crumble. The stones grew worn with his short answers and lame excuses. They eroded with my fake smiles and exaggerated happiness to see him again.
The wall collapsed last night.
A phone call, at about eight o’clock, was answered by a high-pitched drunken female voice. She answered his cell phone, giggling and sounding like the very girl I was worried about in the first place. Ditzy and sleazy. I had always been terrified of him giving into the rock-star life and leaving me behind for some bleached-blonde, slutty groupie. I guess I had a right to be worried.
Last night, as I felt the ground from beneath me crumble, I quickly hung up the phone and stumbled backwards until my back slammed into the wall. The tears started as I slowed slid down the wall. My vision blurred over as I cried. It wasn’t the first time I’d cried for him, but it sure was one of the most painful things I’ve ever cried over for him. Harsh sobs wracked my entire body from dusk until dawn.
When the first rays of morning light shone through the windows facing out over the ocean, I finally gave into the doleful weariness that gripped my body. I fell asleep, against that wall with tear streaks drying on my face.
When I woke, the sun had already set and I had already made a decision. I had stood up, found a piece of paper and a pen, and wrote a short note to my “lover”. And then, I had sucked in a deep breath, gave myself a pep talk, and stepped up to the glass double doors that led to the balcony.
Very dramatically, I had thrown open the doors and walked up to the railings.
It was a beautiful night. The moon was full and round in the clear black sky, with stars twinkling in the distance. The choppy water below sparkled and shined with light dancing over the waves. A slight breeze ruffled my hair, sending my bangs into my eyes. It was such a wonderful feeling, standing out there, that I nearly smiled. Nearly.
Such a gorgeous view/, I had thought to myself. /I’m glad I had such a generous rock-star of a boyfriend to bribe me with a gorgeous apartment facing the ocean. It was nice while it lasted, I guess.
Which is when the story of Odysseus and Penelope popped into my head.
I’m pretty sure that I was the only teenager in my entire high school that had interpreted The Odyssey in such a morose manner. Oh, man, I was a freshman when I had to read that story. A question on a test had asked me to describe Penelope and Odysseus’ relationship. And now that I think about it, I had basically described the fucked up relationship I’m in right now.
But not for long.
With a sardonic grin on my face, I climb up on the intricate black metal railing and just crouch there, trying to balance myself enough to stand. It takes awhile for me, in such a fucked up mental state, to steady myself. I know I’m shaking. I mean, I’m only twenty-three. That’s quite young to die, but honestly, I don’t think I even care at this point.
Everything’s taken care of. The note’s written, my asshole of a boyfriend will never have to deal with a clingy fuck as myself again, and I’ll finally be happy.
Finally, I slowly straighten up. I spread my arms and tipped my chin back, my eyes sliding shut. I felt like a god up there. I felt empowered, exhilarated. Such an amazing feeling. The wind ruffling through my hair, the darkness of the night like velvet on my skin.
I let myself start to lean forward, just a tinge. And then, I let go.
I expected to fall then. I expected to die. I expected to my body to smash into little tiny pieces on the rocks below. I expected lots of things, painful things that would help me finally gain some inner peace. But there was one thing that I didn’t expect.
I didn’t expect an anguished scream of my name and two very familiar arms to be around my waist, pulling me down and into his arms.
I twisted myself around, until I was looking into his unbelieving, terrified eyes. He was paler than usual and trembling, to my bemusement. In some sick way, I was pleased that I could make the egotistical super-star shake. But at the same time, I was fucking pissed that I wasn’t, you know, dead.
“What the fuck are you doing here, asshole?” I hissed, struggling to get out of his grip. He stared at me, unshed tears shining in his pretty hazel eyes.
“I thought you were happy,” he muttered. “I thought you were happy with me. With us. I don’t…I don’t understand why you would want to end your life. Y-you have a fucking amazing job, and we live in such a nice place, a-and…,” realization dawned on him. “Was it me? Was it something I did?”
I snorted, “More like someone you did.”
His response was a blank stare. I shook my head, leaning against his warm and still-shaking body. A long breath escaped my lips.
“I called last night. Some whore picked up. Just admit that you’re cheating on me. Everything will be fine if you just fucking get it over with,” I said with a lack of emotion in my voice.
My lover’s eyes widened. He blanched and sat up straighter, pulling me into a sitting position. With both his hands on my shoulders, he looked deep into my eyes.
In an even voice, he said, “I did not cheat on you. That “whore” that picked up my phone last night was my goddamn cousin. She came out to see one of our shows and got really drunk, and she asked to borrow my phone to call her boyfriend. You must’ve called while she still had the phone.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, suddenly overwhelmed. I was humiliated by my own stupidity. My face grew hot and I knew I was blushing. And soon, I was crying too.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed as he pulled me into his arms. I buried my face into his shoulder and sobbed, loving the feel of his fingers running through my hair. I’d missed him more than I had thought.
“I’m so fucking stupid,” I choked. “I nearly killed myself for nothing.”
I could hear and feel the deep sigh he let out. I felt every breath he took, deep and shaky and uneven.
“No, it wasn’t for nothing. You had huge reason to believe that I was being unfaithful. I know I’m not the best boyfriend, but-,” he paused, drawing in a shaky breath, “-but, fuck, I’m trying.”
I calmed down slightly and pulled away. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, his head lowered. I could tell he felt awful. He blamed himself for what I had been about to do. Which is mostly my fault, as I had practically told him it was his fault. I wiped my eyes and let out a sigh.
“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, baby. I don’t exactly know why I tried to kill myself right then. I think…I think last night was just an excuse, a reason I had to finally end everything.” I lifted his chin and made him meet my eyes. “I think even if last night didn’t happen I would’ve eventually tried to do this. It’s not your fault.”
And right then is when I realized that I almost made a huge mistake.
The man made of steel, the one thousands looked up to, the rock-star that was everyone’s rock, started to cry.
He cried hard and pulled me in closer, entwining his fingers in my hair as he rocked back and forth. He sobbed out words of endearment, sweet little meaningless phrases to comfort himself more than me. He repeated over and over that everything would be okay, that he’d work harder now to make things right. He was sorry, oh so sorry. Over and over, he repeated apologies.
“I can make this right, I can make this work!” he exclaimed, tears streaming down his porcelain cheeks. “I love you so much! I’m so sorry that I’ve made you feel this way, please forgive me. Please, please! Forgive me.”
After he stopped sobbing and his cries faded out to quiet whimpers, I pulled away and smoothed down his hair, offering a soft smile. He sniffled and tried to lower his head, but I gently took his face in between my hands. I forced him to look at me.
“Look,” I said in a firm voice. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine and mine only. I need help, okay? I need professional help, and it’s not your fault that I need it. I know I’m depressed. And it’s not your fault I’m depressed. Nothing about the way I think or what I just tried to do is your fault.”
I’m a dirty fucking liar.
But I’m a damned good liar, which is why a tiny sparkle returned to his eye and he smiled at me hesitantly. I dropped my hands to my side and he cocked his head to one side.
“Why would someone as pretty as you want to kill yourself?”
I smiled gently and shrugged, “I don’t know.”
Forget about it, dammit. It’s over. I’m not going to-.
“C’mon,” he urged. “You can tell me.”
I already convinced you it wasn’t your fault. Why the hell would you want to know why, you sick fuck? Do you really want to know that it was your fault?
“I really don’t want to tell you,” I replied. “Please, just leave it.”
“Leave it for when?” he asked.
For tomorrow, after you find me on the bathroom floor.
As he stared at me questioningly, I couldn’t help but notice the indifference in his eyes. It confused me for a second, but then I realized something. I’d been tricked again. He was such a good actor…he didn’t really love me. But somehow, it didn’t hurt. I had already given up on feeling earlier.
Odysseus is still going to be a prideful hero. Penelope is still going to be the faithful lover left behind.
Hurry up, Odysseus.
Think you can save me?
A/N- Read and review, loves. Comments are very welcome, and seem to make the author prone to writing more. Sorry about how depressing that was. But I like the depressing-ness of my writing…review, please.