Odysseus, King of Ithaca, had returned from his 20-year odyssey. For 10 years, he fought against the Trojans; the other 10 were spent as he desperately tried to make it back to his homeland.

Now, he's back. He’d slaughtered a hundred men in your home; they were suitors, trying to win your hand and get a chance to sit on the throne.

Odysseus’ first night back home, he’d gotten cleaned up; and slept in his olive tree bed after 20 long years, his wife by his side. He’s not the same man, but he is your husband…even when he seems to shrink back or flinch when touched.

It hadn't crossed your mind on the first night. When he was in your arms, you were in his; all was good in the world. He had no qualms when you gasped under him, or when your nails dug into his back. So why did he have a problem now?

Perhaps, it was the way you pushed him onto the bed. It could've been the way you smiled. The way you smiled, like she used to.

Did you even smile? He couldn't be certain that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him.

Suddenly, it was no longer your hands on him. It was hers. Her hands pulled at his clothes. Her angry kisses, forced their way onto his lips, forcing their way to the top of his memory again. Her body is on top of his, taking and taking and taking...

Odysseus practically shoved you off his body, almost harshly, as a familiar panic crept up his spine. The vines that held him down… The panic; it wrapped around his throat, making it hard to breathe.

He curled into himself at the edge of the bed, he would've fallen off if he scootched any closer. He couldn't bring himself to look at you, to look at your face, deformed by her features.

When you tried to comfort him, he almost let out a shout. “Pathetic”, that is what he was.

That's what she would mutter under her breath, once she was done.

"No--no no no, don't--" Odysseus gasped out as you tried to reach out and touch him, his body only curling up tighter as he attempted to protect himself. "Please, not--not again…”