Apollo X Commodus.

1.

I tackled Commodus, straddling his chest. I wrapped my hands around his neck, promising myself that, no matter how he struggled, I wouldn't loosen my grip. I couldn't help but take my anger out on him from the result of my failures, the result of Jason's... fate, the result of my selfishness back when I was a god; Though it was just a few months ago that I had awoken in this mortal form, it felt like it had been an eternity.

I found myself back in ancient Rome, back when I had strangled Commodus in his bathtub primarily disguised as his personal trainer, Narcissus. I can still remember the bittersweet ache in my chest as I was forced to kill man I loved, the man I hung out with in my spare time way back when. But I didn't feel that now.

No, all I felt was hatred. Hatred for Nero's abuse onto Meg, hatred for Caligula. His face began to turn blue and purple from loss of oxygen, his left hand attempting fruitlessly to pry my hands away from his windpipe.

I was so enraged, I didn't notice his free hand reaching out until it was too late. He gripped my wrist with such force, I was sure it was either broken or dislocated. I cried out as he forced us to switch positions, his weight on my chest crushing my ribs. I was barely able to suppress a whimper, a squeak escaping my lips as I attempted to pull my wrist away, to no avail. He had, in one swift movement, pinned my wrists above my head with one hand. I squirmed, kicking and trying to scream as loud as I could.

Again, Commodus and predicted this, using his other hand to cover my mouth before a sound could even leave my throat. I felt vulnerable, and undeniably terrified. And that's difficult to admit, me being me. But, there was no difficulty or falsition in admitting the fact that I was trapped.

Commodus broke out in a wicked smirk, his sneer making my face burn in embarrassment as he leaned down to my ear level. His breath tickled my ear.
"See? You're always the one whimpering."

I hated the effect his low and malicious yet teasing tone had on me. Before I could issue a muffled retort in protest for the millionth time, he backhanded the base of my neck in one clean swipe, and everything slowly faded to black; the last thing I saw on the edge of consciousness was being hoisted onto his shoulder, my wrist screaming in protest. I could barely resist his movement, my eyelids beginning to feel like a weight as I finally succumbed to the darkness.