“They don’t deserve any effort on my part. They failed me. It’s my job to survive them, not to console them.”
“And if they were right here, continuing their lives like you were just a minor inconvenience?” I query. It’s different for Garrett; his parents are serving time for neglect. They’re actually being punished. From my standpoint, Sharon is being encouraged. I lick my cracked lips, continuing to stare at the untied laces of his shoes.
“You wouldn’t want to look them in the eye and finally tell them how you felt? I’ve dreamt for years what I might say to Sharon if I got the chance, how I might be able to put the past behind me at long last.”
“And if it only brings everything back up, undoing all of our hard work. What then?”
“Garrett, the things I was subjected to in this house, in this room, they aren’t going away. No matter the distance. I’m not getting over it.” Gare exhales sharply through his nose, kneeling before me. His fingers curl into fists on my thighs, and I watch the way his jaw tightens, the way his lips press into a thin line like he’s fighting against something that can’t be put into words. I’ve rarely seen him so conflicted, a storm of fury swirling in his bottomless eyes.
“I don’t want to turn this around on me, Axe. I know this is your trauma to bear. But I’m the one that holds you sobbing at night, who lets you fuck me when you need something else to focus on. I’ve taken you to counseling, and there was that semester we tried art therapy together.” Garrett looks away to clear his throat.
Usually, he’d make a quip about us sneaking into the art cupboard when the therapist was distracted by others to paint a piece of art all over my face with his cum. Not today, though. Today, Garrett appears solemn, and my chest aches from the sight.
“On occasion, handling your pain has been so much, I’ve needed to step away and drink myself unconscious, sometimes to fall into bed with the nearest person just to get away from it. I’m not that selfish asshole anymore, and I’ll always be here for you, but it’s not… it’s not just you who feels the effects of your nightmares.”
“I didn’t realize I was affecting you so much,” I frown, leaning away from him. I get a direct shot of pain up my side, and Gare rocks forward, gripping my thighs tighter.
“No, no. That’s not what I’m saying. Can’t you see that I’ve always loved you? I’ve always cared, so much that it kills me to see you hurting. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I just want to make sure this is what you want.” There’s an edge to his voice. A plea disguised as frustration.
I let out a breath, tilting my head back. This room smells the same. Looks the same. Feels the same as when I was a boy. Spending every day here has started to soothe something in me. It’s the one place Inever would have returned to willingly, but maybe it’s where I needed to be.
To remember the times I studied at my desk, made my paper mache solar system, and played my gaming console for hours. Those times when my dad would bring home a new Lego set and we’d spend all weekend building huge, complicated spaceships. I now recognize that he was avoiding Sharon too, so it made sense for us to avoid her together.
Being here has given me the time to rewrite the suffering.
Reaching out for Garrett, my fingers push through his messy hair, smoothing it away from his dark eyes. “Please see this through with me. Let me face the monster that haunts me. Since we’re here anyway, I feel like I need to at least try.”
Garrett watches me for a long moment, then scoffs under his breath. “If Richard so much as looks at you wrong, I’m putting his head through the table.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” I smirk. The ghost of a smile tugs at his lips too, but he doesn’t respond any further. He just reaches for my tie, looping the silk around my collar with ease, his fingers lingering against my nape for half a second longer than necessary. His eyes flicker to my lips, indecision warring between his brows. I know what he’s thinking. He could probably distract me by sucking my cock, just like he did in art therapy, but he doesn’t try it.
Instead, Gare dresses me dutifully until Avery pokes her head around the door and announces the time. Ten minutes to seven, as preplanned to arrive just as the food is coming in and leave soon after. I leave the two of them to finish getting ready, waving off their concerns as I slowly make my way down the hallway.
The Souls mean well, but their help is becoming suffocating, and it's doing the opposite of what they intend. I need to build up my own strength instead of always relying on others, even if I stay close to the wall for extra support. My ribs throb, tugging with each step. I could handle my exterior aching, but the sharp burn of my chest anytime I move too much is debilitating. It’s as if my own lungs are trying to starve me of oxygen, no matter how steadily I breathe.
Evans, the butler who’s worked in this house since my father hired him decades ago, is waiting for us at the bottom of the staircase. Dax, Wyatt, and Huxley are already by his side, wearing the same suits they’reusing to attend the auctions. A sad smile pulls at my lips, thankful that they are following through with yet another one of my requests without the same inquisition that Garrett gave me.
Each one has taken their own passive aggressive stance against the dress code, though. Hux has used his tie to fix his hair back in a scruffy ponytail, Wyatt’s shirt is only buttoned to above his navel, revealing the large dragon tattooed on his front, and Dax's sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, his jacket tucked through the crux of his elbow.
Wyatt meets me halfway up the stairs, carefully looping his arm around my waist. I lean into him, not realizing how hard I was gripping the banister. A few droplets of sweat have broken free across my forehead, but I make it to the bottom mostly unscathed.
“Come on, let’s get this shitshow over with.” I prompt, pushing forward to lead the way. Evans hurries to my side, unable to shake his role despite my lack of acknowledgment towards him. I haven’t spoken a word to him since my mother started using me for her personal gain, and he decided his loyalty to me or my father didn’t mean enough to do anything about it.
Dress shoes click loudly on the gleaming marble floor as we stroll to the left side of the mansion, every wall pristinely white with no homely additions in sight. No artwork, portraits, or photos. No evidence a complete family once lived here. Just a series of closed wooden doors that match the network of beams crisscrossing overhead and a cold emptiness that will always exist.
Evans rushes forward as we near a double doorway, rounded black iron doorknobs matching swirling decorations covering the timber. The dining room is usually reserved for clients and guests of high importance. He pushes the doors open one at a time, permitting us entry to a scene I’ve imagined a million times but never truly believed I’d see again.
Sharon sits at the end of the table, her posture perfect and a glass of red wine delicately cradled between her manicured fingers. Her painted lips are split into a wide smile, leering against her husband and laughing at some secret joke between the two. I welcome her distraction, allowing me to take in the scene without her immediate attention. A long mahogany table adorned with crystal glasses and silverware gleams under the chandelier’s glow. The air is thick with the scent of something richand savory, but it does nothing to curb the nausea rolling through my stomach.
Finding support in the Soul’s steady eyes, I lower into a rigid dining chair with slow, careful movements. My ribs protest, but the discomfort is nothing compared to the weight pressing on my chest. I run a hand over my shirt, smoothing out imaginary creases. My palms are already damp.
Sharon laughs again, tilting her head in a telltale way that tells me she’s been drinking since mid-afternoon at least. Still, her brown hair is swept into an elegant twist, her face as poised as ever. For a brief, foolish second, I think she won’t address me at all. That she’ll pretend I don’t exist, the way she always has.
Then, her assessing gaze lifts and lands on me. There’s no shock. No softening. No guilt. Just a slow, knowing smile.
“Axel.” Her voice is as smooth as the silk napkins folded before each plate, concealing the hidden edge of sarcasm I know her to use. “I didn’t think I’d see the day you finally came home.” I notice Wyatt stiffening in the seat opposite me. Dax is by his side, offering his silent support with a hard, icy stare at Sharon. But she has yet to take her eyes off me.
“We both know I wouldn’t be here if there was any other choice, and this isn’t a home. It’s a hellhole,” I grit out. Sharon sighs dreamily and rolls her eyes.
