After many days in manyrooms, aside from Chekiss, Niles Offborth is the toughest to crack out of all the patients I’ve met.
Niles is twenty-three years old, believing himself to be Cupid. He was locked up for abducting people, usually a man and a woman, and trapping them in his basement so they’d fall in love. This went on for years until he was finally caught. He is convinced he was blessed with magical properties that give him the ability to know where love trulylies.
He is six feet and one inch of lean muscle, with the elegant posture of a warrior angel, cascading down from heaven on a wisp of a cloud. His eyes, lined with an unbreakable focus, are hazel, glowing in warm lighting like the gaslit sconces in the asylum lobby. His symmetrical face, angular cheeks, and golden hair styled in a swoop at the top of his head like he was molded out of clay by the hand of a meticulous artist—perfecting each detail in a thousand brush strokes.
A twenty-one-year-old man with a life sentence in this cage.
His mannerisms, his personality, his way of existing are the most fascinating to me. Unlike Chekiss, he has a short attention span and is severely consumed in his own fictional world.
From the moment I began speaking with him, he had refused to talk about himself. Only about me. Deflection. Only about who my perfect match would be. And since I myself am not fond of sharing personal details, this has been uncomfortable, to say the least.
But I let him poke, prod, and predict, anyway.
Nilesis certain that a man within the iron bonds of the strict society we live in isn’t what I need. He believes I’m waiting for the rebel. The man that breaks the rules and can walk among the dirt and the trees without the need of a feather bed and a four-course meal.
And it’s the childish glint in his eyes that sparks a question.
“You know what would help me believe everything you’re saying right now?”
He raises a golden brow.
“If you told me how you knew all of these things. At what point in your life you changed into Cupid. How can I accept your words? What is it like beingyou?”
He strokes his fingers over his thin red lips, lowering his chin to look up through his thick lashes. A long stare of judgment.
“You want to know what it’s like to be the patient that everyone laughs at? Then why don’t you sleep in these rooms, wear these chains, and endure the torture we are sentenced to like animals? HOW ABOUT THAT?” Howling his last words at me before he slams his hands down on his chair.
I stare at him in shock, unable to move or even flinch at his sudden outburst. The truth to what he is suggesting was not out of line or out of the question. He has every right to demand this of me and lose his temper. He is tired of the treatments, the lack of compassion, and the underlying fact that he will never escape it.
Now more than ever, I need to prove myself.
I clear my throat. “You have a hydrotherapy treatment in about five minutes, don’t you?”
His expression is vengeful, wide eyed, red. He blinks away a tear, silently rolling down his cheek. “Yes,” He growls.
“Shall we?” I prompt. Signaling to the orderlies to come and release us.
Niles doesn’t say a word. He scowlspastme, looking ahead now like I’m a clod of dirt at the bottom of his shoe.
My legs are shaking on the walk over, and the layer of skin stretched across my forehead burns with anticipation. Meridei shows up behind me with a smirk on her face.
“Now you’re starting to get it! Chatting is a waste of time.This”—she points to the hydrotherapy door—“this is the only way to correct the behavior.”
I refuse to meet her dark, disappointing eyes. “Then why don’t you stay for the show?” I say each word carefully, trying not to let my nerves bleed into my statements.
She shrugs and follows behind me.
We step inside the frigid room, with the daunting sound of water slipping from the mouth of the faucet in fat drops to the tile floor. Natural light snakes across the white room from the tall frosted windows, and the thick hose is strewn across the floor.
Niles stands in the doorway stoically, embracing the setting like a soldier riding into battle. But his hands tremble at his sides, and his neck is slick with moisture. I suppose it doesn’t matter how often you’re forced into a treatment—fear clouds your soul the same each time.
But he doesn’t know that I have no intention of allowing him to ride on to the battlefield today… No, today, I’ve armed myself for the front lines.
Niles stares into my eyes with malice, stinging like the strike of a whip. And with this stare, he removes his shirt, revealing a smooth muscular chest.
I put my hand up to stop him. Both him and Meridei stiffen.
I look at the hose that is meant to shame and defile patients. I look at it for a long moment. Starting with my shoes, I begin taking my clothes off.
