“Yes, sir. I’ll show him around, and make sure he’s settled.” He looked back at Duncan. “Though technically I’m not your boss, right? But if you need anything, I’m the person to talk to.”
“Sure thing.” Grateful a bit that Martin didn’t seem a total ass, and was older.
Henry smiled at him. “Great. I’ll let you move in and walk around. Welcome to our home.”
Duncan and Martin watched him leave, and the older man turned to him. “Come, I’ll show you your flat. It’s fortunate that the previous guard moved out fast, you can get that small flat on top of the server rooms. It has outside stairs so you have your own little home in a way.”
Duncan followed him through a park, a bit further from the house.
Martin pointed at a larger building to the back. “That’s the garage… more like an exhibit hall. It’s fucking huge. Spencer has an armored car, but nothing you haven’t driven before, I gather. I’ll give you the key.” Glancing at Duncan. “I hope you will last because I’m tired of showing guys around.”
Duncan’s heart tightened. “Uh… that bad?”
“The young man is challenging, to say the least… You met him?”
“Yes, at the hospital.”
“Drunk, still, I bet. He’s even worse outside… but you’ll see. Here’s your flat.”
They walked up the stairs lining the back of the building to a small landing. Martin opened the door. The suitcases were already there in a small hallway leading to a kitchen area, and to the right a living room, with a door to the bedroom to the right. Large windows circled the flat, giving on trees and the park, and to the path they had taken.
“Bathroom from the hallway. It’s small but functional.”
Duncan’s eyes roamed around, a tiny relief in all that grief. “It’s all I need.”
“No fuss, right? I like that. Here’s the key. Let’s go to the house, you can unpack later and have a good night’s sleep before you have Spencer. Make the most of it because you might be doing late nights. A lot of them.” He chuckled, and Duncan just followed him outside, closing the door.
Back to that huge house, Martin showed him around. The classic stairs to the top floors, behind the house a huge pool with sundecks, a large terrace, a breath taking view on the city from that park too, ending in marble railings.
On the second floor, Martin pushed a door in. “That’s Spencer’s room…”
It had been cleaned, somewhat, but the smell of spilled alcohol was floating in the air, despite those large windows open, the white curtains floating in that slight wind. A huge double bed, white and black on the left, and a sofa and armchairs on the right with a small glass table. On that right wall, a huge greyscale photo, a young man, his eyes rimmed black, his lips parted, that lush, wavy hair framing his face, and for a fleeting moment, Duncan had to blink at that vision, trying to couple that stunningyoung man to that wreck he had seen in that hospital bed. His dark eyes filled with hate when on the picture, they seemed almost at peace, a tiny smile there, a dreamy look.
Martin smirked. “Nobody can resist the little fucker’s charms. Pardon my words.”
“I’m not into twinks.” Pinching his lips because the last thing he wanted was to out himself.
Martin scoffed. “Right. Well, no worries, we’re not homophobes here or anything.”
Great, just fucking great…“Ok… thanks, I guess.”
“Now, there’s this door, and this one, leading to his workshop.”
He pushed it open, and they glanced in, huge canvases lining the walls, botched with colors, and naked forms, from what Duncan could see, but he didn’t know much of art, so they closed the door, and went to the windows.
Martin gestured down. “He climbed out a couple of times and managed to jump down to the terrace’s roof where he cracked the glass and sprained his ankle. Sometimes, he sits on the edge and taunts his parents that he’ll jump. I offered to have the windows grated up but they said he’d just jump from another one.”
“He’s suicidal?” Duncan’s eyes roamed those tall windows, the void to that thick glass roof, the panels wedged between dark metal.
“Fuck knows. He’s crazy enough.”
Crazy…Duncan bit his tongue not to comment on the word.
“You’ll have your hands full. He parties, sometimes here, sometimes at their countryside house, sometimes in town. He’s a young prodigy, or so his mother says, and has exhibits, is invited to all sorts of events, and of course, the modelling… has a shitty temper too, zero respect. If I were his father, I’d whack his face in, but he’s been spoiled and has no control.”
Duncan kept quiet, not even wanting to go near his memories, but they flashed in. Hiding behind his father when his mother had lost it, his heart hammering. His dad had taken those blows, with that cool calm he had had, pushing him to go to his room and lock himself up. Lying about his bruises at work the next day… When he could be there. Not always. He walked around to clear the memories, looking at the cigarette burns in that creamy carpet.
Martin joined him. “Come, let’s finish the tour.”
