It’s still dark out when I reach my room, so I drop into bed without bothering to remove my uniform. I pull my headphones on and let the music push away all thoughts until morning comes.
Dawn arrives too quickly and too bright. Still wearing my wrinkled livery from the day before, I drag myself to the kitchen. By the time I arrive, I’m shaky from weakness and hunger. I’m thankful gruel is waiting for me, and to my surprise, an apple the colour of coagulated blood sits right next to it. Could this be Bayard’s breakfast? But the kitchen is empty, and he’s nowhere in sight. I hold the apple, the waxen skin familiar in my hand, though I can’t remember the last time I ate something fresh. I devour it in four bites and eat the porridge just as quickly.
Bayard, looking as puckered as a stale lemon, arrives while I’m washing the dishes. For a moment, I want to confront him, ask about the violence and the murder, pull the secrets from every pore by force. But instead, I turn around, cross my arms, and wait for him to speak first.
“Sweep the floors today, and if you have time, you can beat the curtains,” he says dryly.
I nod, accepting that my existence mostly consists of menial chores.
“The cleaning closet is over there,” he adds, nodding toward a small door I hadn’t noticed at the other end of the kitchen. Without waiting for me to answer, he leaves the room.
When I start sweeping the downstairs floor, I try not to think about anything. I try to only listen to my music. Focusing on the screaming of my headphones. But my thoughts keep returning to Abas. The way his eyes shone in the firelight, the way his hair fell over his face when he got angry. How he seemed to disappear to faraway places for just a fleeting moment before coming back into his body, suddenly and furiously.
And I see his hand slowly stroking his cock while watching me, his muscles tensing from the effort. I push the thoughts away, but they burrow themselves deep into my mind, refusing to leave.
I get hot at the memory of the invisible hand at my throat and upset at the dismissive way he spoke to me last time we saw each other. The more I try to focus on other things, the worse it gets, making me angrier by the minute. Upset at myself and bored with sweeping the floor, I go to the kitchen, hoping to distract myself with lunch.
A steaming hot bowl sits on the table, almost as if it had been placed there the moment I thought of eating. When I look inside, I see that instead of the flavourless breakfast gruel, it’s filled with potatoes, onions, and bean stew. It’s still bland and a bit watery,but it’s hot and helps to calm my frayed edges. I wonder if Pepper cooked this today, secretly serving me a portion and not telling Bayard that I got anything beyond the usual bread and cheese. When I’m done, I go back to sweeping the second floor.
The moment I begin again, my thoughts spiral back to Abas. I let out a growl of frustration. I’ve had enough. I’ve so successfully avoided any emotions my entire life. But after less than a month here, I’m already in complete disarray. I don’t like this feeling one bit. It leaves me breathless and confused.
I drop the broom to the floor, determined to put an end to this right away. I want the simplicity of my life back. The nothingness. I refuse to continue living like this.
Turning my Walkman to maximum volume, I stride to Abas’ room. I shut off my mind as I go, letting only the sounds of the music wash over me. When I reach the door, I open it without knocking, the wood banging against the wall behind me. As usual, Abas stands at the fireplace, looking up at the commotion. He’s frowning but says nothing. I step into the room, shutting the door as forcefully as I opened it.
“Fuck you and your dismissive fucking attitude,” I shout at him.
Abas raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Excuse me?” he says nonchalantly.
“No, you’re not excused. I’m a person, not a piece of garbage you can throw away when you’re done with it.” I step closer as I speak. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re a vampire. You don’t get to treat me like that.”
“And how do I get to treat you?” he asks, voice surprisingly calm, a smirk appearing on his lips.
This stops me for a moment. I clearly didn’t think about this. Abas approaches me, coming so close that I feel small again.
“Don’t try to intimidate me with your size,” I step back, annoyed.
And to my utter shock, Abas kneels before me. I look down at him, breath stuck between my ribs. His eyes rise up, watching me in a way that completely distracts me from any coherent thought. Demanding. Reverent.
I want to slide my fingers through his waves, drag my tongue over his jaw. I try to focus, try to remember why I’m here. But all I see are his sad eyes and his soft lips. His chest rises too fast, mouth open like an offering, hands clasped behind his back. My mind is filled with nothing but longing and desire.
“Take your clothes off,” I say, surprising even myself with those words.
Abas closes his eyes, and his mouth lifts up on one side, satisfied lines forming on his face. It’s a crooked smile, born of a deep relief.
Abas slips the loose shirt over his head in one smooth motion, then stands up to unbutton his trousers, letting them slide to the floor. His cock juts out, painfully hard already. My own stirs just at the sight of it. When he’s fully naked, he kneels back down, looking up at me expectantly. I give in to the urge and pull my fingers through his hair. It’s too thick, too smooth, but all I notice is how he leans into my touch—desperately.
Reluctantly, I let go and sit on the edge of his bed. I don’t know what to do or where to go from here, but before I can make a decision, Abas crawls toward me on his knees. He nudges my legs open with his face and places himself on the floor between my thighs. His eyes are so eager, it’s making my body too tight. I came here so determined to set things straight, but with just one gesture and one look, Abas has completely disarmed me.
“I…” I say as he starts with, “Please, Astaire…”
His voice is hoarse, filled with want. His cheek is pressed against my thigh, watching me with eyes filled with such hunger;a fire glows within them so fiercely, it takes my breath away. He is asking, pleading, for something I can’t read. But then Iremember a desire I hadn’t let myself acknowledge until days ago, and suddenly, I recognise what he is yearning for: he’s demanding the very thing I so desperately craved myself.
“Tell me what you want?” I ask, stroking his hair slowly.
“I want you to treat me like I treated you.” He presses it out like a secret.
“Like a piece of garbage?” I add.
