Lucas’ POV
We kissed and made up.
His taste lingered long after we parted.
“Palace duties,” he said.
Well, whatever, I had duties in the Academy too.
Everyone was busy with their little obsessions — August and his M3M0 prototype, Hana grooming Ali into a rat, Jamal chasing a hippocampus that probably didn’t want to be found.
I gave myself a pass from August the last time, but I still went to bless him with my presence.
With the paths I was slowly getting used to, I walked into the secret room. He was in there, alone again. This time, searching for something in the shelves.
“Oh, hey, Lucas,” he said immediately without turning back. I was beginning to think he was psychic.
I went to his side and picked up one of the books that was on the floor. I could have asked what he was searching for, but I would rather annoy him than unravel some world mystery.
“Where’s your bodyguard?” I asked.
“You really ought to stop calling Gerald that.”
“I’ll call him what he is.”
“He doesn’t like it.”
“He doesn’t like anything.”
“It’s bad enough that I have to handle not one but two of your kind.”
“What do you mean by my kind?”
“You’re smart, piece it together,” he said.
And that was when the doorknob twisted, with Gerald himself walking in.
I always assumed his bloodshot eyes came from working on weapons. Armory. He ran the black market. Once the thing being traded wasn’t information, that was Gerald’s territory.
Gerald was no prince, but he was the nephew to the King of Denmark. Royal enough to commit acts of treason, not royal enough to have been caught.
Together, he and August ran the academy. They did so with my help and the other two Saudi supporting characters.
“I don’t think things the same twisted way you do, September.”
“Not this again.” August turned to face me. “You’ve been down and gloomy for over a month; now you’re back to calling me September?”
“It’s about time, don’t you think?” I said, with my head almost bumping his.
Gerald, who I thought was still across the room, dragged his hand over August and pulled him back. Then he whispered something into August’s ear before looking at me like I wronged him.
His hands left August, then he picked up some things he dropped on the table, then left.
August’s eyes found the clock on the wall, then he checked the watch on his wrist immediately. “Shit,” he said, “I have to leave,” he added hurriedly.
Then he walked out of the room hastily while chanting, “Shit, shit, shit,” under his breath.
I picked up the books he left on the ground and arranged them back into the shelf before I left.
All so honestly, I had nothing to do. Naturally, I might have been drinking in my condo or sleeping.
I still had things I needed to figure out. Like the main people in the council. That could be easy if my father just told me, but all he’s said is to quit it. I still had plans I needed to commit to. Like murdering the people in the council. That could be easy if I actually knew them.
I went to the vending machine next. I took a sweat; the alcohol in the machine stared at me, but I wasn’t in the mood for that. I just wanted to do something before I saw Nicholas again.
He said he would be coming to my condo. What was I meant to do till then?
I hadn’t seen him in three days. Three horrid days, and I didn’t want him to let me go. Three horrid days, and I was begging him to look at me, talk to me, hold me.
I went back to my condo after. Things in there were a mess. Piles of drinks on the table, a broken vase, my clothes everywhere, and foam on most parts of the ground. How my condo became that way was a mystery to me.
It ended up being a good thing, something to do before I saw Nicholas again, arranging my condo. It didn’t take much time; it wasn’t the first time I was tasked with something like that, it had just been a while.
When I was done, I sat on my couch, stared at my roof, and waited for Nicholas. Waited till he came.
Ecstatic was an understatement for how I felt when I heard the sound of the code being punched. Maybe more of a misnomer than an understatement.
I stood, not really sure what to do with myself.
He walked in, then said, “Hey.”
I responded with a “Hi,” hoping I wasn’t being weird. “Make yourself at home,” I said, like he didn’t already have the habit of doing so.
He sat on the couch, then he patted his side for me to join him. I didn’t know why I stood; I shouldn’t have been the one to make myself at home. It was my home.
The last time I was that nervous around him was the first time I went to the café with him. The first time I didn’t know what to expect from him.
“You didn’t drink today,” he said.
“Yeah, nice weather, goes a long way.”
I sat. He smiled, then leaned back on the chair. Maybe I was just overthinking things.
“Can you tell me more about your mom today?” he asked. “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”
“My mom…” The atmosphere changed too quickly. Not bad, just different. “She was crazy for most of the time I knew her.”
“In a fun or clinical way?”
“Clinical.”
“Was she the one that raised you?”
“Yeah, mostly. It was mostly just me and her; then my dad learned that she had his son,” I said. “He tried to take me away from her, but she didn’t let him. All he could get was a week at first, then a month, then none at all.”
“Why none?”
“They had different plans for me.”
“Do you have a favourite memory of her?”
“A favourite memory?” I let out a breath as I thought back. “I think it was when I had my first drink.” A memory I liked reminiscing about.
My mom had drinks in her room; she always did. A whole wall dedicated to shelving them. There was beer, wine, liquor, tequila — typically anything alcoholic was there. It was more of a collection.
I was thirteen and amused. I stood at the corner of her room, not knowing if I was looking at my mother or a sick woman.
“Eddie, do you want some?” she asked as she downed a glass.
I nodded. I wanted whatever she was having.
She poured more into her cup and lifted it my way; I took it and gulped it the same way she did.
“How’s it?” she asked with more enthusiasm than I can remember seeing from her at any point.
“It’s okay,” I said.
“Come closer, sit,” she said.
I sat.
She brought out another cup, then placed it between us. And since then, we became drinking buddies.
We drank alcohol the way other people drank tea. It was special. But that was long gone, so I turned to my side and said, “She offered it to me.”
“I see,” he said. “What was your mother’s name?”
“Evelyn.”
“Her name is beautiful.”
“So was she. She was an angel.”
He had me rest my head on his shoulder; then he patted my hair. His touch always had this warmth, the comfort I wanted to drown myself in. And for the first time in a long while, I was not needing my mothers.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” I said.
“It’s alright.”
I leaned into his neck more. “I really like you.”
He traced his fingers over my cheek. I raised my head so my eyes could meet his.
“I like you too,” he said.
I smiled, slightly. His words made me feel happier than I should have let it. His touch made me want more than I should have wanted. He was going to be the end of me.
But despite knowing that, I still leaned into him. Despite knowing that, I was still asking him to kiss me. I was still kissing him.
And he did the same; he draped his lips on mine, his tongue on my lips, his tongue on my neck, on my ear. I liked him there, wanted him there, wanted him everywhere, but he still pulled away.
With my back to the chair and his hand still on my cheek, I enjoyed his presence.
I enjoyed how he started talking about getting coffee with me the next day.
I enjoyed how he still kept my hand in his.
How I fell asleep with my hand in his.
And he left while I was asleep, like he usually did.
ns216.73.216.141da2
and then Add to home screen.