Begin

The study looked the same as it had the previous day. It was lined with old books, manuscripts, poetry and art. I hadn't taken the Tsar for a literate man, but his collection within the study was most impressive. An old record player sat underneath a window behind a large desk. I was curious about what kind of music the Tsar would listen to, so I crossed the room to peruse the records. They were all names, Slavic or Russian, and I had no idea what they said. From the phone calls in the car, I had figured that the Tsar who had saved me from Ho Ming that night was foreign. I just hadn't picked Russian. Did that make him more exciting or more dangerous?

I lent back on the desk, resting just on its edge and staring out the large window. I was utterly lost in thought when the door opened behind me. I hadn't even bothered to turn around when a hand reached my waist. It was enormous; the fingertips pressed into my ribcage slightly as they held me. I felt myself stiffen up as they pulled me into their chest. It was unusual; I felt safe and warm standing here, looking out the window in these arms. I looked up into his face. It was the Tsar. I strangely felt upset. Why had I thought it was Patrick? I forced a smile, but the Tsar saw straight through it. He spun me to face him, holding my chin in his palm again with force. He held my gaze and looked deeply into my eyes. 

"Did it bother you?"

I shrugged. I wasn't sure what he was asking.

"Did seeing him hurt bother you?" 

I swallowed hard, my mouth was dry, and I felt my tongue was being weighed down by concrete. I slowly nodded. It was all I could do. The Tsar held my chin tighter, then sighed. He let my chin go and paced around the room. I couldn't tell if he was angry at himself or me. He stopped in front of the desk and lent on it. He reached into his pocket and produced a cigar. He lit it and took a long drag. I hated the smell, but somehow, it felt like I would find comfort in the scent someday. The Tsar looked at me and sighed, "If you stay away from him and only have eyes for me, I'll leave him alone." My stomach turned, and butterflies began to well up inside me.

I walked in front of the Tsar. His legs were spread slightly apart to hold his balance; I forced myself between them, much as he had done the night we met. I placed my head against his chest. I could feel his heart beating faster and faster as I placed my hands around his waist. I held him until he put his hand on my back and caressed my spine. His long, slender fingers traced each of my bones within my back, and I began to shiver. It was an unusual feeling, but I was relieved he would leave Patrick alone as long as I only had eyes for him. I pushed myself away from his chest and looked up at his face. He was attractive, in an unconventional way, but attractive nonetheless. He took another drag from his cigar, and I buried my face into his nape, feeling his heart beating as I rested my lips on his jugular. I let out a slight cough. Ho Ming used to blow smoke down my throat when he kissed me, which bothered me. The Tsar went stiff for a moment as I coughed. He put his cigar out straight away and stroked my back gently. 

"Does it bother you?" I nodded in his neck, too embarrassed to lift my gaze to his. He smirked. I could feel the muscles in his neck tense as he breathed out, and I heard a small chuckle escape his throat. "Just for you, Milo, I won't smoke." I pushed myself from his neck, looking deep into his eyes. I needed to see if he was serious. I held his gaze deeply before doing something I never thought I would. I pushed my lips against his. His lips, pink and cold, were pressed hard against mine at that moment. I felt my hands creep up to his shoulders and hold him tightly. His hand, caressing my back, suddenly found its way to my neck. He pulled me away with force and grabbed my throat tight. I felt lightheaded and dizzy, but I wasn't sure if it was because the Tsar was cutting off my oxygen or if it was from the kiss. The Tsar let me go, and I dropped to the floor. I looked up at him as he shook his head. 

"Do not do that again." His tone was severe. He was angry. I felt fear build inside my stomach, deeply, and strangle me from inside. He pushed me aside and walked to the door, stopping to turn one more time to face me,
"Milo, don't you dare show this side of you to anyone except me." 

I didn't know what he meant, but I felt compelled to follow his orders. He beckoned for me to follow, and I did so blindly and obediently. 

I ensured I stayed behind the Tsar for the estate walk-through. I did not want to anger him again and certainly did not want to be left alone in this place. We walked in silence down some long corridors to a library in the back wing of the house. The door was closed, but the noise seeped out from underneath. The Tsar took a deep breath and placed his hand on the handle. Before he turned it, he looked back over his shoulder at me. He signed and whispered, "Be good; I'll reward you." I didn't understand what he meant. Be good. How else was I behaving?

The doors swung open to a large sitting room with four people inside. There was one chair left, right in the centre of the group. A small coffee table sat in front of the chairs; on it were suitcases filled with money. I glanced over at the people sitting in the room. There was a woman with bright red hair and pale skin. She wore a tidy business suit and held a long, thin cigarette in one hand. She wore thin-rimmed glasses and looked down her nose at me over them. She took a drag from her cigarette and ushered the Tsar and me in. I followed behind him closely, staying just inches from his back.

I avoided eye contact with the people inside the room, especially the woman. I felt sick being near her. The Tsar sat in the empty chair, and I stood behind him, looking down at the back of his neck. I felt my ears flush red with heat when he spoke my name. He ushered me to his side and held my hand. His were cold, as always. He held it tight and looked at me, gesturing with his eyes for me to sit below him on the ground. I did as I was asked. I sat beside the chair on his left side, avoiding the seated woman. The Tsar rested his hand on my head, stroking my hair gently. I felt like a dog, lower than a dog.

I surveyed the room slowly, noticing that it had a lot of business files and scale models of buildings around it. This must be one of the business's archives or library. I looked toward the guests beside me. Two men, one looked to be around 35 and the other, he didn't look much older than the Tsar, mid-to-late 20s, at a guess. The one closest to me, the man I would later call Hugo, was the Tsar's most trusted business partner. They had been working together for close to a decade at this point. Hugo ran the construction side of this business. He was the top advisor and contractor and oversaw all building projects up and down the coast.

Hugo was almost comically thin as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. His eyes were sunken into his skull, his cheekbones set high on his face, and his jet black hair fell below his ears. He glanced in my direction only once. I caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were an unusual shade of blue, a deep oceanic blue. I felt my throat tighten with each passing second in this room. The Tsar's gentle fingertips brushed my hair softly as he spoke. When he mentioned me by name, his fingers found the tops of my ears, and he caressed them carefully. The conversation was short. I hadn't focused on anything that was said. The Tsar's petting sensation had caused my mind to become numb. In moments, the Tsar lifted me to my feet and nodded that I bow. I turned to the men and the woman in the room and searched for the Tsar's arm to cling to. He held out his large, ring-covered hand, and I clapped my fingers into him tightly. He chuckled softly in his throat. As we turned to leave the library, the female, whom I know now is Scarlett, called to us. 

"Are you sure you should be getting attached to this toy?" Her tone was snarky. The Tsar stopped just as he reached for the handle. He dropped my hand and paced over to the woman. She looked at him as he approached. Not an ounce of fear was present on her face. The Tsar stood above her and reached his hand out to her shoulder. Suddenly, my heart raced, and rage began to fill me inside. I felt sick, disgusted, and angry, but I couldn't understand why? Was the Tsar's hand on someone else really the cause of these feelings? However, it was quickly dismissed when the Tsar's hand found his way to Scarlett's thin, pale throat. He wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her towards him with such force that she looked like a rag doll, hanging limply from his palm. I found myself reacting on instinct again. Launching myself across the room to his side and grabbed desperately at his legs. My arm wrapped so tight around his calf that I could feel my nails clawing his flesh.

The Tsar, however, did not even flinch or notice my presence. He held Scarlett's ear close to his lips. His voice was rough and quiet in his throat, but he was clear enough for me to hear his words to her.
"Do not question me." Scarlett's face was beginning to go blue from the strain on her windpipe. I reached my hands up to the Tsar's arm and pulled at him, pleading at his feet, "Please. Don't do this".

At that point, the Tsar finally noticed my presence and dropped Scarlett back into her seat. She gasped for air, clinging to her throat and coughing deeply into the night air. She looked down at me, scrolling and wiping her lips in disgust. She spat in my direction and looked back at the Tsar. "As you wish." That was the first and last time I spoke to Scarlett for at least three or four years. I was snapped back to reality when I felt the Tsar's hands around my stomach. He picked me up effortlessly and carried me in his arms towards the door. My body felt weak from the situation, but being in his arms felt refreshing. I let my head drop, and I rested against his chest. His heart was racing in his chest. Was he sick? Tired? Did that encounter with Scarlett cause him distress? As he carried me, I found my arm reaching behind his neck and holding myself closer to him. My fingertips caressed his skin by accident; I felt the hairs on his nape stand on end and his heartbeat like thunder against my head. He stopped at the doorway and turned his head towards the room. "In a few years, when he's old enough, he will take your place at my side Scarlett, no debate." 

I was to what? I looked up at him. His expression was cold, blank as he carried me out of the room like a baby. I held onto him until we reached the main doors. He let out a deep sigh and finally looked down at me. His expression was soft again; why was it only I saw this expression, and why did it cause my heart to flutter? The Tsar slowly put me down in the entranceway. He stood in front of me, inches from my body. I felt my legs buckle under the thick, heavy, anxious air. Within an instant, the Tsar's head was resting on my shoulder. His arms hung down by his sides, and his body was tense. He took a deep breath and whispered to me, his hand finding its way up my body and my nape, "Milo, did I scare you tonight?" His tone was desperate, longing for an answer that would ease his guilt. Did this man only wish to be forgiven? My hand, acting on instinct alone, reached his cheek, caressing it softly. With a soft thud and sigh, I let my head fall back against the wall. The Tsar's weight, pushing into my shoulder, felt reassuring, like he needed me and me only. I found my words stuck in my throat, but I squeaked them out; "I wasn't scared. You make me feel saf-". His lips were against mine in an instant. I felt my body trembling under his enormous power. He lifted my chin and pulled my face closer to his. His lips were soft and gentle, pushing against mine in the dimly lit entrance. He let go of my chin and pulled away from me. I let out a gasp; I had been holding my breath that entire kiss, and the sound escaping from my throat sounded almost like it was of animalistic pleasure. I opened my eyes to see the Tsar covering his mouth. His eyes watered as if he was going to cry. I reached my hand to his chest. He caught my wrist mid-air and twisted it. I fell to the ground, screaming in pain. I felt as if my entire wrist was about to snap. The Tsar recoiled his hand at speed, and I sat in a slump on the floor. I was clutching my wrist tight to my chest and wincing in pain.

I began to cry, tears falling at the Tsar's feet like rain droplets. "I, I I," stuttering and choking on every syllable as it left my lips, "I'm sorry, sir." I felt myself collapse under the pressure, and the last thing I saw before hitting the floor was the Tsar's expression. His eyes were wide, like voids of darkness engulfing the entire planet. His mouth was gaping open, he was speaking to me, but I couldn't hear any sound. Nothingness washed over me, and my head hit the concrete floor. The only sound I heard was my skull cracking on impact. 

When I finally regained consciousness, I was inside my warm, sun-soaked bedroom. I felt a twinge in my arm and an IV line with my fingertips. I let out a sigh. I was safe for the moment, but how did I get back here? Did the Tsar carry me the whole time? I don't remember anything after he grabbed my wrist. My heart tinged, and I lifted the soft sheets to see my wrist was bandaged up. I ran my index finger over the banged and recoiled in pain. Was it broken, sprained perhaps?

I flung the covers off my body and looked down. I was clothed in silk pyjamas and was freshly bathed. I could smell the lingering scent of the soap on my skin. I looked up to the ceiling; my head felt heavy. Where is he? Why was I alone? I heard the door handle begin to shake under the weight of someone pushing down on it. I pulled the covers up over myself and hid my face. I heard soft footsteps come toward me. I kept my eyes closed, hoping maybe they wouldn't stay long if I still seemed to be sleeping. I felt a weight on the bed. They sat near my knees and let out a deep sigh. I felt a hand reach over my thigh and stop, resting on it softly. The weight of this hand on my thigh felt somewhat familiar, almost welcome. I kept my eyes shut tight, trying to avoid all contact with whoever this was. The silence was broken when they began to sob softly. I heard whimpers between their deep inhales. They were whispering something under their breath. I strained to listen to it.

I felt them stand up, move toward my head, and kneel beside me. Their little sniffles were followed by a deep swallow and a hand on my forehead. They were cold. Was it the Tsar? I fought every single primal urge to open my eyes to see. A gentle kiss was placed on my forehead, and I felt tears drip onto my cheeks. They slid down my face and rested at the corner of my mouth when suddenly I felt a force on my lips. I thought it was lips, but I couldn't feel any breath. It hit me. It was the Tsar. He had held his fingers to his lips and kissed me much like we did the first time I was brought to his study. He said he wouldn't do anything with me until I was 16. Had I caused him disgust and worry by kissing him in that hallway? My memory was fuzzy, but I'm sure I didn't kiss him; I just offered him truthful words.

I felt hazy when his mouth was beside my ear, breathing softly against me. He began to speak, "Milo, please, please be okay. I am so sorry", his voice trembled in his throat. Is this the man I saw only moments ago trying to strangle a woman to death? "Milo, please, I didn't mean to harm you. I promised to protect you, and I…" his words began to fade in the air. I didn't know if he was leaving or if I fell asleep just listening to his words. I felt at peace. Was I dying? In my dream, I reached out my hand to his face and held his cheek softly in my hand. It was wet and cold from tears.

I gave a faint smile and whispered to him, "I'm okay, sir, please don't cry" In my dream, I saw his eyes. They were filled with tears, but he smiled at me and pushed his cheek into my palm. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Suddenly a booming voice echoed through my mind, and I felt my heart beating. "Call me Emmet, Milo". I smiled sweetly; this dream wasn't so bad. I began calling his name to see what rolling from my tongue felt like. "Emmet", I whispered into the soft daylight of the room. 

Emmet sat on the floor beside the bed. I didn't know how long he had been there, but when I awoke a second time, I saw his head hung low, almost like he was asleep. I blinked a few times to adjust my eyes to the dim light. I looked down at my hand. It was intertwined with his. I tightened my grip to ensure I wasn't still dreaming, and when I did, my wrist twanged with sharp, burning pain. I sat up in bed with a jolt and felt my neck and skull throb with pain. I reached my other hand to my forehead and held it, slowly rocking back and forth, anything to ease this pain. This was most definitely not a dream anymore.

Emmet sat beside me, still asleep but without releasing his hand. He clung to my flesh with such force that I felt like his palm was absorbing me. I turned to look at him in the early morning light. His snow-white hair was unkempt, messy looking. His face was sunken as if he hadn't been eating or sleeping properly. I looked slowly around the room. The chair in the corner, which usually faced the window, was covered with blankets and a pillow. Had he been here with me while I was unconscious? How long have I been asleep? Has he been the one changing my clothes and bathing me, changing my dressing on my wrist and looking after me this whole time? I looked back at him, slumped against the windowsill, his knee against his chest, holding his arm up to the bed.

I felt weak, but I had to say something. My voice was hoarse like splinters in my throat, "Emmet?" I whispered into the empty air. Suddenly his eyes were open, expansive and vicious. The grey in his eyes shone under the early morning light, and I could see how bloodshot they were. Within seconds my face was buried in his chest. He held onto me with such force that I felt like I would break in half. His heart was pounding against my skull, and his arms were wrapped around my back. I felt his chest rising and falling, getting faster and faster when suddenly a blood-curdling sound rose inside his chest. He cried—a deep, primal cry of pain.

Suddenly the door flung open, and I could hear men's voices echoing through the room. "Sir! Are you all right?" They sounded desperate and concerned. Emmet did not respond; he simply cried and held onto me. I could feel his tears trickling down my back. It was as if someone had opened floodgates, and there was no way to stop them. The men left the room; I heard the door shut, and one of them explained to someone outside that I'd finally woken up. How long have you been asleep? I tried to push myself away from his chest, but I felt his grip tighten each time I reached a hand up to push away. We sat together, holding one another for what felt like hours. In reality, I'm sure it was only minutes. Emmet had stopped his tears and cries, but his breathing was short and sharp, like he was desperate for air. I felt courage build inside my stomach, and I began to speak. "Um, sir, please let me breathe?" I felt his grip drop and his arms were at his sides. I kept myself close to his chest and took a deep breath.

I was afraid to lift my head to see his face. What kind of eyes would be looking back at me? Would they be dark, empty voids? Or soft, regretful pits? Emmet stood slowly and began to make his way to the door. I felt a sense of loss, of abandonment, and at that moment, my feet leapt from the bed, clutching to his back with all my strength. I whispered; I pleaded into his shoulders for him not to leave me. I felt his body suddenly tremble. I let go of his back and dropped to my feet, barely standing. He caught my waist as I began to fall. I finally looked at his face. In the pale last light of the moon and as the sun was starting to rise into the room, I saw his face for what it was. Soft, flush and in pain. My heart ached for him. I reached my hand to his cheek and caressed him softly. A smile began to appear on his face, it was faint, but I saw it. That smile was for me and me alone. He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. 

"I am so sorry, Milo. I'll never let anything happen to you again." He kissed my forehead, and I felt my body go numb. I felt weightless, like I was floating. What the hell was I doing?
What the fuck is happening to me?

 End IV