Begin

It felt like days before I left my room. I felt safe there, like no one could harm me if I stayed within my four walls. I ate, slept, bathed and read in that room, never daring to leave it. I didn't know if Thomas was still around or… My heart told me Emmet would not let him live after trying to kill me, but somewhere, deep down, I hoped he was alive. Patrick never visited me anymore, and I didn't understand why? My only visitor was the nurse, whose name I learned around the fourth visit; it was Nicole. She had worked for the Tsar and Bratva for at least five years. She had seen many people come and go from the estate, some in handcuffs, some in body bags. I grew to enjoy her company.

Nicole's daily visits were consistently around 4 in the afternoon. She told me she was always escorted here by armed guards and that someone was posted in front of my door every day, morning and night. I felt uneasy knowing I had guards waiting outside of my door. Did it mean I couldn't leave if I wanted to, or was Emmet just trying to keep me safe? My mind drifted into thinking of him. How long had it been since we spoke last? Since the incident happened, I hadn't left the room in days, at least four or five. That would mean that Emmet had been away for at least two weeks. He said he wouldn't be back till the end of the month. It must have been mid-March right now, so back in April? My longing for him grew with the distance and time, but my heart still ached. Not speaking was hurting me. I didn't know if I could go to his study in the East wing to call him. I needed to ask Patrick, but I was afraid to leave, to try and find him. I looked at the clock near the door. It was almost four. Nicole would visit soon, and then I could ask her where Patrick was. There was a light tap on the door; it almost sounded like Patrick knocking. I murmured yes, and the door opened. Nicole stood there, a tray with soup, bread, and medication for me. She smiled sweetly, as always.

I nodded as she entered and paced to my bedside. She checked my IV line and noted down my levels. She placed the heart monitor on my finger, and this routine was almost like a dance. The same day, the same time, the same procedures. It was all very familiar. I looked at her. She was humming softly as she read my levels and made her notes. "Nicole," my voice was almost a whisper, "I wonder, have you seen Patrick?" She smiled softly, but the cornered of her mouth sound dropped. She shook her head, "Patrick was sent away when the incident happened. I think the Tsar wanted him to explain in person what happened, but I don't know?" 

"In-person, meaning Patrick was taken to Europe?"

"He and I think Thomas too." She stopped fiddling with my charts and IV and sat beside me on the bed, "You're lucky to have the Tsar looking after you. I've seen many kids come and go from this place, but none have ever been as well looked after as you," she trailed off, looking towards the door in freight, "Look Milo, take this," she handed me a small, crumpled piece of torn paper, "never let anyone see this. But I think Thomas is dead." Her mouth frowned as I swallowed her words deeply. Dead? Christ, what on earth happened while I was hiding in my room? "Do you know if I can leave?" She held her hand up, waving away the thought and shook her head, "No, you can't. The guards will stop you if you try to leave this ro…."

"Why? I did nothing wrong? I was… I was…" I began to trail off. I knew it was useless to try and justify why I was being locked up. Nicole stood beside me, adjusting the IV line a bit; she spoke in a hushed tone, "I know you didn't do anything, Milo. Look, the Tsar is doing what he thinks is best, and I'm sure Patrick will be back to explain soon," she looked at her watch, "I've been here too long. I'll be back tomorrow to take this out, okay?" She smiled softly, but behind it was contempt. Nicole felt sorry for me, and I hated it. I shrugged my shoulders and turned onto my side, looking over the vast, empty bed. Somehow, wishing in the back of my mind that I'd wake up and Emmet would be there. I heard Nicole softly leave the room and mumbling from outside the door. Tomorrow I'd be off this damn IV and able to move around freely, but would I be able to leave this room? I sighed deeply, clutching the pillow beside me tightly to my body, holding out hope this was all just a horrible dream. I slowly drifted to sleep and felt my body become light in my dream. 

Before I knew it, dawn was approaching, and Nicole was in my room. She hurried around me, untangling lines, pulling things from boxes and ticking charts. I rubbed my eyes a little, seeing a figure standing behind her. They were tall but didn't look like the Tsar or Patrick. Their hair was dark black, even in the dimly lit room, and their body was thin. It took me a while to recognise it was Hugo. He looked at me, his piercing blue eyes burning holes in my body. Nicole and Hugo whispered in a tone too low for me to hear, and suddenly Nicole was gone, carrying the medical equipment in her arms. Hugo and I were left in that room. I felt my chest tighten as he paced to the end of the bed. He stood, looming over it, looking at me. My heart started racing; the pressure I felt in his presence was immense. I slowly pulled myself up in the bed, sitting back against the pillows. He ran his hand through his hair, and I noticed soft glinting from his fingers; a fist full of rings, I thought. 

"He's too soft on you. You know that, right?" His tone was low, not deep like the Tsar's, but just as forceful. I shook my head, I knew that Emmet was soft on me, but I didn't understand why it was a problem. He snarled as he spoke, "Now I'm here playing fucking babysitter because you can't be left alone. What a waste of fucking time," 

"I'm fine on my own, aren't I? Thomas is gone, and I have work…."

He laughed, sarcastic and cold, "Fine on your own, my ass. I wouldn't be here if that were true. How come trouble seems to follow you, huh?" I shook my head, and I didn't know. I thought I hadn't been that much of a problem, but suddenly I thought about all the time off Emmet had watched over me for six months, having to have Patrick fly to Europe to explain the situation; I suddenly realised I was just a burden. 

"How do I fix this?" I asked with genuine concern.

"You don't. That is my job. The best thing you can do is shut up and fucking follow orders, got it?" Hugo was nasty, his tone was sharp, and I felt my skin shiver under his glare. "Listen to me carefully. You are not special. The Tsar will grow bored of you after you've reached your usefulness. Don't forget you owe him your life, so use it to do as your told."

I just nodded my head sheepishly, feeling deflated and useless. Hugo patted my feet before turning to the door, "Good, at least you can follow instructions. Patrick will be in tomorrow morning to explain what will be happening, don't ask questions, do as you're told. I don't want to come back here and play fucking sitter again; I have shit to do." His anger was seeping through his teeth, dropping to the floor and leaking into my body. I felt sick, nodding again at his words, unable to open my mouth. He left just as suddenly as he arrived. I heard him commanding the guard outside the door to stay put until Patrick arrived. Tomorrow, he said. I'd get answers then, like hell, I wouldn't ask Patrick any questions. I felt the exhaustion kick in; my body felt heavy and cold. I clung to the pillow again, hoping I'd see Emmet in my dreams, just once. 

It was warm. The sun was heating my back. It felt nice. I stirred a little in the bed, kicking my feet out to the side when I hit a leg. I retracted my leg with speed, startled that there was someone next to me. I opened my eyes to see the soft, snow-white hair before me. It was Emmet. He was back, in front of me, in bed with me. My heart began racing, and I felt my body trembling as I reached a hand out to touch him. Was he really there? As my hand inched closer to his head, he lifted it and smiled. My fingertips reached for his lips and ran along them softly as he spoke, "Good morning," he kissed my fingertips, and his voice was husky like it was in the mornings. I threw myself into him violently so that he left out a cough. I buried my face in his chest, hearing his slow, steady heart beating against my head. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around me softly. He held me a while, just humming softly the same piano tune Thomas was playing the day I met him. His hands ran up and down my spine, and I could feel the calluses rub against my bones, making my skin shiver. Emmet began to speak, but I suddenly couldn't hear him. It felt like there was water in my ears. I sat up, looking down at Emmet, when Thomas appeared next to us. His hand ran up and down Emmet's body. Emmet grabbed his face, pulling it closer and running his tongue over his lips. I sat back, confusion taking over my thoughts. What on earth was he doing here and in my room, in my bed, with Emmet? I watched as Thomas pushed himself on top of Emmet. Thomas looked over his shoulder at me, grinning from ear to ear. Thomas pulled Emmet's underwear down and slid his hips over Emmet's erection. The sounds, Emmet was moaning, panting for Thomas. I could hear all of it, and seeing Thomas grinning at me while he rode Emmet made me sick.

Thomas moaned louder and louder, calling out Emmet's name, begging him to "go faster." I felt my stomach turn, and suddenly, I vomited at the foot of the bed. It wasn't normal vomit. It was a deep red, thick-like sludge. It began filling the white sheets. Thomas and Emmet, not even noticing, began to fuck harder in front of me. Emmet flipped Thomas to his back, holding his hands above his head with one hand and his neck with the other, thrusting faster and deeper into him. The red sludge began to engulf their bodies. Thomas licked his lips, saliva dripping from his mouth, and Emmet lent down, licking his mouth. I felt myself keel over; my stomach pain was so intense. It felt like my entire body was in shock. I lay at the foot of the bed, watching Thomas getting fucked by Emmet in my bed. My eyes felt glued to the scene; I couldn't look away. The whole time Thomas watched me, grinning at my pain. He finally spoke, the Tsar's hand still wrapped around his throat, slowly crushing his windpipe; "He was always mine, ya know? He'd come and fuck me when he was finished cuddling you." Emmet chuckled and tightened his grip on Thomas's throat, "Every, single night. This is what he did to me. Don't you wish it was you, Milo?" I clutched my chest, gasping for air as the thick red sludge began to flow over my body. I felt it rushing toward my neck, touching my ears and filling my brain with emptiness. It reached my mouth, rushing into my throat and causing me to convulse on the bed. Thomas kept smiling, though, watching me reel in pain and cough. I couldn't hear again, but all I could see was Emmet pounding Thomas' body harder and harder while I lay here choking and gasping for air. 

I sat bolt-upright in bed. I was drenched in sweat and piss. I had pissed the bed? An awful nightmare; I felt the effects lingering on my body. My legs were numb, and my stomach hurt. I had to get up, and I had to change my sheets and shower, wash this horrible feeling off me. I felt my heart racing as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cool on the soles of my feet, and a sudden shiver ran down my spine. It must have been early in the morning, considering it was still dark out. I looked at the clock toward the door; it read 3:49 am. I dragged myself to the bathroom, feeling a sudden urge to vomit. I dashed to the toilet and puked. A yellow, thick liquid came from deep within my stomach. It was acidic and hurt my throat. I sat, leaning my head against the toilet and looking at the yellow liquid swirling around the bowl as I flushed it away. I put both hands on either side of the toilet rim and pushed myself up. I was dizzy, and my head felt prickly, as if it was full of static. I shook my head slowly, trying to regain my balance as I stumbled to the sink basin. I stopped by the full-length mirror, looking at my body. I was covered in goosebumps, sweat and vomit down my chest.

My hair was dishevelled, hanging above my ears and drenched in sweat. I felt sick looking at myself. I ran some water at the basin and cupped my hands below the flow. Bringing my cupped hands to my mouth, I rinsed the vomit and saliva from my teeth and tongue. I spat, remnants of the vomit hitting the white porcelain sink and down the drain. I held my forehead as I walked to shower. The water was cold, piercing my skin, but it began to get warm. I hadn't even bothered to take my pants or underwear off. It was soaked through with sweat and vomit anyway. I stood, feeling the water pound against my flesh while images of my horrific dream flashed before my eyes. I felt sick again, clutching my stomach as I hurled into the shower drain. It was a deep yellow again. This time it was thicker, with traces of what looked like red blood mixed in. I felt myself dropping to my knees, the vomit splashing back from the shower floor into my face. It mixed with the warm water and was slick against my skin. I couldn't stop throwing up; in vast waves of nausea, I felt myself getting dizzy again. My mind went blank, and I suddenly felt my head hit the tiled floor. Water dripping over my body, I let out one more purge, deep from within my stomach. It was a deep red this time, just like in my dream.

I began crying, lying in my vomit and the warm water slowly turning cold on the floor below me. My sobbing echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls and mixing with the sound of flowing water. My stomach finally stopped turning, and I sat under the water. Letting it drip and cover my entire body. I began to take my pants off and underwear. Sitting on the tiled floor, completely naked. I don't know how long I sat there, but the entire bathroom was filled with dense steam. I dozed in and out of consciousness, feeling my head tilt back against the marble tiles of the open shower.

Suddenly the lights in the bathroom were on, the door swung open with force, and I saw Patrick standing in front of me in a panic. I managed a weak smile, and he caught my limp body in his arms. I was in and out of this weird state while Patrick dried me, he was speaking to me, but I couldn't hear any of it. Everything sounded as if I was underwater, muffled and bubbly. I shook my head, hoping it would clear my ears up, but it made me dizzy. I felt Patrick's worry; he dressed me delicately as if I were a doll or a baby. I felt a sense of relief knowing he was back, but another part of me felt utter despair. I was afraid to hear what he had to say, what Emmet had said to him. I felt my legs dangling in the air as he carried me to the bed; the sheets were clean. I didn't remember taking them off and cleaning them. It must have been Patrick. I felt the soft sheets engulf my body, cradling me gently as I closed my eyes. I was terrified I'd have another dream like before, but my eyes refused to open. I felt my body sink deep into sleep, and it was uneventful; no dreams took place. 

Patrick appeared in my room, drawing back the blinds and offering a glass of water. I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes. I wondered how long I had been asleep. Patrick cleared his throat, turning to face the window; "Look, Milo, I think it's best we leave this situation where it is and not speak on it." 

"But why? I didn't do anything wrong? Neither did you!" My voice was trembling in my throat. 

"No, we didn't, and the Tsar knows this. What's done is done; let's just… move on" Patrick smiled as he spoke. It wasn't a reassuring smile either, and it was contempt. Something happened to him in Europe, and his metaphorical leash was tightened. I nodded slowly and tried to ignore the fact that I had caused his. Patrick circled the bed and offered me a schedule. A new routine was established, where I was not to be alone, even for a second. It was overwhelming. The only time I could be alone was during the evenings in my room before sleeping; even then, guards were posted outside my room the whole night. Was the Tsar trying to help me or cage me like a bird? I suddenly did not long for him like I thought I would like I had been during this whole ordeal. Patrick caught my attention by taking the schedule from my lap, and I snapped back to reality. I guess it was best to ignore this and go back to work. 

While I had hoped Emmet would return sooner, I enjoyed the simplicity of heading to breakfast and then to the office at the front of the estate. The large pinewood table still dominated the room, with files pilled high and Patrick at the helm. I sat in my seat and took the nearest pile to me. All the contents were the same as the last ones, project complications, timelines, plans, and all things I did not understand. An interesting name cropped up throughout the files, though; Hugo. Hugo was the project manager on almost every one of these files and across the country. I wondered how he ever slept; that would explain his gaunt face and sunken eyes. After my last meeting with Hugo, I felt a tight and uncomfortable pain in my chest. He made me feel uneasy, just the thought of him. I hoped I would never have to see him again once Emmet returned, but I felt that wouldn't be the case. Patrick skimmed the papers before him, pilling them accordingly for me to file away. We worked in silence for most of the morning. It wasn't an awkward silence, just a peaceful morning, the occasional sigh from Patrick as he held a paper close to his face to read the almost illegible handwriting. He would scoff and shake his head, causing a small smile to appear on my face. He would nod and chuckle, leaning back in his chair. This was how these sessions in the morning always played out. For at least a week and a half, we began our days like this, working till midday, stopping for lunch, and then often, Patrick would give me the evening off to work on my own things. At first, I just kept working late into the night, and if I spent time alone in my room, my mind would wander and fret about Emmet. I liked keeping myself busy, avoiding the reality that Emmet wasn't back and it was nearing the end of the month. March was fast approaching, and I felt a sense of relief knowing that Emmet should be returning soon. I still hadn't figured out which part of the business Emmet wanted me in, but I felt that if I kept up this admin work with Patrick quickly, he'd consider me valid. That's all I wanted to be for him, useful.

I sat back in my chair, looking over and sorting documents until sunset. The last light ray caught my attention on the wall as it danced across framed pictures of buildings and achievement certificates for the company. A portrait caught my eye; it was the team, with Emmet right in the middle. He looked younger, less hardened by the world. His soft, blond locks stood out from the rest. His hair pushed back from his face, those icy blue eyes just looking out, and the smile he held on his face did not look genuine compared to those around him. It must have been after their first completed project; judging by the look of their ages, I guess it was from the early 1990s, just from the clothing alone and the infrastructure around them. I found myself wondering what Emmet was like before all of this. I looked at Patrick; my throat was tight. 

"Patrick?" I squeaked.

"Mmm?" His eyes lifted slightly from the paper to mine,

"What was Emm, I mean the Tsar, like before he got so busy?"

"He was as diligent and dignified as he is now; why?" I felt Patrick's tone was cold. I thought I shouldn't press this any further, but I wasn't sure when Emmet would return, and I didn't think id be able to ask him these questions without getting blown off or ignored. 

"I just wondered, that was all. He doesn't look happy in that portrait on the wall compared to everyone else." Patrick signed and put his papers down, "Milo, right before that picture was taken, the Tsar was told his father would die before the day's end. Of course, he held it in, kept up a strong face and pushed on, but he was hurting." Patrick offered a pitiful smile. 

"Was he close with his father?" My curiosity got the better of me.

"not per se, but the original Tsar was the one who built Emmet into the man and the Tsar he is today. Without him, he would probably have…" Patrick began to trail off as there was a knock at the door. One of the maids entered with a note for Patrick. I hadn't noticed the time, but the sun was set, and darkness engulfed the estate. Patrick nodded as he received the message and turned to face me. He smiled softly this time. 

"Best head to bed, Milo; we have an important day tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Not more filing?" 

"Not tomorrow; we are going to the second estate to begin your real work." His tone was sharp and straight to the point. I felt a bit overwhelmed with the information. I nodded sheepishly and arose from my seat. I followed Patrick out of the office and to the sweeping staircase. Patrick nodded, and I ascended the staircase. My thoughts swallowed any sense of motion, and I found myself in my bed without realising it. My real work, what on earth did that mean? I thought my job was to help with filing and keeping the business accounts and files tidy. I guess they do have other plans for me.

End X