Chapter 4 - Defective
Defective
Why would Adathan lie about his name, knowing it would be contradicted on the very first page of the manual he wanted William to read?
Could this day get any more nonsensical?
William took a mental step back and forced himself to calm down. There was likely a simple explanation.
The name was written by hand; it was possible someone had made a mistake and put down the wrong one. Or maybe they’d given Adathan another Serviteur’s box. After all, they probably all contained the same set of deluxe accessories. William wrinkled his nose at the thought.
He heard the toilet flush and snapped the manual shut.
He made his way back to the sofa and unlocked his phone as he took a seat. His conversation with Oliver popped up on his screen, making his thumbs itch to send him a text, but he resisted. He couldn’t involve Oliver any longer.
The bathroom door opened, and William switched to the hotel app on his phone, his heart squeezing as if he’d just been caught red-handed. It didn’t help that he could see Adathan out of the corner of his eye, standing there and looking at him.
What was he seeing?
“I’m looking to order us some dessert.” William gazed up from his phone and froze as he took in Adathan’s striking smile. Adathan had his hand pressed against his heart, his expressive blue eyes brimming with gratitude.
A hint of pride bloomed in William’s chest. Had anyone ever paid attention to Adathan’s needs and preferences before? He was willing to bet he was the first. He needed no fucking manual to take care of a human being.
Adathan let out a dreamy sigh and held William’s gaze for a second longer before rushing to clear the coffee table.
William decided not to stop him, afraid he’d make Adathan feel bad for taking the initiative. He wasn’t going to sit back and let him do all the work, though.
William stood up and winced as Adathan knocked a bottle over. Of course it had to be the one beer they hadn’t yet drunk, and now Adathan was going to feel awful for having spilled it over the table. “Don’t worry about it,” William said.
Adathan rushed to pick the bottle up, but it slipped from his hand and hit the hardwood floor with a dull crack, breaking and splashing beer in every direction. He gasped and apologized frantically as he dropped to his hands and knees, scrambling to gather the pieces.
“Shit. Don’t touch anything,” William said as he rushed to the kitchenette.
At least the bottle hadn’t shattered into a million shards, but it would still take a while to clean up.
He grabbed two dishcloths and wet them, then returned to the living room area, his breath catching as he took in the scene.
“I’m sorry, Master,” Adathan said in a pleading voice, his forehead pressed against the floor. “Please punish me. I promise to do better.”
No. No no no.
William dropped the dishcloths and kneeled in front of him. “Adathan, hey, Adathan. I’m not mad.” He grabbed Adathan’s shoulders and pulled him up. “Look at me. I’m not going to punish you.”
Adathan’s body stiffened under William’s palms. His gaze grew unfocused, hollow—the warmth it had held a moment ago replaced by despair.
“I’m not angry,” William said, his throat tightening around the words. “It just slipped from your hand. It happens. I’ll help you clean it up. We’ll be done in no time.”
Adathan’s breathing quickened, William’s words having no effect on him whatsoever. With how intense his state of shock was, William wondered whether he heard him at all. Just what the fuck had those fuckers done to Adathan for him to react this way to a minor incident?
William sat down on the floor and scooted closer with careful movements. “You’re safe. It’s okay. You did nothing wrong.” He gently wrapped his arms around Adathan and stroked his back. “Breathe. You’re safe. It’ll be okay. I promise. Just breathe.”
“I’m sorry,” Adathan whimpered as he gripped William’s sweater with both hands. “I’ll do better, I promise.”
“S’okay. Breathe.”
“Please. P-please give me a chance. I—I can be good.”
William’s heart sank as he spotted drops of blood on the floor.
Adathan took a sharp breath. “My training met the m-most rigorous standards.”
“And it shows,” William said, the words leaving a foul taste in his mouth. But what choice did he have?
He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the top of Adathan’s head, his hand tracing soothing circles against his trembling back. “You’re doing great. I’m—” He swallowed around the massive lump in his throat. “Happy with you.”
“You are?” Adathan asked in a tiny voice.
William nodded, blinking his tears away as he held Adathan in a protective embrace. Oliver had been mistaken. He couldn’t do this—he couldn’t keep Adathan safe. “Yes. I am.”
“Thank you, William,” Adathan said between sniffles. “You’re very kind.”
William took a deep, lilac-and-cherry-scented breath. “You’re kind too, Adathan. Can I see your hands?”
Adathan nodded against William’s chest. He let go of William’s sweater and gasped as he pulled away. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry, I—I’ll clean it. I’ll—”
“Adathan,” William said as he cupped his cheeks and looked into his eyes. “I don’t care. It’s just a sweater. You’re hurt; let me look at your hands.”
Adathan nodded again and offered his hands for William to examine.
William let go of his cheeks and looked down. At a glance, Adathan’s injuries didn’t seem severe, but it was difficult to know for certain with the smeared blood. “Come with me. Hopefully, there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom. If not, I’ll call the reception desk.”
William helped Adathan up and made sure he didn’t step on broken glass as they made their way toward the bathroom. He’d have someone from the hotel clean it up, but first, Adathan’s wounds needed to be tended to.
“It’s gonna hurt, but I need you to wash your hands with soap.” William turned on the tap. “Just don’t scrub too hard, okay?”
“Okay.”
William’s head buzzed as he looked through the cabinets. Were panic attacks common among Serviteurs? They were under such insane amounts of stress. William wouldn’t survive having to be hyper-aware every minute of every day. It was unsustainable.
William let out a sigh as he found what he was looking for. “Now pat them dry. Gently.”
To William’s relief, Adathan’s left hand only had a minor cut, but two fingers on his right hand were still dripping blood. Would he have kept trying to pick up the broken glass if William hadn’t ordered him not to?
William carefully bandaged Adathan’s hands, mindful not to cause him more pain. The first aid kit was high quality—just like everything else in this hotel—so at least his cuts would heal nicely.
Did all Serviteurs get proper care when they were hurt? Were they allowed to heal fully before they were asked to bend over backward for their masters again? Did some of those masters get off on making them bleed?
“Try not to use your hands too much, okay?” William said, putting an end to his spiraling thoughts. “Otherwise, they’ll take forever to heal.”
Adathan smiled. “I won’t. Thank you, William. You’re very—”
“Kind,” William blurted, instantly regretting it.
Adathan had no reaction whatsoever, but William had no doubt about it; he’d sensed and registered William’s annoyance. Why did he always have to be such an asshole?
William had spent most of his life telling himself that people who couldn’t handle him weren’t worth his time.
Such a stupid lie. All it had done was make him lonely and bitter.
He was lucky to have Oliver, but sometimes he wondered whether Oliver only tolerated him because he had no other choice. Just like Adathan.
William dug his nails into his palms. He had to keep his emotions in check. Neither Oliver nor Adathan deserved to be on the receiving end of his grumpiness.
“I’ll have someone from the hotel clean the mess,” William said, walking out of the bathroom. “After that, what do you say we eat dessert?” And put this all behind us.
Adathan’s smile widened. “I’d love that.”
William took his cozy sweatshirt out of his suitcase. He got changed, bunching his bloodstained sweater into a ball and dropping it on the floor. Hopefully, he’d manage to take the stain out when he got home.
William grabbed his buzzing phone and glared at the name on the screen.
The fuck did they want?
William gestured for Adathan to take a seat on the bed before heading to the kitchenette. He answered the call, his other hand hovering over the keycard in case he needed to retreat to the corridor. “Hello?”
“Good evening. My name is Barbara from Eden Serviteurs. Am I talking to Mr. William Mitchell?”
“Yes.”
“My sincere apologies for calling at this hour, Mr. Mitchell. Is this a suitable moment?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you kindly. This won’t take long; we know how valuable your time is.”
Then fucking get on with it.
“The reason I am reaching out to you tonight is that it was brought to my attention by our quality and assurance team that a mix-up occurred during shipment, and you were inadvertently provided with a defective Serviteur.”
William frowned. “A what?” he said, careful to keep his voice low.
“A defective Serviteur. Regrettably, the model you received did not meet our rigorous standards. We sincerely hope no incident has occurred since you came into possession of it?”
William glanced at the pieces of broken glass sitting in a puddle of beer and blood. “No.”
“That’s wonderful news! Please rest assured our team is working tirelessly to ensure a timely resolution.”
“Resolution?”
“Gabriel, the Serviteur you were supposed to receive, was inadvertently shipped to another continent, but it is already on a plane back here as we speak. In the meantime, we can send someone to retrieve the defective—”
“Wait. What?” William said, glancing at Adathan, who was admiring a painting on the wall.
“Of course, we can’t have you keeping a defective—”
“You keep using that word. What does it mean?”