Chapter 6 - Sorrows
Sorrows
“What’s his name?” Adathan asked as William poured them both more champagne.
William paused. “Who?”
“Your friend.”
“Oliver.”
Adathan propped his elbow on the dining table, resting his chin in his hand. “You two seem close.”
William’s brow furrowed as he put the bottle away. “What makes you say that?”
“You haven’t told anyone else about your victory.”
William technically hadn’t told Oliver about it either, now that he thought about it. To be fair, he’d been too busy freaking out about the human being he’d found himself in possession of.
Wait.
William took a sip of champagne to conceal his surprise. How could Adathan know he’d only been chatting with Oliver all this time? William had been careful to keep his screen out of sight. A lucky guess?
“You haven’t sent my picture to anyone else,” Adathan said, answering William’s silent question.
Now would be a bad moment for William to play poker; his thoughts were written all over his face. Still, he felt a hint of pride at the fact that Adathan knew he wouldn’t show anyone his picture without telling him. “Are you insinuating I don’t have many friends?” he said in a teasing voice.
Adathan’s smile softened. “I’m insinuating he’s very important to you.”
“He is,” William said, grabbing a pecan tartlet. Oliver was much more than that. He was irreplaceable.
William took a bite and closed his eyes as the distinct taste of maple syrup washed over his tongue.
The buttery crust and smooth filling melted in his mouth as he chewed the fresh pecans slowly, mindfully—savoring the experience to the fullest. He’d never be able to enjoy the cheap store-bought tartlets again.
It had always been like this. Every time he had a taste of luxury, he returned to his modest one-bedroom apartment with deep frustration that lingered for weeks.
If only he’d won the second prize, he could have sold the car and used some of the extra cash to move to a bigger place.
It would have allowed Adathan to have his own bedroom . . .
William nearly face-palmed at his idiocy.
Adathan wouldn’t be here if William hadn’t won the grand prize.
In fact, Richard would have exchanged him for Gabriel, and Eden Serviteurs would have harvested his organs.
In comparison, having to sleep on William’s sofa until he had the means to move out wasn’t such an awful sacrifice.
Still, wasn’t Adathan expecting to live in an opulent home? Broke dudes like William didn’t own Serviteurs—they couldn’t afford them. Adathan had been trained to serve rich people. Could he truly be happy in the mediocre life William had to offer?
“You can tell me,” Adathan said.
William shook himself out of his musings in time to see Adathan empty his champagne flute. Just how long had he been zoned out?
“Tell you what?” William asked before shoving the rest of the tartlet into his mouth.
“What’s troubling you.”
William couldn’t tell a convincing lie right now. He also had neither the desire nor the energy to discuss what awaited Adathan at home. It wasn’t the only thing weighing on him, though.
The sharp pain William had felt earlier pierced his heart again.
The mere thought of going to Oliver’s place and finding his lifeless body made him break into a cold sweat.
Knowing Oliver, he would have left him a letter, thanking him for everything and asking him to stay strong—as if it were that simple.
“Oliver,” William began, his throat tightening around his best friend’s name. Bringing him up was a terrible idea, but he couldn’t stop. The words spilled out without his permission. “He’s not doing so well.”
Adathan set his spoon down and rested his hand on William’s.
William stared at the bandages he’d wrapped around Adathan’s fingers, struggling to find what to say next. He’d rarely opened up to anyone—Oliver being a notable exception because the son of a bitch had always known how to pry him wide open. It was as if he possessed the key to William’s soul.
William considered himself lucky to have him, but there was a downside to only having one friend. Who was he supposed to talk to when he was concerned about that one friend’s well-being?
Certainly not a stranger—even less so a slave.
William took a slow, silent breath, his inner voice pressing him to change the subject, but he found himself unable to. Heavy sorrow had built up inside him, demanding to be let out.
Fuck it.
Adathan was offering to listen, so why refuse? Because imaginary people would mock William for drawing comfort from someone who only pretended to care?
Fuck them.
“He was in a car accident about a year ago,” William said hoarsely. “Drunk driver. The piece of shit escaped justice by dying on impact.”
He gritted his teeth as all too familiar fury rose in his chest. “Oliver, he . . . It’s a miracle he survived .
. .” He trailed off, his gaze growing unfocused as the pressing voice in his head grew more insistent.
His nails dug into his palm as he balled his free hand into a fist, the pain helping him stay grounded in the present.
“He lost his right eye and forearm, and—” His voice broke, his fury mixing with suffocating despair.
Oliver used to draw smiles from nearly anyone just by existing in their vicinity.
Now, people either stared, averted their gazes, or gave him a weak smile weighed down by a mixture of repulsion and pity.
“The right half of his face”—William gestured at his own head—“it’s all . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut, but two stubborn tears spilled out anyway.
“I’m so sorry,” Adathan murmured as he stroked William’s hand. “It must be hard for you to—”
William huffed. “Not nearly as hard as it is for him.”
“You’re not wrong,” Adathan said softly. “But it doesn’t invalidate the way you feel.”
William opened his eyes. “Yeah? Well, I feel like shit.” Why had he thought it would be a good idea to tell Adathan about Oliver’s accident? They were supposed to be celebrating, not wallowing in misery.
William tried to pull his hand away, but Adathan held it firmly in place. “It’s the first time you’re allowing yourself to talk about this, isn’t it?” Adathan said.
William stared at him, taken aback by his forwardness. Adathan no longer looked small and vulnerable as he unflinchingly held William’s gaze. But it was still just an act. He was faking—pretending to care.
William could put an end to their conversation. He could order Adathan to release his hand. He could have him switch back to his Serviteur mode. He could tell Adathan it was time to go to bed, then run a warm bath for himself and relax. Finally relax. He could.
Why didn’t he?
“I’m here for you, William. You can tell me anything.” Adathan moved his chair closer, his piercing eyes making William feel like he could see right through him. It was impossible. They’d only just met. It was just something he’d been trained to fake convincingly—like fortune-tellers did.
“Anything,” Adathan emphasized.
William simultaneously felt trapped and drawn in as Adathan’s knee pressed against his leg. He averted his gaze, catching sight of the bandages on Adathan’s right hand that was partly concealed under the table.
A heavy weight settled in William’s chest. He couldn’t push Adathan away—not when he was trying so hard. Still, it didn’t feel right to reduce him to some sort of venting dumpster, either.
Treat him like Oliver would.
“You can tell me anything too,” William said.
Adathan smiled. “Thank you, William. You’re v—uh, great friend.”
A friend. Could it be that simple? It seemed far-fetched, yet it may be the best outcome they could hope for.
Adathan could be a friend to Oliver, too.
William took a deep breath. “Oliver. Recently he . . . told me he considered . . . ending his life.”
William flinched as Adathan sprang to his feet and wrapped his arms around him. He’d never had his face pressed against someone’s chest before. It was a strange . . . but not uncomfortable perspective. Before he knew it, he was returning Adathan’s embrace. “He says he’s better now, but . . .”
“You’re worried it’ll cross his mind again?”
William nodded, his throat making an embarrassing sound as he tried to hold back his tears. He was so furious at the universe for what had happened to Oliver, he had to make a conscious effort not to dig his fingers into Adathan’s back as he tightened his embrace.
Why did the kindest souls always have to suffer the most?
“It must hurt,” Adathan said as he stroked William’s hair. “To know that someone you hold dear suffers so much, he considered leaving this world.”
William nodded again. “Yeah,” he whispered. He closed his eyes, the languid dance of Adathan’s fingers in his hair making him ache for more—for what Adathan would never have to offer. “And I can’t do anything about it.”
“You can, and you are.”
William huffed, but he couldn’t find the energy to protest. He couldn’t find the energy to do much of anything. He just wanted to stay like this and let his tears leak out until he had none left.
So he did.
William let the warmth of Adathan’s embrace lure him in, the tension in his shoulders and jaw easing slightly with every rise and fall of Adathan’s chest. He exhaled a long breath, focusing on the sensation of Adathan’s heartbeat against his cheek as his internal storm slowly died down.
Of all the ways he hadn’t expected this day to end, crying in another man’s arms was undoubtedly at the top of the list.
“We were supposed to celebrate,” William whispered.
“We can’t fully celebrate when our hearts have sorrows to share.”
“And what about you?” William asked as he pulled away, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. “What sorrows does your heart have to share?”
“My heart has nothing but gratitude to share,” Adathan said, misty-eyed. He let go of William’s shoulders and pressed his hand to his own heart. “I found the perfect home. Just like I always knew I would.”
William winced. “Don’t rejoice too much, it’s—” He gasped and lurched forward as Adathan lost his balance, grabbing Adathan’s arm to keep him from falling.
They froze, staring at each other as Adathan’s chair hit the floor with a thud. It took William a second to process what had happened before he pulled Adathan back to his feet. If not for him, Adathan would’ve fallen straight onto the chair he’d clearly forgotten was behind him.
The twitch in Adathan’s eyebrows gave away his rising anxiety, so William grinned, doing his best to look unfazed as he stood up. “That was close.”
“Thank you, William,” Adathan said quietly. “You have incredible reflexes.”
William let out a chuckle as he circled Adathan to pick up his chair. “It just means I’m not drunk enough. You, on the other hand, probably had a little too much. Only water for you from now on, mister.”
“As you wish, William.”
William reassured himself—it wasn’t an order from a master to his slave.
Oliver had forced him to switch to water countless times before when they were stupid teenagers.
Good friends just didn’t let each other get blackout drunk.
Besides, it would suck for Adathan to throw up all the delicious food they’d just eaten.
William opened the fridge and grabbed a stupidly expensive-looking bottle of water. He twisted the cap and sat back down before placing the bottle on the table.
Adathan didn’t join him. He stood in silence, holding William’s gaze.
William suppressed a sigh. Would he have to remind Adathan he was allowed to sit for the rest of his life?
“William,” Adathan said in a small voice. “May I ask you a question?”
William miraculously hid his surprise. He still had some bluffing energy left, it seemed. “Of course,” he said, serving himself the remaining champagne. “You don’t need permission to ask me questions.”
“Do you intend to sell me?”
“No,” William said earnestly, his heart fluttering and squeezing at Adathan’s display of vulnerability.
He was glad Adathan felt safe enough to ask him such a heavy question, but he wished they lived in a world where these kinds of words were only uttered in dystopian fiction.
“You’re coming home with me. But I have to warn you, my place is uh . . .”
This conversation was happening after all.
William looked around the room. “. . . not much bigger than this. Or at all. You’ll have to sleep on the sofa until I can afford to move.”
Adathan nodded as he took a seat.
“I’m not exactly wealthy, so, uh, you won’t be drinking champagne, or . . .” William gestured at the plates. “. . . eating any fancy foods.” He paused for a moment, drawing courage from the soft smile on Adathan’s face.
“But I have a decent TV. You’ll get to watch all the documentaries you want. And there’s a public library nearby. And a nice park, too. Oliver doesn’t live very far. You’ll like him. He’s way kinder than me.”
By the time he was done talking, Adathan’s smile had reached his eyes and beyond.
“I’m not sending you away,” William said softly. “I promise.”