Chapter 12 - Reality #2
“I did!” Adathan said as he took one bag from William’s hand. He turned and carried it to the kitchen counter.
William’s brain lagged as his apartment came into view. The place was nothing like when he left this morning—same furniture, but arranged differently, and looking more spacious, somehow.
And a lot cleaner.
Every surface was now clutter-free, including the dining table, which had been moved to the kitchenette area. William’s brow furrowed as he retrieved his set of keys from the lock and closed the door. The scent of citrus and lavender was stronger than in the hallway.
He turned and froze at the sight of a potted plant on the windowsill.
“It’s a gift from Rosanna,” Adathan said, taking the other bag.
“Huh?” William looked at him. “Who’s Rosanna?”
“The kind lady who lives next door.”
William’s frown deepened as he pointed at the wall he shared with his neighbor. He’d never pegged that grumpy old woman as kind, but that was hardly the most confusing part of this conversation. “And, uh, how did you meet her?”
Adathan stored a carton of eggs in the fridge and gave William a bright smile.
“You were right about coffee.” He chuckled.
“I had so much energy. I decided to clean our home, but I saw we were all out of cleaning products. So I thought—hey, neighbors borrow things from each other all the time, right? Sounds like the perfect opportunity to go and introduce myself!”
William stood in stunned silence while Adathan put the groceries away. From how fast he was talking, he was clearly still hyper from the caffeine. Just how much had he—
“She invited me in for coffee,” Adathan said, storing a box of cookies in the unusually well-organized cupboard.
“She makes it with chocolate and whipped cream on top. It was so good! I had another, and then we ate raspberry pie. She said it was her great-grandmother’s recipe.
I asked if I could bring back a piece for you, and she said yes.
” He bounced on his heels. “It’s in the fridge. ”
“Thanks,” William said, a little dizzy from exhaustion, relief, and the overload of information. He dropped his backpack on the floor and gestured for Adathan to hand him the frozen pizza he was holding.
“The poor woman is so lonely,” Adathan said as William turned on the oven.
“She said I can come visit whenever I want. Did you know both her kids live abroad? She showed me pictures of when they were babies. Georges had such chubby cheeks”—he patted his own face—“and Fiona had the most endearing eyes I’ve ever seen. ”
William smiled and leaned against the counter, resting his achy body while he gave Adathan his undivided attention.
“Rosanna raised them all by herself because her husband died shortly after she gave birth to Fiona.” Adathan emptied a bag of peaches into the fruit bowl William had forgotten he owned. “She’s so strong.”
William wasn’t proud of himself for having judged her so harshly without knowing her. He’d been convinced she was just an unlikable old woman who’d never gotten married, but he couldn’t even recall why he’d come to that conclusion. “She is. I’m glad you got to meet her.”
“Me too!” Adathan set down the bread he was holding and rushed to give William a hug. “I had such a great day.”
William let out a breath as he returned Adathan’s embrace. He’d had no reason to worry, after all. Adathan had had a good reason for not replying to his email. He’d simply been too busy.
“Thanks. For everything you did,” William said. He had to admit it felt good to return to a clean home. He’d nearly forgotten what it was like. His job was so boring, it took all his energy just to stay focused, and whatever he had left was spent surviving his commute.
Adathan squeezed him tight. “You’re welcome! I hope you don’t mind that I moved things around? I can put everything back if you prefer.”
“No. I like it. It’s a big improvement.” William hadn’t expected this when he told Adathan to make himself at home. It was a pleasant surprise—and an impressive feat, especially with injured hands.
Unless . . .
“Did Rosanna help you?” William asked.
Adathan pulled away and shook his head. “I would never let someone into our home without your permission.”
So, he really had done all this by himself. William suppressed a sigh. He supposed it was proof that Adathan was acting like the free person he was; otherwise, he would have refrained from using his hands, as William had ordered him two days ago.
Had it only been two days?
Time moved at a wholly different pace when the universe knocked your life off course. William could feel each minute’s heavy imprint in his bones, especially now that a day’s worth of anxiety had drained from his body.
The beeping oven made William realize he’d zoned out.
He blinked and offered Adathan a smile before turning to grab the pizza pan.
An involuntary groan escaped his lips as he bent down, and he had to grip the counter on his way back up.
He closed his eyes, waiting for his lightheadedness to go away.
A hand delicately pressed against his back and moved in slow, soothing motions.
William squeezed his eyes tighter to keep his intrusive tears contained.
He just wanted this day to end, and he didn’t have nearly enough energy to explain to Adathan why he was being such a crybaby for no apparent reason.
Not that Adathan hadn’t already seen through his flimsy attempt at masking his emotions.
So, why even hold it in?
“Sorry,” William croaked. He cleared his throat. “Guess I’m, uh, a little tired.”
“You had a long day?” Adathan asked softly.
William took a slow breath, willing his tears to go back to where they came from. “A long day” was an understatement. The last time he’d felt so scared was following Oliver’s accident. And now, as he fought every instinct to push Adathan away, he realized his wounds were far from healed.
Adathan’s fingers brushed the back of his neck, then caressed their way back down, eliciting blissful shivers in their wake. William’s head dropped. Heavy drowsiness followed like a tidal wave.
William gripped the counter tighter, struggling to stay upright. Adathan’s touch stripped him of whatever strength he had left, and before he knew it, words slipped out without his permission. “I sent you an email today.”
Adathan’s hand stilled. Silence settled around them, thick and suffocating. Every passing second felt like a dagger piercing William’s heart. Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut?
“I’m so sorry,” Adathan whispered.
William shook his head and turned to look at him. “Don’t be. It’s fine. I’m just tired and—”
“You must have been worried sick,” Adathan said in an uneven voice.
“I . . .” William tried to smile, but a mountain of sadness crushed him. He attempted a dismissive hand gesture, but only managed an awkward wave. He shrugged. “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Adathan said softly, but it was clear in his eyes that he was also keeping a massive load of emotions contained. “I didn’t think that you would write to me.”
Oh.
William’s heart tore to pieces at the history behind Adathan’s words. In an instant, he was holding Adathan tightly against his chest. You matter, he wanted to say to him, but he found himself unable to. He just embraced Adathan, hoping he would understand.
He couldn’t believe he’d jumped to conclusions about Adathan’s silence.
When he’d created the email account this morning, he said it was for Adathan to contact him, not the other way around.
And Adathan had taken that literally because of course he had.
He’d been told all his life he was a fucking possession.
Things don’t receive emails.
William’s throat tightened as he remembered the collar from the Serviteur box.
Adathan had been trained to expect being tethered while his master was gone. And yet, he’d had the courage to go out and introduce himself to a total stranger. He’d kept himself busy all day of his own volition. He’d even taken the initiative of moving furniture around without asking permission.
William wanted to tell himself it was because Adathan felt safe here, but it was never that simple. Not when trauma was involved.
Adathan had spent the entire day fighting his deepest instincts because he was a goddamn warrior.
William closed his eyes, but it didn’t stop the stupid tears from rolling down his cheeks and into Adathan’s hair. He was so tired, he wasn’t even sure what was causing them anymore.
All he knew was that he was so proud of Adathan, it hurt. But even that felt wrong.
Adathan wasn’t a child; he was a grown man. And he deserved better than to be infantilized.