10. Chapter 10
Henrik
M al’s tea smells like lemon. It’s not terrible.
I make up a second cup with my own blend while his is steeping, and then I take the two steaming mugs into the guest room on a small tray. Mal is still lying in bed, and even though his uneven breathing tells me he’s awake, he’s not moving.
I make sure the top of the nightstand is clear before I set the tray down. Mal shifts on the bed, and I resist the urge to reach for him, just to confirm he’s here and well.
Mal picks up his tea and blows on it before taking a small sip.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
I nod, retaking my spot on the edge of the bed. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Mal sighs. “I did.”
“Right, but could you tell me why it happened?”
Mal said I didn’t do anything to trigger his attack, but I’m not convinced he was telling the truth. And if I don’t know what I did wrong, I can’t prevent it from happening again. And Christ , I don’t want that to happen again. It was terrifying, and I wasn’t even the person it was happening to.
Mal said he goes through that multiple times a week? I can’t even imagine.
My chest clenches, and I breathe out, taking a sip of my tea to calm my nerves.
Mal taps his fingernail lightly against the side of his own cup before answering. “I don’t like talking about it.”
“I think you need to,” I say, trying not to make it sound like an order, even though I want to demand he explain everything so I can fix it. “At least so I know what to do, or what not to do.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Mal says. I make a sound of disagreement, but he powers on. “No, really. I’ve been dealing with this for a very long time, Henrik. It’s not fun , but I can handle it. I’ll try not to let it happen around you, but if it does, just ignore it.”
I scoff in incredulity. “Ignore it? Bloody hell, Mal. I’m not going to ignore that!”
Mal inhales shakily, and I rub my hand over my face. My vision dances with specks of light, and I take a deep breath, making sure not to yell this time when I open my mouth.
“I’m not going to ignore it. I want to be able to help.”
“Why? I’m not your responsibility,” he says, a tinge of frustration lacing his voice.
“I disagree.”
“I—”
“Mal, you are not a doll. I’m not going to place you in the corner to look pretty and take you out only when I want to play with you.
” I can no longer resist my urge to reach for him, and I set my tea aside so I can follow the wrinkled sheets to where he’s lying.
My robe is still wrapped around his body, and I trail my fingers up the soft fibers until I reach his hair.
The strands feel like an absolute mess from being slept on wet, and I sift through them, trying to clear the tangles.
“I know I’m paying for you to be here, but that does not make you an object.
You’re still a human with very real emotions.
And while I can’t promise to be a warm and cuddly shoulder for you to lie on, I can promise not to dismiss your feelings. ”
Mal exhales a little shakily before he sets his cup back on the tray. He doesn’t pull out of my grasp, and I’m glad for it.
“I don’t talk about this stuff,” he says. “The only person who knows is my psychiatrist, and I haven’t seen her in ages. Even my friends don’t know.”
“Why?” I ask gently, rubbing my thumb over his cheekbone.
He falls silent, and I can sense his body ratcheting tighter, like his mind has gone to a dark place he’s doing his best to avoid.
My instinct is to distract him, so I say the first thing that pops into my head. “I still remember the day I lost the final piece of my vision.”
Mal shifts slightly, exhaling shakily. “Oh?”
I nod, carding my fingers through his hair again, playing with the strands.
“It had been going for a long, long time. And then one morning, I woke up, and that last little cloudy window of shape and color near the center was gone.” I huff out a breath, remembering it vividly.
It’s funny how a memory can be of the absence of something.
Just a murky darkness and the sounds and smells of my alarm.
“When was that?” Mal asks when I fall silent. His thumb is tracing shapes over my thigh, and it feels nice. It helps me focus instead of getting lost to those bleak memories.
“Two years ago.”
“Oh, wow,” he practically whispers.
“I didn’t handle it well, but I called Benji, and he helped me through it,” I say, a fond little smile curling my lips as I remember the way he was equal parts tender and no-nonsense. “It’s better now.”
I don’t go into the fact that I can still feel it sometimes, clawing at the edges. That sensation of being unanchored in an endless expanse of space. So far, men like Mal have kept me from feeling unmoored.
“I’m really sorry,” Mal says. “I can’t imagine what it must be like.”
I shrug. For the most part, my blindness is something I’m accustomed to. I’ve had a lot of time to acclimate. And I have a strong suspicion Mal understands panic far more acutely than I ever will.
“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, Mal,” I reply. “I didn’t tell you for your sympathy.”
He squeezes my knee, almost like a reflex. “No, I know. And for the record, I don’t pity you, Henrik. I’m sorry that happened to you, but… You’re pretty magnificent the way you are.”
My lips quirk. “Magnificent?”
“Oh, fudge off,” he says, shoving my shoulder lightly.
I chuckle as Mal resettles against his pillows, the somber mood lifting somewhat. Mal picks up his tea again, and I let my fingers fall from his hair, realizing there’s no reason for me to be soothing him like a child any longer.
Or was I soothing myself?
“Would you come up here?” Mal asks, patting the bed beside him. “I feel like I’m talking to my…teacher.”
“You were going to say ‘dad,’ weren’t you?” I mutter, not all that disappointed to have a reason to hop up fully onto Mal’s bed. I lie on my back beside him, and this time, it’s Mal’s fingers dropping to my head, sifting through the strands lightly. Mm .
He doesn’t reply to my teasing comment, but after a minute, he speaks softly, his tone flat like he’s reciting verses. “I’ve had panic attacks since I was sixteen. My psychiatrist gave me tips for working through them.”
He’s been dealing with this for eleven years? The thought makes my esophagus burn.
“You said it’s been a while since you’ve seen your doctor?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything more.
“Yeah.”
“Why’s that?” I keep my focus on the ceiling, hoping Mal will open up if he doesn’t feel watched . His fingers stall for a moment before he continues stroking my hair.
“Couldn’t afford it anymore,” he says simply.
I hum. “You can now.”
He doesn’t respond to that, and I wonder what else there is that I’m missing.
“Did something happen to make the panic attacks start?” I ask as gently as possible. Mal’s fingers tense again, and it feels like he shakes his head.
“Can’t…” It’s all he says, the one word tortured.
“Okay,” I reply with a nod. “That’s okay. Can I ask—do you take medication?”
I know I’m being invasive, but I want to understand what I’m getting into with Mal.
Not so I can pull out of our arrangement, but so I can make sure I know what he needs.
That I’m doing everything I can for him while he’s here.
I may not dote on these boys—men—but I’m not heartless. I don’t want Mal to suffer.
“I did have meds, but…”
He couldn’t afford them.
I can feel Mal retreating, so I let it go for now, changing topics. “Would you like pancakes?” I ask him.
His fidgety movements stall. “Seriously?”
I huff a laugh. “Seriously. Why?”
“Yeah, I’d really like some pancakes,” he says. I can hear the smile in his voice.
I lift myself upright, and Mal’s fingers leave my hair. I have the strangest urge to lean over and give him a kiss, but I catch myself at the last moment and scoot hastily off the bed.
Leaving Mal to get ready in his room, I bring his empty mug and my nearly full one back to the kitchen before pulling out ingredients for pancakes. While I stir the batter together, my head remains wrapped up in the man down the hall.
Despite attachment being something I ardently avoid when it comes to these men that pass through my life, I can’t deny I want to know more about Mal. I want to understand his past, learn who Mal is in the present, and shield him from whatever is causing him harm. And that’s not like me.
I don’t understand these urges, this desire to make things better, but I do know my curiosity toward the man is treading onto dangerous ground.
Mal is my escort. My paid company. I need to remember that.
Mal comes padding into the kitchen before long, right as I’m ladling out the last of the pancake batter onto the griddle. He makes a noise of appreciation.
“Do you ever burn yourself?” he asks curiously as he takes a seat at the island across from me.
I huff, my lips twitching. “Yes, of course.”
“Does Benji kiss your boo-boos better?”
I pause on my way to the sink, shaking my head. “And you think I’m a smartass.”
Mal laughs softly, and a smile curls my lips as I rinse out the bowl and place it in the dishwasher. I’m glad to hear him sounding lighter. “Blueberries or strawberries?” I ask.
“Both?”
I nod, grabbing the bowls of pre-washed fruit from the fridge and then flipping the final two pancakes. Mal makes a curious noise.
“What is it?”
“How do you know when to flip them?” he asks.
“A lot of practice,” I reply. “I ate many a burnt pancake before I got the timing right.”
Mal chuckles. “Open up,” he says.
I cock my head. “What?”
“Open your mouth.”
I frown. “You realize how strange of a request that is, right?”
“Come on. Trust me,” Mal persists. My heart gives a strange little flutter at his words, but I brush the sensation off. “It’s just a berry. It’s not like I’m going to stick my dick in your mouth. I’d have to be on the counter for that.”
Despite the recent reminder to myself to remain rational when it comes to my newest houseguest, a growl works its way out of my throat before I can stop it, and I turn off the burner and am rounding the corner of the island without a moment’s hesitation.
Mal is at the first stool, and he swivels as I approach, whimpering lightly when I crowd him against the countertop.
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” I ask, the need to be closer, closer, closer overwhelming in its intensity. Frankly, I don’t know how I’m ever going to shove these urges back into a box now that I’ve had a taste of this man before me.
Mal whimpers again, and it goes straight to my cock. “Is it not?”
“Mm. Having your dick in my mouth? No, that is something I would rather enjoy.”
“Oh,” Mal says lightly, his breathing picking up into rapid little inhalations. He shifts against me, spreading his legs and allowing me to close the distance between us. I drop my face to his neck, breathing deeply. He smells like coconut again, and it makes my chest rumble in appreciation.
I’m placing a kiss against his thrumming pulse when my phone goes off in my back pocket.
My sister’s ringtone. I ignore it for once, spearing my fingers through Mal’s hair and lifting his head back so I can nip along his jaw.
Mal’s hands roam up my back, clasping over my shoulders like he wants me to stay exactly where I am.
And I have no plans otherwise, but when my phone rings again, I groan. Dropping my forehead to Mal’s shoulder, I retrieve the device and answer the call, holding my hand over the microphone.
With frustration lacing my veins, I take a reluctant step back. “Go ahead and eat,” I tell Mal, my voice sharper than intended. Walking away, I put the phone to my ear to find out what it is my parents have been needling my sister about this time.
It better be worth the interruption.