CHAPTER NINE #2
Lachlan stands guard over the door which is hidden from public view almost entirely. It’s barely a minute before Jules emerges. ‘You should stay further back,’ he suggests, heading into the crowd. ‘Father won’t like you being so close, it’s distracting.’
‘Heard.’
It’s perhaps the first time Lachlan has ever actually acted as Jules’ bodyguard in the traditional capacity.
Lachlan finds that this part of the job is so much easier than what he’s been doing the last eight months.
He stands where he’s least visible, eyes on Jules the entire time, sweeping the room rhythmically, checking in.
Come two AM this party isn’t slowing in the slightest and people are drunk now, so the touches are more lingering, the whispers last longer and Lachlan can see the slow encroach of Jules’ decline as these people drink his energy, steal it, claw for him with smiles and words and hungry affection.
Jules is like a gemstone. A rare thing, a prize, ambrosia, that’s how they treat him, Lachlan thinks, when all he sees is a tired kid forced to perform, anxiety creeping in the more he’s touched.
Muddy fingerprints of grotesque desire delivered politely in socially acceptable ways.
It isn’t the kind of party where people are fucking in the bathrooms, but there’s cocaine everywhere, and this energy… it’s noxious.
The second time Jules goes to his private restroom, Lachlan notices his hand shaking as he closes the door behind him.
Lachlan stands guard, watching from the sidelines. The people Jules was talking to before he excused himself are blindly following his cold trail, headed into the opulent high traffic restrooms, all gold and Baccarat Rouge, seeking to corner him. Lachlan knows he made the right call.
It’s a while before Jules emerges, pale.
‘You OK?’ Lachlan asks, scanning him.
‘I’m fine.’ Jules doesn’t force a smile, likely reserving his energy. He grabs a glass of champagne as he walks. Lachlan badly wants to stop him but knows his father would likely approve. At least it’s not tequila. ‘Stay back.’
But the alcohol doesn’t do what Jules hoped it would, instead it has the opposite effect, eating away at his defences. His smile never falters but increasingly, his left hand goes to his side, clenching and unclenching there. He’s now solidly pale, his breathing faintly irregular.
Lachlan knows better than to interrupt. Alistair watches Jules too often.
But the third time he excuses himself, Lachlan follows inside.
‘Breathe nice and slow.’ He locks the door behind them.
Jules makes a face. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’
Lachlan loosens Jules’ tie. ‘You’re having an anxiety attack.’
Jules smacks his hand away. ‘No, I’m not! I’m fine. I get like this at these things sometimes, it’s just—’
‘Can I take your pulse?’
‘You can fuck royally off, Bodyguard! That’s what you can do, you…’ Jules’ breath falters, overestimated how much air his tightening lungs would give him. His lashes flutter. ‘You… I can’t…’
‘It’s OK. I’m here, you’re safe.’
‘I’m dizzy,’ he whispers, shoulders dropping. ‘Can’t… breathe.’
‘Jules,’ Lachlan says very clearly. ‘I want to help, but I need to touch you to help. Is that OK?’
Jules tries once more to rally, but it makes it worse, sends him unexpectedly sideways. Lachlan catches him easily; unhappy he had to touch him without getting a yes first. He grits his teeth and rights Jules before guiding him into the only stall and sitting him on the closed lid.
‘Head between your knees.’
‘Fuck off, you—’
‘You’re gonna pass out if you don’t. Come on, please.’
Jules lets out a brief sob before he complies, but even that loosens his balance and he throws his arms out when he slides sideways again, grabbing Lachlan’s hand when offered.
‘There we go, good job.’
‘’S’not a job,’ the kid slurs. ‘Never had a job, never gonna have one.’
‘I’d say whatever you’ve been doing tonight could easily be called a job,’ Lachlan tells him, fingers on the kid’s wrist. ‘Can I take your pulse?’
‘Whatever.’
‘Yes or no?’
‘Fucking hell, yes.’
Lachlan watches closely, timing each thud in the delicate wrist currently in his possession. ‘It’s an anxiety attack,’ he confirms. ‘They don’t always happen like in the movies. Sometimes you just feel sick and dizzy.’
‘Is that really what it is?’ he asks, sounding young.
‘I think so.’
‘He’s gonna be mad I was gone so long.’
‘It’s a big party, plenty to occupy him.’
‘He’s always watching me.’
Lachlan has noticed. ‘I want to show you something.’
‘What?’
‘You see where I’m taking your pulse?’
‘Yeah.’
‘If you press here and hold for six seconds, it’ll help prevent this.’
Jules looks up. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah, it’ll even help now but you have to do it yourself.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re trying to find a middle ground between, I don’t feel anything and ouch, and it’s your body so only you would know that.
’ It’s not quite true, Lachlan could easily find his Neiguan pressure point, but he wants to give this to Jules.
A little bodily autonomy, the power to feel better.
‘Two fingers, firm press, see if you can find it.’
Jules tries, frowning intently. He moves his fingers, head cocked. ‘Oh.’
Lachlan smiles. ‘There you go.’
‘Wow.’
‘A little secret weapon for you.’
Jules opens his mouth to thank Lachlan, it would definitely have been a “thank you” that time but he catches it, says, ‘Cool,’ instead and that’s fine for Lachlan. He waits out by the mirror, giving Jules a few moments in the stall to gather himself. When the boy emerges, he stops dead.
Lachlan tenses up instantly. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘You’re bleeding.’
?
Lachlan changes quickly, managing it without losing sight of Jules thanks to Rook in Control and Fenwick covering for him, perhaps the first genuine sign of solidarity between them.
By the time he returns, clean again and freshly patched up by Blaire, Jules still hasn’t rejoined the ballroom properly.
Instead, he lingers at the edges of the crowd, reluctant to throw himself back into the sea of drunken monsters just yet.
He’s laser-focused on Lachlan.
‘Did you pop a stitch bending down?’
‘Mm,’ Lachlan answers, a perfect non-answer. He’s hardly going to explain but he doesn’t like lying to Jules. ‘Shall we?’
‘No,’ Jules says, gaze fixed on Lachlan who sees Alistair casting around for his most precious treasure. ‘Your shirt was soaked in blood. What the fuck happened?’
‘It wasn’t soaked and your father is looking for you.’
‘I don’t care. What did that?’ Jules’ lips tighten. ‘Who?’
‘Jules—’
‘Don’t lie to me, Bodyguard. That’s all we have.’
It’s so shockingly insistent that it catches Lachlan off-guard. He looks at Jules, really looks. This poor fucking kid, this child forced to live this life, play this part, endure this glittering monstrosity.
It’s a mistake to be honest, but it would be worse to lie.
‘It was Fenwick,’ he answers, clipped and short. He could leave it there but he’s all too aware that Jules will take it that Fenwick simply hurt him in some way, attacked him or something. ‘We fucked. I fucked him. I didn’t realise it was so bad. OK?’
Jules’ eyes go so wide Lachlan’s surprised they don’t fall out of his head.
‘You had sex with Fenwick?’ Jules echoes, so angry his voice trembles. ‘After what he did to you? Did he force you?’
Alistair is coming over.
‘Julian,’ Lachlan says seriously. ‘I need you to focus.’
‘Answer me.’
‘No he did not force me. Now please, pull it together. Your father is coming.’
‘Did you like it?’ Jules demands. ‘Tell me or I’ll make the biggest fucking scene on the—’
‘Yes, I liked it because I hate him, so it was fun to blow off steam. Please.’
Jules looks away and the mask snaps back into place. Alistair arrives before them both, still smiling of course but he’s not happy. ‘Where were you?’ he asks Jules without preamble.
‘My fault, sir. I pulled him aside to negate a small threat,’ Lachlan lies flawlessly, his hand on Jules’ lower back.
Alistair’s gaze flits to Lachlan and then away. ‘What threat?’
‘Someone was a little too handsy.’
‘How handsy?’
‘Almost tore his shirt, sir,’ Lachlan answers mechanically, gaze sweeping.
‘Well,’ Alistair says slowly, ‘we wouldn’t want that, but no absence over a minute, Julian. You know that.’
‘It was my decision, sir,’ Lachlan reiterates, ‘to reset the energy.’
Alistair smiles despite himself. ‘Reset the energy,’ he echoes appreciatively. ‘I like that. Very well. Back into the fray, then.’
?
The party goes on until dawn.
Jules is excused around five AM.
Lachlan sees him subtly pressing two fingers into his wrist several times. When he’s finally able to escort Jules back into the East Wing, Jules is the kind of exhausted Lachlan knows well. Wired, adrenaline-soaked, and jittery.
He goes with Jules into the Cove and then, because he knows they should talk, into Jules’ room, where Jules strips down to underwear. Lachlan turns respectfully, and after a minute, Jules makes an impatient noise.
‘You can look.’
Lachlan turns back around. ‘Do you need anything?’
Jules eyes him, all watery rage and fiery depths. ‘Do you?’
Lachlan should say something, offer an explanation, anything. At the very least he should apologise, even if he doesn’t think he actually did anything wrong. He knows that much because Jules is clearly upset.
But fuck, Lachlan is tired too.
‘No, I don’t.’
It’s a mistake. Lachlan just can’t see the breadth of it yet.
Jules gives a nasty smile.
‘I bet. Well. I’m gonna shower then sleep. Fuck off, Bodyguard.’
Lachlan does so.
But when he’s outside, door gently closed behind him, he hears the dulcet crash of something breakable thrown at a wall. He informs cleanup via comms and dares to hope the kid found some catharsis from whatever he destroyed.
?
The following week is awful.