Page 74 of Never Leave, Never Lie

Aleksandar was sent to boarding school the morning after his mother died. Boarding school had always been the plan, but not this soon.

Aleksandar’s father wasn’t home to see him off, but he’d left a guard to ensure Aleksandar arrived at his destination. There was no time to bring the safe and where would he have put it? He’d waffled over whether to bring the piano key. What if someone found it? But what if his father found it? In the end he decided to bring the key, and by extension, the memory of his uncle with him.

The school was in an old monastery with dreadfully boring stone masonry architecture plopped in the middle of a field of tall grass dotted with oak trees. Terms didn’t start for two more weeks, but the headmaster made an exception for Aleksandar’s father.

Only the caretaker and a few teachers were there for an early start, but they stayed mostly in the staff dorms on the back edge of the property. The first thing Aleksandar did when he arrived was track down the school’s music room. The door was locked,but he picked it easily. The piano was decent. It was a school for Europe’s elite offspring, after all.

Over the two weeks that followed, Aleksandar filled the cold, empty building with music that wrapped itself around him like a heavy blanket, protecting him from the loneliness and despair that chilled him.

When the term began, the students arrived, and Aleksandar was no longer alone. In order to play the piano, he had to book time in the music room, and tolerate the fanfare of admirers while he played. Intimidated teachers tried to correct his technique as if they weren’t completely mediocre by comparison.

Aleksandar understood. This was his punishment. Before he had loneliness and freedom and now he had neither.

When no invitation to his mother’s funeral arrived, Aleksandar assumed he wasn’t invited. Imagine his surprise when his father appeared one Friday afternoon to tell him his mother had died after a long and private battle with breast cancer at a top hospital in France.

“I take it death by suicide is too cowardly for a Velishikov?” Aleksandar asked.

His father didn’t ask how he knew. He only nodded. “Now come along, and don’t forget to look sad.”

32

ALEK

Propped against the headboard with his laptop flipped open in his lap, Alek felt far more like he was about to have cyber sex than have his head examined. He hadn’t gotten around to putting on pants yet because Ian let him sleep in.

It was too soon to forgive Dr. Modorovic for having the audacity to do her job, but he could begrudgingly admit that the sleeping pill worked nearly without fault. His dreams had been more vivid and nightmarish than usual—he’d drowned his uncle in an endless loop that left Dream Alek’s arms slashed to shreds because the trazodone-fueled Uncle Krasimir had grown knife-like claws, but other than that, he felt well-rested and alert.

Ian appeared well-rested too, though Alek wasn’t certain if he was simply relieved that Alek had slept, or if his serene expression was the result of finally getting properly fucked.

“I’m going to go downstairs,” Ian said as he returned from the bathroom, freshly showered and ruggedly handsome in a gray tee and dark navy sweatpants that accentuated the outline of his dick. “There’s a few bids that needed itemizing.”

“As sexy as that idea sounds, I want you with me.”

Ian crossed the room and kissed Alek’s forehead. “Don’t you want privacy to speak freely?”

“I don’t intend to share anything that matters. Surely this doctor can treat my budding psychosis without knowing the details of my life story.”

Ian frowned, chewing on his lip. Alek could already hear the lecture that he should take this seriously, be as honest as possible, but all Ian said was, “If you insist.”

“I absolutely do.”

“Okay.” Ian moved toward the armchair beside the fireplace.

Alek tapped the space beside him. “Here.”

Ian dipped his head in a nod and changed course, dropping down onto his side of the bed and pulling a paperback out from beneath his pillow.

Dr. Dhawan’s video flared to life at precisely 8 AM. The psychiatrist was around his age, or perhaps a little bit older. Her thick black hair was cut into a posh jaw-length bob and generous lashes framed large brown eyes.

In the space above her shoulder, a rainbow flag was pinned on a bulletin board next to a sign that proclaimed,All are welcome here. Above the sign was an anthropomorphic uterus raising an ovarian fist into the air. Alek suspected she curated the bulletin board for each of her patients. Perhaps her more conservative clients found a crucifix pinned to the board, along with the reminder that a make-believe god would never give them more than they could take, and a print of that abhorrentFootprints in the Sandpoem.

“Mr. Katin, I presume?” she said.

“You can call me Alek.” He turned the laptop to Ian. “My partner, Ian, will be joining us.”

Ian waved. “I can leave if you want.”

“No, that’s alright. Although I will require you to step out for a moment so I can ask Alek some questions.”

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