Page 39 of August and the Night

"Cash," I reply firmly. "In full, right now. I don't want to deal with loans or mortgages."

His surprise is evident, but he eventually shrugs. "Well, it's your call."

The realtor seems ecstatic with my decision, and we discuss the logistics of the payment and the legal paperwork. We settle on a meeting time for the transaction and the necessary formalities. As the details are ironed out, a mix of excitement and nervousness wells up inside me. This is a big step, a significant investment in my future, but I can't ignore how right it feels.

I glance around the apartment once more, envisioning the life I could create within its walls. I imagine the painting I would hang in the living room, the bookshelf that I will add, and all the cute mugs I will fill my kitchen with.

Finalizing the deal with the realtor leaves me elated.

John and I return to the car, and I ask him to take me to the bank. With his help, I establish a new account where I put some of my funds, every single action I have taken today freeing me from my father’s control more and more.

We then embark on a shopping spree, a truly liberating experience. For the first time, I can choose clothes without the weight of my father's expectations or the pressure of fitting into our elitist circle.

John drops me off at August's house, arms laden with bags filled with my newfound wardrobe. Expressing my gratitude, I plant a thankful kiss on his cheek before entering the house. Upon my arrival, I notice August is absent, most likely absorbed in his work. A playful grin forms on my lips as I go to his room to organize my clothes; I'm going to fulfill my promise and move to his room.

I open the door to his room and step inside; I head to the closet and neatly hang my clothes next to his, admiring how well the combination of our garments looks together. It's a tangible representation of how our lives are becoming intertwined. The thought makes my heart flutter with happiness.

Arranging my belongings brings a soothing sense of order to my thoughts. I stow my legal documents and secure the bag of money and precious jewels in an empty drawer.

A wave of security washes over me, a feeling I hadn't known in my father's oppressive household. Eventually, I nestle into the freshly-made bed, my head resting on August's pillow. The scent of him envelops me, and I close my eyes, imagining him sleeping next to me. I fight off the urge to call him, not wanting to disturb him while he works, especially since I distracted him long enough these past few days.

Lying there, I can't help but marvel at how my insomnia seems to vanish when I'm not sleeping under that oppressive roof. Thoughts of my new apartment and the boundless opportunities it holds fill me with hope and excitement, emotions I hadn't experienced in far too long.

32

August

I move through the dimly lit room, hoping that I finally get enough evidence to avoid ever stepping foot into these events again. This isn't my world, but I move through it with the precision of a predator navigating unfamiliar territory.

In this realm of power and deception, showing even a little bit of weakness is dangerous; it's like a little drop of blood in shark-infested waters. They will eat you alive.

My eyes sweep across the room, a hawk searching for its prey among the sea of masks and polished façades. Conversations held in the corners of the room are laden with hidden meanings, deals struck with a mere nod and a handshake. Deals that are the epitome of human depravity, each one more wicked than the other.

Amidst this orchestrated chaos, my attention is drawn like a magnet to one figure standing at the center of it all. Arthur. His posture radiates control, but when his eyes meet mine, I catch a glimpse of the cracks in his armor. Beneath the façade of invincibility, vulnerability simmers. He hides the tremble in his hand by putting it in his pocket and wipes the few drops of sweat that appear on his upper lip. He can't show weakness; hence, he can't react to me.

Step by confident step, I move closer towards him, heading to his table with a smirk on my face. Arthur's smile is a practiced curve, a mask that barely conceals the tension beneath. "August," his voice, a low murmur, carries layers of caution.

My lips quirk in response, choosing my words carefully. "Curiosity tends to lead us to places we never thought we'd venture."

Our exchange is a conversation within a conversation, each word a puzzle piece in a game only we understand. Leaning in, I hold Arthur's gaze, a silent challenge in my eyes. "Curiosity often comes at a price." He tells me, displeased.

Our unspoken understanding hangs heavy in the air. He tries to appear nonchalant, relaxed even. Yet, I see through it, glimpsing the distress that churns beneath the surface.

“You seem better than when I last saw you, Arthur." I chuckle darkly, and it looks like a blood vessel is about to pop in his eye. His eye constantly twitches, and his jaw clenches, appearing to try to avoid making a scene at this event that he planned.

“What can I say? I bounce back quickly.” He says, faking a chuckle that I can tell scratches his throat on the way out from the venom of it. “A little bit of warning before you removed all my bodyguards would have been nice though.” He grouses, grabbing a whiskey from the passing tray of alcohol and downing it.

“Yeah, you’re right. I know how important protection is to people like you. You never know when all the heinous shit you do will come back to bite you in the ass, right?” I say with a shrug, grabbing a water bottle from the nearby table and gulping down some of it, my throat feeling dry.

Discreetly, I press record on the phone that I snuck in with me; this is it. This is finally the moment I am going to get the evidence I need. My heart pounds as I wait to hear what he says.

“You act so high and mighty, August. As if you aren’t here for the same reason as the rest of us. Do not pretend to be so innocent, you’re a regular here.” He voices, looking at me with a dark glint in his eyes. As if he knows my persona and all that I stand for, while he knows nothing.

“I got to admit. These events you organize are really dark, even for you.” I say, keeping a watchful eye on his reaction.

He turns red, before he crumbles down laughing, his laughter grating my ears. I clench my jaw and my fists, fighting the urge to beat him into a pulp.

“You think I don’t know that you bought that child in the auction during the last event? Get off your fucking high horse; you are just as dark as the rest of us.” He exclaims, effectively steering the conversation exactly where I want it.

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