Page 60 of Crown of Steel

Before he took me to the Atrium.

I inhale sharply when the light flickers in a dark building hidden off-road behind some trees. Fuck, it really does look more ominous at night. The silence that felt so peaceful just a few minutes ago, feels thick and a little threatening right now, which is ridiculous. At night the world looks exactly the same, there’s just a blanket wrapped around everything. Making it more private, more secluded.

My steps pick up as I keep my light steady on the building, breath coming in more steady puffs, heart rate gradually slowing down. I’m in control once more.

“Gotcha,” I mumble, when I approach the horse stables. The barn, entirely made of wood, keeps multiple types of saddles, bridles and brushes under its porch. Slowly approaching the place, I watch out for any activity around the place. I’m not a fan of horses, but much to my relief, and despite the storage spaces being filled to the brim with hay, the place appears empty.

“Hello?” I peek through the open space, but no one replies. “Anyone here?”

Slowly I walk onto the porch and open the door toward the stables. Nothing, apart from a flapping flag of a blue shield with three golden fleurs-de-lis.

I think of the iron that the garden personnel left me. I’ve kept it where I buried my leaves and twigs at the foot of an oak tree. It’s not as big as the one Dad kept me in at home, but if I try hard, I’ll fit. And when I do, I’ll move it here, where it can stay hidden.

Mysecret.

I look around and take in my environment. Yes, this placewill do. It’s covered and deserted. By one of the oval rectangle windows, I crouch down, my flashlight checking for any insects I don’t want too close. Nothing. In fact, the place looks surprisingly clean, as if someone sweeps it frequently.

After I’ve crouched down in the corner, I switch off my light and let my eyes adjust to the darkness huddled around me. It’s cool in here, the rainy weather of the past few days having leaked inside the wooden beams. After my initial tremors, something heavy, and soothing, lands over me, draping me in a familiar comfort. This is how I’ve spent numerous nights. Punished, alone and in the darkness. In the quiet.

Mentally preparing myself for my next step, I press the redial button and wait for the connection to establish.

Dad’s clearly enraged when I finally talk to him. Our lawyer contacted him directly and told him that as things stand now, we have no case against my mother. When he mentions her name in a venomous spit, I can’t help but remember the conversation she and I had just before. The way she looked at me.

It makes me feel so fucking confused. Yes, I want her love, her pride. I want it so much. But having Dad sit in a rotten prison cell just feels so wrong. It’s like I failed him, as if I am not loyal to him.

Loyalty.

Oh, go away.

“I told that psychiatrist that all was good,” I protest weakly when he gives me another rumble of protests, remembering those horrible conversations that we had. All those moments she had me relive. I’d just wanted to curl up into a ball and be left alone.

“Yeah, well, your testimony was overruled, remember?” He grunts. “That woman decided that you were not fit to decide.” Sarcasm drips off his tongue.

“Yeah, I remember,” I whisper in defeat. She’d said that mytrauma was too fresh. That it clouded my judgement on the things that had happened.

“There’s no way I’m going to stay here in prison,” Dad spews. “No. Fucking. Way. If you’re as clever as they all say, find me a solution, son. Don’t let your old man die here.”

“I won’t, Dad. I won’t.” Though I have no clue how I can get him out.

Let him go, Régis. Stop calling him.

When my mother and Jean-Luc brought me into their home, they told me that they’d make sure that Dad would stay locked away his entire life.

After we hang up, I curl myself into a ball in the corner of the porch, ignoring the cold, as my fingers scrape the iron hinges of the door.

Like a cat.

He calls mechaton.

I close my eyes and think the cold away. And I think of Arthur, let the fictive version of my stepbrother soothe my trembling core.

Do things on your terms, Régis.

Don’t they see? Arthur already plays me like a fucking violin. He already has me on my knees for him. I shudder at the thought, shudder at the memory of our bodies sighing against each other in sweet relief. I bet his bare skin feels amazing, strong and defined. I bet he smells amazing too, all spicy and male and fucking unique.

I gaze at my fingers, wishing the thoughts away. But no matter how hard I try, that stubborn desire won’t leave. Instead, it lingers, heating up in my stomach, where it coils up together, bringing the perfect remedy against my loneliness.

Outside, the woods creak and shudder under the fierce wind. I close my eyes and drift off, never once leaving the cool metal of the hinges. No bars, but at least it’s something.

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