Page 4 of Collin: Episodes 7-9
Collin shook his head. “There was a lot going on, sir.” He turned toward Artemis and offered her his hand to sniff. She raised her head and inspected it, gave him one lick, and settled back down, head on Mr. Moreau’s shirt.
“I’m glad she’s doing this well,” Collin whispered.
Mr. Moreau shook his head a little. “She’s drugged. Earlier she was a perfect hellion.”
“I mean, I’m glad she wasn’t hurt worse and could be helped quickly.”
“There is that.” Mr. Moreau ran a finger between her ears. “She has a couple rough days in front of her, but she’ll be all right. It’ll be quite a few weeks before the bone heals completely. But she should be up and around soon. She’s only sedated so she doesn’t make it worse. Her temper is legendary when she’s sick.”
“How are you doing, sir? You had to go to the clinic, too.”
Mr. Moreau held up his bandaged hand. “It looks worse than it is. She didn’t know what she was doing. Just a couple stitches here, a couple there.” He gestured at his face.
Collin’s gut clenched. He wanted to reach up and brush his fingers across the man’s handsome cheek, comfort him, help him. Love and affection welled up in his throat and then caught there with nowhere to go. He didn’t have permission to take such liberties. Instead, he dropped his eyes.
“I hope they heal quickly.”
“They will. They’re nothing.”
Collin dropped his hands to his thighs. Now that he was here, feeling the distance between him and Mr. Moreau, a sick sort of certainty was gripping him. He fixed his eyes on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t force himself to look any higher.
“I don’t know if I’m doing this right, sir, but according to my contract, if there’s something I can’t talk to Mr. Reevesworth about, I can talk to you. Could we do that tonight, sir? When there’s someone else available to watch Artemis, could we talk in private?”
Mr. Moreau said nothing for a long moment. Collin forced himself to wait, to say nothing more.
“Tonight, then, after dinner in the sitting room.”
“Yes, sir. Should I go, sir, give Artemis space?”
“Yes, I’d better see if I can get her to sleep.”
Collin rose. He was getting better at rising from a kneeling position on the floor without reaching for something to help him up. He nodded in a half bow and slipped out of the room as quietly as he could.
There was nothing else to do now. He walked through the living room, picking up items that had been left out. He checked the bathroom, but Damian was still using it, so he couldn’t clean it. He checked the kitchen. It was spotless. He wiped up one crumb on the counter and then made tea. The bathroom door opened and closed. Damian’s and Mr. Reevesworth’s voices mingled in the hallway and receded toward the playroom. The door opened and closed. When they were in there, it was almost like they weren’t in The Residency. The room was so well soundproofed that almost nothing escaped the place.
Collin drank his tea leaning against the counter. Thoughts crystalized and turned over in his head. So much had changed in just a few weeks. It was Saturday. Only two weeks ago he had been getting ready for his shift at the bar at this time.
Is any of this even real? Can it last?
A strange, irrational desire to throw something, to see if the dream would shatter, rushed through him. He gripped the warm mug in his hand, staring at the wall, seeing not one spec of its shape or color. Things like this didn’t happen to people like him. He lived in the real world, where one made tough decisions and sacrifices and cracked jokes to mask the pain and lied about how much it hurt.
He made a second cup of tea. He held it without drinking it, just breathing in the smell. Any moment it felt like he might wake up, might roll over to find that he was still in the pantry living with the roaches and the stench of cheap weed.
Don’t fuck this up. Except he probably already was fucking it up. And if it wasn’t real, if it couldn’t be, he needed to know. Now. Before tomorrow happened.
Before he gave another chunk of his heart to every single man living in The Residency. Before he gave them more of his helplessness.
He drank the rest of the tea. And then, just for the hell of it, he scrubbed the floor, the table, the table legs, the pads under the legs, and finally the chairs. He was considering how to clean under the refrigerator when his phone buzzed.
Medi’s is on its way. Can you put it in the warmer until Richard and Damian are ready?
Collin’s fingers curved over the screen, typing out Yes, sir. He paused, finger hovering over the send button. It felt right. He sent it.
He couldn’t very well handle food in the clothes he was wearing. He’d been all over the floor. He went down the hallways, grabbed new clothes, stripped off, and took a two-minute rinse in the shower. He was dressed in flannel lounge pants and a loose long-sleeved shirt when a knock came at the door. He checked the peephole and recognized the delivery girl. He grabbed cash for a tip from the drawer by the shoe rack and opened the door.
The food smelled good—it always did. He tipped the girl and took the food into the kitchen. On autopilot, he put the reusable metal take-out containers in the warmer box and set the table. Partway through laying out the plates, he realized he’d only set three places. He paused, gazing at the table.
He should set a fourth spot. It was what he ought to do. He’d been asked to prepare dinner. But he couldn’t bring his hands to do it. Instead, he set a fourth place setting out on the counter. If Mr. Reevesworth wanted him to add it, he would do it then. If he was ordered to do it, then it wouldn’t feel wrong.
