Page 33 of Firethorne
“Oh, this’ll be interesting,” he mocked. “And your opinion is?”
“Not like yours,thank God.” I muttered the last part, but he still laughed. I ignored him as best I could and carried on, the English Literature student part of my brain taking over. “There are theories that it’s an oedipal novel, that the story was influenced by Sigmund Freud, but for me it’s the themes of suffocation and the duty to a parent that strike harder. It’s something I can relate to.”
“Oh yes,” he announced, superiority bristling as he stared me down. “Because you have to suffer in silence and work here to please your own parent that suffocates your every waking moment?”
I wasn’t in the mood for my relationship with my father to be psycho-analysed by the likes of Damien Firethorne. He was in no position to judge my family. His own was more fucked up than any I’d known. So, I shoved the book back onto the shelf and gestured to where he was sitting.
“What are you reading?” I lifted my chin, trying to exert my confidence.
“Orwell. Animal Farm,” he announced proudly, rocking back on his heels.
I quirked a brow. “Trying to decide which animal you represent?” I was mocking him, but it didn’t work.
“I already know which animal I am, and it’s not the one you think.” He took a step closer, leaning forward to whisper in my ear. “The mask we wear for the world, and the reality we keep hidden inside can be two very different things.” Then moving back and spreading his arms out, he said, “But I guess you already know that. As they say, don’t judge a book by its cover. I’d hate for you to do that, Maya. Because if you did, that’d make you just like every other lame asshole I’ve ever met, and I’d hatefor you to be so... disappointing.” I swallowed, and he went on. “Disappointing is the last thing I’d expect... fromyou.”
I didn’t like the way he glared at me after saying that last part, and I took a step back.
“You don’t know me.” I gritted my teeth as his intense glare unnerved me. Like he was stripping me bare with the condescension of his gaze.
“I think I know you well enough,” he replied flippantly, walking back to his chair and then sitting down, resting his legs out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other, like he didn’t have a care in the world. “You’re the dutiful daughter, throwing her life into the trash so she can make daddy dearest happy. A promising honours student who now cleans the shit off our toilets for a living. But one who does it like it’s the most important job she’ll ever do. One that comes to this house every day, even though the warnings blare in her head telling her that she shouldn’t be here, but she comes here anyway, and she does it with conviction. Eager to please Mrs Richardson, my father, Lysander, anyone who she thinks she needs to. But not me. Or Edward, for that matter. No. She’d probably cut his hand off with a blunt, rusty knife for touching her if she had the chance.” He tilted his head in thought. “Or would that be too much? Too showy?”
“I’ll leave the torture and maiming to you,” I shot back. “Something tells me you’d enjoy it more than I would.”
“I do love the debased honesty of the human spirit when it comes out to play,” he replied, his words crafted in hell by the devil himself. “But we have to make it worthwhile, don’t you agree?”
“I’m not sure I’d agree with anything that passes through your mind.”
“That’s a bold statement, Miss Cole, seeing as you’ll never truly know what I’m thinking.”
“But I can guess.”
He smiled to himself and waited a moment before he asked, “And what is your guess right now?”
I glared back at him, our eyes locked in some kind of silent battle, and then I replied, “You don’t want the hired help in your precious space, touching your things, tainting it.”
“On the contrary,” he retorted. “I have no problem with you being here. In fact, I’m happy for you to come in here whenever you want.” And in a quieter voice, he said, “No one else comes in here. It’s the perfect place to be if you need to...hide.” He narrowed his eyes at me, unspoken accusations lying within.
I wasn’t sure what he was implying, but I didn’t like it, and I didn’t want to stay here for a moment longer, so I told him, “Don’t worry, I won’t disturb you again. In future, I’ll make sure the room is empty before I come in to clean.” And I stalked out before he could give me a snarky, venomous response.
My breaths were ragged, my heart beating out of my chest as I stalked down the corridor, pushing my cart. My mind willing me to put distance between myself and Damien Firethorne, my body shaking with anger and the spike of adrenaline I always seemed to experience when I was around him.
I was hoping luck would be on my side as I escaped down the corridor, but as I turned a corner, I realised that was wishful thinking. At the end of the hallway stood Mr Firethorne, with his head bowed, in deep conversation with Miriam.
When he saw me, his head snapped up, and he took what appeared to be a guilty step backwards, before whispering something to Miriam. Then he moved to open a door close to where they stood, stepped through it and shut the door, leaving Miriam to turn and face me. Her cheeks were pink, like she had something to hide, but as a feline smirk spread across her face, I knew that wasn’t the case. Miriam didn’t hide anything. She didn’t care enough to go to all that trouble.
“Maya!” she said in that over-excited tone of hers. “I was just looking for you. Uncle said you were cleaning up here.” As she moved closer, she put her arms out, ready to envelope me in one of her heavily perfumed hugs.
I let her, my arms staying limp by my sides as she wrapped hers around me. Then, I froze and recoiled as I heard her breathe deeply, like she was breathing me in.
“I love that scent in your hair.” She grinned as she pulled away from me. “What products do you use?”
I’d been cleaning all day. I knew I didn’t smell my best. I didn’t smell bad, but she was making out I was some scented princess floating down the hall. It was just plain weird.
“Cheap shampoo,” I replied, my voice flat, and I’m sure my puzzlement was playing out on my face too, but she didn’t react.
“We need to have a girls’ night,” she stated, and by the way her eyes darted about, I could tell she was already mentally planning it, whether I agreed to it or not. “I could come over, we could do face masks, share make-up tips, do all the stuff sisters do. I never had a sister. I always wanted one, though. I’ve had to settle for two morose male cousins, but Lysander is pretty. Maybe we should rope him in, too? Get him to be our model. With his cheekbones...” She was laughing as she spoke, and I had to stop her. I didn’t have time for this.
“Why were you looking for me?” I didn’t want to be rude, but the sooner I cleaned this level, the sooner I could get away from this place and go back home.
