Part one
Start
-o-o-o-
The Porter lies down the steel hallway, past dozens of portraits of Mother glaring down at the passerby. In some of them, she smiles. Freddie said Mother is beautiful when she smiled, but Cyril disagrees. Mother resembles a cow when she smiles, and a bull when she fails to do so.
The Porter shines under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hall. It’s round, polished, much like a marble but plenty more comfortable inside. The white walls are complemented by leather seats and stylish designs. It doesn’t look too spacious from the outside, but it’s always a pleasant surprise to find how roomy it was when he steps inside. Reminds him of when he and Freddie, only teenagers then, decided to have a bit of fun in the Porter, just to see if it was roomy enough.
The ride would have accommodated the silence well, but Rhode insists on small talk. Does Cyril know how long Rhode has been trying to get ahold of him? Five years and six months and counting. The weather is wonderful today, yes. Mother must be working very hard to keep it this way. Rhode’s pair Inah is with child now, does Cyril know?
Yes, but he doesn’t give a damn. Cyril only wants to be with Freddie again, so he closes his eyes to catch a glimpse of her in his mind’s eye. Rhode’s voice deprives him of even that respite. There is something inherently wrong about seeing Freddie’s beautiful face and hearing Rhode’s humming accompany it. Instead, he resigns himself to the same silence Freddie keeps, determined to shame Rhode into quiet.
He never succeeds.
Cyril’s home smells of mint and medicine and salt, different, so very different from the rank odor of the Pair Center. Not a single picture of Mother hangs about, but the wall is littered of photographs of Freddie and cadavers and sick people, of fishes and the ocean and families. Rhode seems as uncomfortable here as Cyril is at the Pair Center, all twitching eyes and twiddling thumbs and gawky movements.
Cyril scoffs. He may have been uncomfortable, but he never looked nervous, would never deign to look so pathetic. Pair Masters are such sheltered creatures.
The blonde peers at his fishes in their aquarium, vivid flashes of color swimming through blue. He loves them, yes, for their beauty. Even Freddie thinks they’re beautiful.
Rhode squirms. “Your family always liked fishes, huh. No dogs, no cats. Just the strangest fish.” Rhode taps the glass. Cyril rewards him with a flick on his ear.
“Don’t do that; never do that.”
“Right.” Rhode clears his throat and checks his watch. “Well, time’s ticking, Cyril. Shouldn’t we be at the Medical Center if you’re to show me this girl? Pick up what you need and let’s be on our way.”
“You assume too much.” Talk too much as well. “Come.” Cyril strides down the hallway, between walls scrubbed of dirt, and towards large French doors. He lingers in front of them, taking his time and fishing a ring of keys from his pocket. He likes it old-fashioned, because there’s something grand about tradition. He searches, flips, and toys with his keys until he comes across the right one, which he slips into the lock. Slowly, deliberately, surely.
“You-you haven’t bedded her, have you?” Rhode’s voice trembles. Such a coward, a big coward. “Mother would know, and Cyril, Mother – she won’t forgive very easily. Even you.”
Cyril says nothing. Best to say nothing, always best to say little to nothing. He enters the room and whispers a greeting for Freddie. A special greeting just for her. “We have a visitor, Freddie. I hope you’re feeling better.”
She lies still on the bed, sleeping, where he left her last night. Her clothes are strewn all about the floor, and he picks her blouse up and inhales her scent. It’s bitter and though he can smell a hint of jasmine, the chemicals from her skin has stuck to the fabric, and it’s what dominates his senses. A pity, but it’s a must. The lotion is what keeps her beautiful, what keeps her present, what makes her tangible.
Cyril climbs onto the bed beside her, and it depresses underneath him. Rearranges the blanket so it covers her better, because he doesn’t want Rhode to ravage her with his eyes.
Rhode lets out a strangled noise behind Cyril. “Mother –“
“I want her, Rhode. You promised me anyone, and I want her.” He kisses her cheek. It’ll be time for her lotions soon, lest the maggots come and she begins to reek of decomposition.
He used to wake her with a kiss, every day. It feels like old times, sitting like this, cradling her head in his arms and running his fingers through her dark hair. When they were children, she’d run into his room, crying for her older brother to keep the nightmares away, and he’d take her into his arms and hold her through the night. When they were teens, foolish and on hormonal highs, she’d creep into his room to spend the night with him, breathing him in, wrapped in his arms. And when they grew up, now that they’ve grown up, it’s still that way, and nothing would ever stop them from always being this way.
The patter of Rhode’s footsteps fill the room. They grew distant, softer, softer, softer, until Cyril can barely hear them. He tucks Freddie’s hair behind her ear and shushes her. He stays still, reluctant to leave. It doesn’t matter if Rhode runs anyway. Doesn’t matter, didn’t matter, can never matter.
Rhode is just like most others, common. Not like Freddie or Cyril. How could he have expected Rhode to understand when Rhode was common? Average, normal?
Never mind. Rhode will give Cyril what he wanted and Freddie and Cyril will be a legal, lawful, proper pair. Either that, or he can’t leave. It’ll be all right, Freddie – it’ll be all right.
Spoiler
Sooo this bit doesn't take into consideration the reviews I saw in the last part. I want to thank everyone who reviewed, though. <3 I will be revising this soon, and will fix the vagueness. It's the bane of my writing. XP
On a side note, I think I pretty much got too squicked out while writing this and so my writing failed me in the last part. :/
On a side note, I think I pretty much got too squicked out while writing this and so my writing failed me in the last part. :/
