Fate - 2: Darkness
It's twenty minutes past his usual breakfast time when Laila knocks on Ray's bedroom door. She doesn't wait for his acknowledgement before entering, balancing a breakfast tray complete with eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. The morning newspaper is folded in thirds and rests beside the silverware.
Ray's sitting up in bed reading by the pale sunlight filtering through the curtains. He's shirtless and his hair is a finger-combed mess. Beside him, a tangle of pale blond hair and a bare back are all that can be seen of Ray's new pet.
Laila settles the tray on Ray's blanket-covered thighs and tries not to let him see the look she gives that pale-skinned back. What is it she feels anyway; contempt, hatred, envy? The only certainty is her desire to be rid of the pampered little aristocrat for good.
"Laila?" Ray asks, giving her a curious look. She picks the paper up nervously and unfolds it to display the headline: "Tragedy at the Rochefort Mansion".
Ray snatches the paper and scans it quickly noting the lack of detailed information. What is sure is that Florian's mother was killed and the house destroyed by fire the previous evening. No details means that they have a suspect but haven't apprehended him yet. Ray casts an uneasy glance at his sleeping companion and shoves the paper back at Laila.
"Put that somewhere. I'll tell him later." He frowns a little, catching Laila's unguarded look at Florian. "Tell the others. I don't want him hearing it from anyone but me."
"Yes, Noir," Laila responds crisply, taking the paper and turning to leave. Ray stops her once more. "Tell Luc I'll need the car this morning. I want to see the damage for myself and ask a few questions."
Laila nods and leaves, closing the door quietly.
XXXXX
"Look who's finally awake," Laila comments by way of greeting. Florian offers her a smile but she doesn't return it. Instead she gestures to the cold toast and tea on the sideboard.
Florian's smile fades but he dutifully walks over to claim the unappetizing breakfast. He picks up the plate of toast with one hand, the cold tea with the other, his eyes falling on the newspaper lying nearby.
The plate of toast lands, scattered but unharmed, the teacup and saucer shatter, spraying cold tea across the carpet, the sideboard and Florian. He doesn't notice, his face paling as he grips the paper, scanning the article about his mother and their home.
"Something wrong?" Laila asks neutrally as she sets about cleaning up the mess he's made. She keeps her face turned down towards the carpet as footsteps fade from the room. Only then does she look up, the hint of a smile curving her lips upwards.
XXXXX
He flees not to Ray's room where he spends most of his nights, but to the small, plain room he's been told is his. Florian's chest rises and falls rapidly as he takes in shallow breaths and exhales them just as quickly. He feels lightheaded and his skin tingles as if he is being pricked by thousands of pins. Throwing open the wardrobe he tears a cloak from its hanger and throws it on. He turns so quickly he bumps into the bed frame, corrects himself and manages to navigate out of the room to the top of the stairs. He stumbles and nearly falls more than once as he descends, finally reaching the floor. The outer door is in sight and he staggers towards it, half-blinded by tears. A mere body's length away someone grabs his shoulder and turns him roughly.
"Where do you think you're going?" Jameson demands. He is the biggest and roughest of Noir's gang, and he's made his dislike of Florian clear from the start.
"Mother… the house… I have to…"
"Noir didn't say anything about you going out. Until he says different, you don't get near that door."
Florian is frantic, pushing at Jameson to break free, to reach the door that is so close, taunting him. "Please! I have to…"
Jameson tightens his grip, strong fingers digging hard into Florian's upper arms. "Get back in bed where you belong."
""No!" Florian screams, lashing out with arms and legs, half-crazed with desperation. "Let me go!" His foot connects hard with Jameson's knee and the large man swears. With a growl he delivers a solid punch to the stomach, and follows with one to the jaw. Florian drops to the floor, unconscious.
"Stupid whore," Jameson mutters, picking up the blond and carrying him upstairs to Noir's bedroom. He dumps the unconscious man on the bed and stomps out, locking the door behind him. He hands the key to Laila with a nod.
XXXXX
He wakes suddenly, his head and stomach aching. Disoriented, he scans the room, slowly realizing where he is. Memory returns seconds later and he leaps from the bed and races to the door where he tries desperately to force it open. He pounds and begs to be let out but no one answers and after long minutes he gives up.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed he looks around desperately for something to force the door. There is nothing. The panic tears at him and his head throbs. He has to get out!
Yes! He lunges towards the window and shoves it open, leaning out to see how high up he is. A sheer three story drop. If he had…. Sheets! He tears the bedding from the mattress, not caring that blankets and pillows scatter everywhere. Trailing the sheet, he looks out again, wondering how far he'll have to fall and how much it will hurt. He shakes his head and chases the thought away. Now, something to anchor… the bedpost! He tries three times before he has a knot he thinks might hold his weight. One last glance out the window and...
No!!
Jameson stands in the yard, arms crossed, looking up at Florian. After a long moment, he waves.
Pulling back, Florian stumbles, looking around wildly for something. Anything.
He is still standing there, sheet in hand when Laila unlocks the door and walks in.
"You'll have to clean that up before Noir gets back," she says calmly as she places a tray with broth and tea on the dresser. "He hates an untidy bed." She stands looking at Florian for a long moment before adding, "Be sure to tuck the sheet in properly. It's the least you can do after everything he's doing for you, protecting you when everyone says that you killed your mother."
"I… what?"
"Your aunt and uncle are missing too. You'd be in quite a bad situation if Noir wasn't protecting you." She looks him up and down with barely concealed contempt. "Although seeing you like this, might make him change his mind." She turns away from his shocked expression, a tiny twinge of pity almost making her relent. Instead, she marches through the door and locks it.
XXXXX
The broth and tea sit untouched while Florian paces, his mind tumbling words and phrases in an endless cycle. His mother, dead. His aunt and uncle, missing. His home, destroyed. Himself, accused. He can almost hear the cursed jewel mocking him.
He'd known. He should have known. There was no escape. There never would be. Never….escape… never…
The sheets are still a tangled mess and he picks one up, twisting it tighter, purposefully as his eyes scan the room, looking upwards. A glance down shows Jameson trimming weeds in the back yard. Florian steps back and closes the curtains.
Where?
The curtains!
Florian lifts one of the heavy panels, estimating that the expensive brocade weighs at least twenty pounds. Will it be enough?
Florian pulls a chair over and climbs on it, reaching up to touch the curtain rod, pulling on it hard to see how sturdy it is. It barely moves when he pulls downwards with all his strength.
Perfect.
The sheet goes over nicely and Florian takes the time to wrap it around the curtain rod several times before knotting it twice. Now for the other end. Neatness isn't important here, but length is and he measures it several times before he is satisfied.
The loop is the easiest part and he makes it quickly. The adjustable knot is harder but he manages that too, his mind clear and focused now that he has made his decision.
A traitorous thought wonders if he is gaining freedom or merely surrendering to the jewel.
What difference does it make?
The sheet is warm from handling and he settles it around his neck quickly. A moment to adjust the knot and another to send a silent prayer upwards for his mother's soul. He has no illusions of saving his own.
There are tears on his face but he doesn't waste effort wiping them away. One last breath and…
The lock turns just as he steps off the chair.
"What the hell are you doing?" Ray screams as he races across the room, grabbing Florian around the waist and holding him up. "Get this damned thing off of him!"
Florian can smell the anger and fear. It adds to his confusion so he decides not to think at all. He closes his eyes and blocks out everything but the feel of the hands at his waist and the hard chest pressing against his own.
Darkness pulls at him and he wants to surrender to it but Ray keeps shaking him, demanding that he stay awake. He wants to ask why, but can't form the words.
After a while breathing becomes easier and he lays his head against Ray's shoulder. He's suddenly very tired.
"Wake up!" Ray demands, shaking him again. Everything shifts and then hands are pulling him away. Florian opens his eyes, ready to protest, but Ray's expression silences him.
"Take him downstairs," Ray commands the hands, and Florian closes his eyes again. He keeps them closed as he is carried downstairs, through the house and downstairs again. It is colder and he shivers.
Cold metal presses against his wrist bringing him back to awareness and he opens his eyes in confusion. "What?"
A click of metal against metal and more unforgiving cold encircles his other wrist. His hands are high over his head and his arms feel overstretched. Directly in front of him is a wooden column and he appears to be chained to it.
His brain is still puzzling over that when he hears Ray's familiar footsteps.
"He's ready?" Ray asks the unnamed hands that carried Florian here. Someone mumbles an answer and then footsteps sound again, taking the unidentified people away.
"Why?" Ray demands, moving to stand behind Florian, one hand caressing Florian's back through his rumpled shirt. "Why did you do that?"
The question makes no sense to Florian. Why? Shouldn't the question be: why had Ray stopped him? And if that's the case, why does Florian feel relieved?
"Mother…" he mumbles.
"So you know about your mother?" Ray's hand continues to caress Florian's back, sliding a little more to his side. Florian nods.
"And the house?" Ray's hand slides down Florian's side, then up again, moving around to his chest. Florian nods again.
"Your aunt and uncle too? And the arrest warrant?" That hand is sliding up and down Florian's chest, brushing his nipples, then skimming down to his waist and back up again. Florian's breath hitches and he nods again.
"So your first thought is to kill yourself? Not wait for me? Not trust me?" Ray's hand dances along the centerline of buttons. Without warning he grips one edge and pulls hard, tearing the fabric and scattering the buttons. "Answer me!"
Florian opens his mouth to obey but his answer is cut short by a line of searing pain angling across his back. Another crosses it, then a third. Fourth. Fifth.
Florian stops counting.
His head is pressed against the column, tears streaming down his face. Every breath, every movement, is pain and fire.
Fire…
"More," he begs in a broken whisper. "Please."
Another line of fire. Another.
Mother…
And another.
Aunt… Uncle…
Another.
The damned jewel…
It's killing him. He's dying for it.
Another.
It has already taken everything. He owes it no more loyalty.
Another. Another.
"Please," Florian weeps, blind with pain and tears. "Please save me."
Something hits the floor and then Ray's hands are on him, soothing him. His mouth is pressed against Ray's. Is this salvation?
"I'll tell you…" Florian sobs. "Please…"
Gentle hands release him, lowering him to warm fabric over a cold hard floor. He can feel every one of his bloody wounds, but he can also feel Ray's hands on his belt, and then on his suddenly exposed skin.
Florian reaches up, still blind and wraps his arms around the familiar body. Ray's weight brings comfort as it settles onto him. Florian understands this.
He shifts, not caring about the pain, seeking a different, more transitory pain instead. He cries out to welcome it, just as he welcomes the heat, the possession.
Pleasure comes slowly in his confused and weakened state. Ray is patient and gentle. Florian manages a smile of gratitude before he slips away into darkness.
He doesn't resist. He knows Ray won't let the darkness win.