Page 10

Chapter 9

Sparrow

“Do you really have to go?” I whine, wringing my hands into my oversize sweater.

“It’s work,” Louis says. “Of course I have to go.”

“What was the bar called again?”

“Moe’s. Moe’s Den.”

I have a hard time imagining Louis serving beers and washing glasses. Seems like he would hate it, and he doesn’t look all that happy as he’s getting ready to leave. I can’t believe I’m going to have to spend the whole evening alone.

“It’s just a ten-minute drive from here,” Louis says. “If you need anything, you have my number, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but …”

“What?”

When I don’t reply, Louis sighs and stops in the middle of putting his jacket on. He cups my jaw, and I look up at him with burning eyes, cursing myself for how worried I am.

Not for him. For myself.

Selfish and greedy, I need him with me. I need his protection, his warmth.

“You can spend a couple of hours alone, can you not?” Louis asks.

Should I say it? Should I say what’s really plaguing me? It’s embarrassing, but at the same time, Louis has been understanding before. Last night, he showed me a different side of himself—none of his gruffness and all his tenderness instead. He let me lie in his lap and carried me to bed, and I fell asleep warm and safe in sheets smelling of him.

It’s a risk, but with last night in mind, I say it.

“What if Aaron finds me?”

“What if he…?” Louis’s mouth twists into a smirk—his mocking one, not his fond one. “What if he shows up outside and breaks in through the window, you mean?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Christ, kid.” Louis rolls his eyes. “It’s not going to happen, okay? If something comes up, just call me. You have my number, right?”

I nod and wrap my arms around myself. I’m cold. Soon I’ll be lonely too.

“Be a good boy for me and stay home, okay?” Louis says, callused fingers cupping my cheek. “I’ll be home soon.”

“A good boy,” I repeat, the words tingling down my spine and shooting straight to my dick. With barely any encouragement, I’m turning into one of Pavlov’s dogs; whenever those two words pass Louis’s lips, I’m suddenly hard and near bursting, desperate and yearning. “Louis—” I say, taking a step toward him, but his hand falls as he turns around.

“Lock the door after me, all right?”

“Okay.”

When the door shuts, I twist the lock quickly, my breath stuck at the top of my throat and my heart pounding away. I would jerk off if I wasn’t so tightly wired, but in Louis’s absence, my raging hard-on will soon be a thing of the past, anyway.

I’m alone now. So far, I haven’t spent even a minute by myself in Louis’s apartment, and the shadows seem far deeper than they’ve ever been in his company.

But I promised him I’d be a good boy. And a good boy I will be.

I start by putting the dishes away in the dishwasher. When it comes to turning it on, though, I falter. Madame didn’t have a dishwasher; we did everything by hand. Sometimes I’d wash Aaron’s abandoned dishes along with my own, and he’d come up behind me, scrunch up my hair, and kiss the side of my neck. Good little Sparrow. No one had ever called me “good” before, and I soaked up the praise like a starved puppy, my tail wagging, my ears twitching, and my heart fluttering in my chest.

I yank the dishes back from the washer with a scowl and start washing them by hand. Scalding-hot water burns my skin, and I drop one of the plates, shattering it in two. My shoulders slump as I set the broken plate aside. Soap stings my nostrils, and everything feels wrong, tainted.

Scary.

I have to do something else; I have to…I know! The nature documentaries. But Louis was the one to handle the remote yesterday, and I’m not too sure I remember what buttons to press to get to the right channel. The selection of apps is too overwhelming; I can’t make sense of the icons through the fuzziness of my vision. I end up shutting the TV off and rolling around on the couch, covering my burning eyes with my palms.

What the hell am I doing? Louis has barely been gone for thirty minutes, and I’m already falling apart. I’m so hopeless. And helpless. Just…less. I’m nothing, and Louis is the only one who can make me something .

I don’t even have to be good. Apparently, I’m not good enough to suck his cock. My stomach churns as I remember last night. Why settle for just stroking my hair? Why not nudge me toward his crotch with more intent? I was practically begging for it. Begging him to let me suck his cock again, to please him. Maybe I was so bad at it the first time that he didn’t even bother to let me try again, but I’m sure I could improve if he’d just let me practice.

Aaron used to shove his cock into my mouth a lot, while at the same time letting me know exactly how awful I was at it. I can take criticism. I can take feedback. My eyes might tear up, but what does it matter? Louis can just slap my cheek and growl at me to try harder, just like Aaron did.

Am I not good-looking enough? Is that it? Louis told me I’m too young, but is that really the reason? I’m perfectly legal, almost twenty-one, and Louis isn’t that old. So then why?

I roll around on the couch, writhing in my self-imposed agony, cursing myself for being the way I am. After a few minutes of this, I sit back up, and the view outside the window makes me gasp. It’s storming outside; the trees and bushes rustle in the wind, and the rain patters furiously on the patio door.

I imagine a figure creeping across the ground, slithering through the grass and behind the bushes. I imagine a white face staring into the window, its freakishly light eyes finding me where I sit on the couch, shaking in terror. I imagine the figure chucking a brick into the door and shattering the glass, and a hand turning the lock…

This time, he wouldn’t just fuck me; he’d hurt me for real. Aaron doesn’t take people harming him lightly, and he wouldn’t mind ruffling the feathers of his little bird before he’d shove me back into my cage.

And still, even after everything he’s done to me, even after all the pain he’s caused me, I still…I still…

My phone buzzes, and I startle badly enough to flick it to the floor. Luckily it doesn’t break, and I stare at the text on the screen.

It’s Lilith. That big oaf fuck you yet?

I huff out a laugh. Trust Lilith to take the things I’m concerned about and flip them around in the strangest ways.

I type out a reply. No.

Three little dots appear as her reply comes in seconds.

Good. Tell him I’ll kill him if he hurts you.

I think he already knows.

Maybe the reason Louis won’t have sex with me is because he’s so scared of Lilith’s wrath. I chuckle at the thought and reply, Even if he fucks me, promise me you won’t kill him. He’s nice.

Nice? Coming from you, that doesn’t mean a lot.

I’m not sure what she means by that, so I don’t reply. Hearing from her makes me somewhat less anxious, though, and I spend the next hour or so playing games on my phone. I take a break to pee, and when I get back, I give the dishes another try. They’ve piled up since yesterday, and it’s a lot to do by hand, but I don’t dare to put on the washer in case I ruin anything. Although…Louis did tell me to call him if anything came up. And this qualifies, right?

Hm. Even if it’s just an excuse to hear his voice, I’m doing it.

I scroll to his contact and press the button, but the call goes to voicemail. Ten minutes later, I try again. Nothing.

Okay, so maybe he’s busy. Maybe he hasn’t got his phone on hand. It’s not unthinkable to go to him in person and ask my question about the dishwasher, is it? After all, I wouldn’t want to cause a disaster. One time when I was trying to wash clothes at Madame’s, I happened to put in one of Aaron’s white shirts along with a red blanket, and his shirt came out pink. When he found out, he pressed me into a wall, my face in a death grip as he hissed, “What’s this—trying to turn me into a little faggot like you?”

I make my decision in a split second, and as I get dressed, the excitement builds. I’ve never been to a bar before, but I imagine people dress up for it, so I select my best clothes. Maybe someone will even flirt with me, like Eric did. That’s bound to get Louis’s attention whether he wants it to or not, right?

If I can’t make him need me, I can at least make him jealous.