Serenity's Key

by Charlotte E Hart

  “You should calm yourself down,” Alexander says, daring to lift a hand towards me. I slap it away without thought, taking a step into him to decrease the space as I look up at him.

  “Or what?”

  “Careful with your tone, Lilah. You’re beginning to piss me off.”

  “Am I? What fun,” is my revved up reply. Fuck him. Fuck all of them to hell and back. I stab my nail into his chest, aiming for the last place my nails were embedded. “From what I’ve seen of your pissed off mode, it lies in your need to get drunk constantly. Is life really that bad for poor little Alex? You should grow up. There is a child upstairs, one who needs a loving family around her. I’m damned if your anger is going to ruin her chance of happiness.” It’s my chance I’m talking about. Mine. Me and the man I love. “Come on then. What do you have for me? Is it terrifying?” Pascal coughs behind me, presumably trying to get my attention.

  “No amount of coughing is going to change my mind, Pascal. Stop being a dick.”

  “Lilah, I am trying to help us all,” poor little Alexander says. Help? I didn’t feel much helping going on downstairs. I scoot closer to him again, pushing the weight of Pascal away from me as he puts an arm around my waist.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” I say, laughing manically while smelling the angry heat of Alexander coming at me. “He won’t hurt me, will you? You need me to make all of this work, don’t you? A fourth wheel?”

  “It is out of the question, Alexander. She is not ready for such things,” Pascal snaps. I turn to look at him with a raised brow. Even if it is, or I’m not, it’s not his decision to make for me either. It’s mine. My lip curls as I run my eyes over his suit, I’m not sure why. Perhaps I’m revving up again. Alexander chuckles, making me swing my eyes back to him in disgust at his jeering.

  “It’s a good feeling, isn’t it, Lilah?” Fuck him.

  I draw in a breath through my nose, attempting to calm myself down.

  “Where’s my thank you?” He smiles at me, but there’s nothing nice about it. I’d say he was becoming more and more enraged by the second as I keep challenging him. Good. I’m tired of being the one in the dark. I want the light, no matter how blinding it might be. I poke him again, my nail jabbing through his shirt as it sinks into muscle.

  “Thank you.” He might as well have said fuck you for all that was worth. I sneer at him, not even trying to hold in my disdain for the way he said it. If he’s going to play nasty, so will I.

  “Come on. Let’s go then.” My hand waves in the direction of the hall again, willing the boys to hurry up. Perhaps lucidity might return when it’s over. I’m fucking naked anyway. What does it matter? Let’s get this show on the road. “And let’s call Beth down here, too, shall we? Let’s get it all going on.”

  “No, my love.” I smile at his words, swinging back to see his face. He’s chewing his bottom lip a little, looking nervous, which is ridiculous in the middle of this conversation. That pisses me off even more. He’s concerned for Beth? Weak is she? Dull.

  “She doesn’t know, does she?” I ask. He shakes his head at me, proving that while he didn’t know what was happening, and possibly isn’t especially pleased by it all, he does know Alexander like the back of his hand.

  “Not yet,” Alexander says. I turn back to him again, uninterested for once with Pascal’s concern.

  “She already hates me because of the little physical conversation you two had. Do you want to keep this from her as well? You want me to lie for you again?”

  “For the moment, yes,” he says with that air of superiority I’m not supposed to disagree with.

  More lies and deceit. I hate it all. Alexander takes a step towards me, caging me in between the pair of them. I’m not scared, but his intent is very clear as he grows a few inches. I’m not to tell her. I have to keep her in the dark, where it’s more comfortable for her. But I’m not comfortable in the dark. I want everything brightly lit and illuminated, on display so I know what I’m dealing with, and more importantly, if I want to deal with it at all. My eyes narrow at the pair of them as I back away to my seat again, contemplating my options and slowly wrapping the blanket around me again.

  The clock hammers an eternity at me as I flick my eyes between the two of them, checking Pascal for concern, checking Alexander for, well, explosions, I suppose. He’s reasonably calm, though, casually taking another sip of his drink. I pick up my vodka, feeling the need to stay silent as long as I choose. I won’t be rushed or cajoled and they should both know that by now. Eventually, Alexander goes to take a seat, and I realise straight away that I don’t want him here. I just want Pascal. I want to feel warm again, and get rid of this cool breeze that’s caressing me. He does that for me—heats me. And he does it with his own version of care. Alexander doesn’t. He might train me, help me, harden me, guide me even, but he doesn’t make me feel warm.

  That’s Pascal’s job.

  “I don’t want you here,” I say quietly, nodding at the door and curling my feet up beneath me. He halts his momentum, glancing at me over his shoulder. “I need to speak to him about this, not you.”

  As far as I’m concerned, that’s it.

  He pulls his body upright again and watches my reaction to his show of aggression. I couldn’t care less. What is he going to do? Cause more of an argument? I know what position I’m in here. It’s being made abundantly clear with hardly any words that this is what they both want. I just need to work out whether I want it, too.

  “You should always have known this was coming, Lilah,” he says, glancing at Pascal and then back to me. “As should he. He brought you to me.” How the fuck could I have known that? I never saw any of this coming. I turn away from him, irritated at his sadistic thought process. Arsehole. Pascal looks at the floor, indicating that he’s thinking about it. Plato moment, is it?

  Christ.

  “Just go, will you? We have some talking to do.”

  I sip at my vodka again, turning my body into the fire to let it soothe me, because no one else is doing so at the moment. Perhaps that’s not their job, though. Perhaps it’s mine. I’ll just look after myself, shall I? Again.

  Alexander does as I ask, though. He doesn’t say another word on the matter as I hear his footsteps walking away from us towards the main staircase. Funnily enough, regardless of all of this, I’m happy he’s drifting towards Claire. If there’s anyone here who can protect her, it’s him.

  “I should apologise,” Pascal says as I stare at the door that Alexander left through. I snort out a small laugh. What for? Alexander? It’s a fair point, I suppose, but Alexander is what he is. Right or wrong. Odd or not. It’s something he’s always been relatively clear with me about. Not that I quite saw this scenario coming, but hey, it’s the world I’m part of now. Perhaps I should have seen it coming.

  My eyes turn back to Pascal and travel over him, noticing the way his frame has become less tense now that Alexander has left. It causes another small laugh to pop out. He should tighten it all up again. I’m about to ask some very uncomfortable questions.

  “What’s the secret you won’t tell me?” I’m going straight in. No messing about anymore. He smiles a little, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. They’re still maddened by confusion he’s presumably envisioning. Something that I’m sure will make him circumvent an answer to my question. “Do not even bother trying to withhold this from me anymore, Pascal. I want all of it if I’m to contemplate this.”

  I watch as he draws the tie from around his neck slowly, undoing his top button and shrugging his arms from his jacket. He seems sad, tired maybe. I don’t care about that either. I’m tired, too. He can rest when we’ve put all this behind us or ensured there’s a way forward. And so, I just keep watching him, carefully, sensing every movement and finding reasoning behind it. Occasional flits of anger cross his face before being replaced with resentment and agitation. He softens again and sighs, rubbing his throat a bit and wandering around as if to extend the moment for as long as po
ssible before finally spitting it out.

  “I’m bored, Pascal.” Christ, I sound like Alexander. I can even hear him in my tone. I chuckle, amusing myself with the vixen who appears to have arrived inside me while I tap at my thigh.

  “It is not as simple as–”

  “It is. For Christ’s sake, Pascal, tell me and let’s get this done. We have a future waiting for us if you want it, but you have to tell me.” He hovers mid-step, staring at me with a new expression, one I’ve never seen before. Maybe it’s finality dawning in his mind at my tone, or maybe it’s respect for my exuberance. I’m not sure, but I like it.

  “I am revolted by the thought. Telling you is… disabling,” he mutters, pacing again and offering me nothing but anger. Good. I’d rather he was relaxed, but anger will work, too. Whatever he needs to get this out in the open is fine. I can put him back together when he’s told me. Help him. Love him. That’s what I’m here for. That’s what I’ve always been here for.

  I stare again, waiting and continuing to focus on the slight jerk in his movements, the way his fluidity seems to be leaving him at my challenge. He’s worried, nervous. He needs to get over that. There’s nothing I can’t handle from him. Nothing. I’m asking for it, demanding it before we move onwards. He flicks his eyes to mine, almost instantaneously looking away again.

  “There is nothing you can tell me that will make me love you less,” I say softly, knowing how true the statement feels. It wouldn’t matter if he told me he’d murdered thousands, or if he’d enjoyed doing it. I’d still love him. I’ll always love him. Whether I stay with him or not is another matter entirely.

  “I am nauseating.” He looks at my hand where it’s still tapping my thigh, licking his lips anxiously and taking a step towards me. I tilt my gaze, waiting for the rest and wondering what he’s got hiding in there he’s so disgusted by.

  “Not to me. You’ll never be anything but flawless to me.” That’s true, too. None of it matters as long as he’s honest. We can build a future then, give ourselves over and trust each other. Maybe even consider this Alexander thing if he needs it.

  “You will be tarnished by this truth.” Tarnished? Hardly. I’m no saint myself. And I want what his lips offer. I’ll spend an eternity licking his wounds if he lets me, give him every shoulder he’ll ever need to cry on, hold him, and put all his pieces back together. Give him strength when his own fails him. I’ll be the one who never runs, the one he never needs to chase. I’ll stand fast beside him and fight for him, as if he’s the only thing on the planet worth fighting for. Even if we’re a continent apart, I’ll still be there for him. And he needs to know that. He needs to trust that instinct that’s telling him to explain this to me. I can’t force it any more than I am doing. He can feel it already. He knows. I wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. He just needs to give over that last little thing to me and we’ll be whole. Together. One.

  The rest will come with time.

  “My mother,” he says, then pauses to move a little closer to me. He turns to sit himself in front of the fire, facing away from me on the floor with his legs crossed. His shoulders hunch over as I watch the orange hues bouncing off his face, highlighting the reflection of the flames in the corner of his eye and making me smile. Devil indeed. Even in this quiet, he seems larger than life, more beautiful than he normally is with his flamboyance if that’s possible. This is the man I want to love and keep warm at night, the one I want to protect. “It was so long ago now, yet it still plagues me,” he continues sadly.

  My brow rises as I wait for the explanation of his fears, still tapping my thigh as if somehow creating a rhythm for this death. That’s what it is, a death toll. The slaughtering of the last little barrier he’s kept between us.

  “I hit her once. I took the cane from her hand, pushed her to the ground of the palace, and beat her with it, just as she had done all those times.” That doesn’t really surprise me. I’ve been bullied. I know the feeling. The bitch deserved it as far as I’m concerned. Although, I’d still like to know why she did it.

  “It was enlightening to me. It gave me a new sense of being, awoke the monster, hmm?” I smile again, listening to his voice. He isn’t a monster to me.

  I stretch my neck slightly so I can see his lips. He’s not smiling at all. He looks humble and extremely drained as he pulls in another breath and sighs it out.

  “It is why I am this way inclined. She bestowed me with this taint. She still does, even from her grave.” I frown a bit, confused by what he’s trying to say. She can’t do anything from the grave as far as I can see. What colour was in his face seems to drain away as he pulls in more air and continues staring into the flames. “When I beat her that first time, Lilah, I became…” He trails off into silence. Only the crackle of the fire seems to sound in the room, that and my own breathing. He simply halts his lips, leaving them open as if the words can’t come any further than his throat.

  “She caused this...” Again, his lips hover around words he can’t say. I chew my own lip, waiting and wondering how to help. Should I even try? Comfort is needed, I’m sure. But is that the right thing to do? I gaze at his eyes, watching the flickering in the glassy surface from the fire’s dance, then do what feels natural in the moment. I slide down to the floor so I can climb onto him and pull him in close. If my strength is what he needs to finish this sentence then he can have it swathed all around him. I’ll hold him through it, help him to rip those last few vowels and syllables from his throat and give them to me.

  He doesn’t look surprised as I slowly lower onto his crossed legs and rest my crotch against him, wrapping my legs around his back as I do. In fact, his face hardly changes. Only the sight of my own reflection in his eyes changes, but that one thing binds us tighter together. So tight that I feel his heartbeat racing through my hand as I lay it on his chest. This is our true moment. Right here. Now. I’ll kiss the words out of his mouth when he releases them. I’ll lick them away and help him to find a way to rid himself of them completely. But I want them out of him because he chooses to give them to me, when he chooses. So, I do nothing but sit on top of him and wait, staring into his soul and offering the only thing I have for comfort. Me. I’ll sit like this all night if that’s what he needs. We won’t move. We won’t talk. We won’t negotiate, nor will we argue anymore. We will win this, together.

  The glassy appearance of his eyes increases as I relax into him and flatten my features. He’ll see nothing but my eyes when he tells me. Whatever reaction happens inside of me, he won’t see it. It’s not for him to have to deal with. That’s for me to understand and find peace with. All he needs from me is acceptance of his torment, and my strength to let him say it aloud. There will be no judgement, no dishonour, and no retribution. He will be free of the words and I’ll take them from him to do with as I see fit, all the time letting him know that I’m still here and always will be, regardless of what he says.

  “The sadism grew for her, Lilah. I was aroused, provoked,” he says, lowering his eyes from mine and trying to break our bond. I don’t chase them around. I remain still, waiting for him to come back to me, giving him the time to organise his mind and find his way home. That’s what he needs from me. Absolution. A place he can dwell in and not feel judged for his reaction to his mother. Just like he’s delivered for a thousand others over the years. He gave them a sanctuary, a place of serenity where they could fly free and be as they needed to be without condemnation.

  Eventually, he does lift his face, his eyes struggling to hold the intensity of mine as I bore back into him again.

  “Do you comprehend?” Oh, yes I do. Something that, no doubt, would confuse and disgust a person beyond all reasonable standards. Incest of sorts, I suppose. Yet, it means nothing to me. The only thing that is of any consequence is that he had the courage to tell me, that he loves me enough to be himself with me.

  “I still feel it when I look upon her picture.” That’ll be the first thing to go then. Or the next thing we fu
ck beneath, slashing her neck as we do.

  “I still love you.” It’s all I need to say as I pick up his chin to ensure he’s still with me, hold him up if that’s what he needs. My fingers draw softly along his jaw, feeling the slight tremble in it as he watches my mouth. “You can rest that on my shoulders whenever you need to, okay?”

  One lone tear drips from his eye, gently finding its way down his cheek towards my hand. I don’t watch its tumble any longer than necessary. I simply move forward and lick it from him, offering every word I can without the need to speak. Any tear that falls from him belongs to me now, and it’s my responsibility to take them away.

  The second the salt touches my tongue, I realise everything, sucking in air as I do and smiling. None of this is to do with giving pain. It’s to do with taking the pain away. Creating the space people need to embrace themselves, to let go, throw the pain away in some small way and learn to travel forward with a little less of it each time. I can do that for him, for us. I’m that anchor he needs when the tide turns rougher than expected. I’m the sail he needs to harness the wind. I lick my lips at the thought, knowing it’s not only Alexander that he needs, but also knowing he is part of this, like it or not. Nothing will be truly peaceful without him. Not yet.

  “I took his pain from him, as I have been doing for some time.”

  The words stick in my throat, lodged there as I remember that first night in his suite.

  “Do you truly still need him?” He nods immediately, showing no fear of his needs, but slowly placing his hands onto my thighs for the first time, almost nervously.

  “As do you, my love. We may not survive if you force me to choose.”

  I let my smile grow a little wider, still fiddling with his jaw and watching my face bounce back at me from the glassy orbs of trepidation.

  “Why would I make you choose, Pascal?” My hand climbs up his face, running my fingers into his hair and gently tugging at it. He looks so handsome in this light—quietly masculine as he frowns and waits for more. My hand moves down his chest, flicking the buttons on his shirt as I go and watching his breathing alter as I do. “Wherever I am, you can come to me. Do you understand what I’m saying?” There’s still a frown, but his lips twitch a little, hinting at a small smile forming, as if he understands more than me as we sit here. He doesn’t. He thinks I’m leaving.