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bells_will_ringThere have been a few suggestions to help stave off the unease Erasmus feels with returning daily to an empty home. The first, of finding a companion to live with him did not seem attainable. It would have to be someone he knew well enough to feel safe around and he wasn't sure his lack of understanding of most of the things in the home would make him a suitable living companion. He tries to watch the television but is easily overwhelmed by the images and stories and the introduction of a thousand things he doesn't understand. He's thought, perhaps, a pet. Perhaps a cat like the ones at work that need a good home. He thinks it might help, at least a little.
For now, he simply avoids the place. He splits his time between his work and the library, having realized it was the easiest resource for him to learn and indulge in the kind of poetry and literature he'd always loved but had been dissuaded from pursuing, it not being Prince Damianos's preference. At night, he wanders, taking in the sights of the city and as of late, the wondrous lights and biting cold. Some nights the distraction works and some nights it makes the press of loneliness even greater. Some nights he watches people move about, easy smiles and loving embraces and vices much like the ones he'd been forced into at Vere, but with willing participants. Down dark alleys he hears sounds he's very familiar with that lack the fear and pain he's associated with the acts.
All of these people, free to do what they want. They are free to have wants and desires. They are free and always have been. They've not had the very matter that makes them shaped into something else.
This night, he sits on a bench, until the crowds have cleared, watching a pair of lovers. Their touch is intimate and easy and reminds him of the stolen moments with Kallias, the longing they'd both felt. He wonders what would have happened if Kallias arrived in this place, if Erasmus could get past the betrayal. He wonders if either of them could truly believe they belonged to themselves enough to allow themselves private happiness. It angers him, suddenly and he pushes off the bench, striding towards home. It's such a foreign emotion and he's caught so off guard he doesn't hear anything until he's yanked into an alley, rough hand going over his mouth.
"Give me your money," a low voice snarls in his ear, fisting Erasmus's hair and shoving his face into the rough brick when he fails to answer. He cannot react, cannot speak and cannot think as he's back in the garden, rough hands bending him over, grabbing at him. Rank breath, heavy with Veretian wine against the bank of his neck blends with whatever this new man is saying and it's not until a sharp blow lands first on his cheek and then his mouth that he comes back to himself.
He slides down the wall, wanting badly to push the hands off of him as they fumble for his satchel, but he cannot. He cannot. He's too well trained. He cannot bring his body to obey his own command a gets a kick to the ribs for his lack of compliance. And then he is alone. His money is gone but he is not violated. He is hurt but he's alone and nothing else was wanted of him.
He pushes himself up, gingerly wrapping an arm around his ribs as he walks, forcing himself to hang on to the anger, forcing himself not to cry. It's unfair, it is not fair that he must live alone in this place with no Master and still not be able to command his own self. It is unfair and only one person can put any of this to rights.
A brief thought is given to how displeased Prince Laurent will be if he answers the door but he cannot bring himself to stop. He knocks on Damen's door, heedless of the late hour, needing to do something or say something that will make any of this alright.
For now, he simply avoids the place. He splits his time between his work and the library, having realized it was the easiest resource for him to learn and indulge in the kind of poetry and literature he'd always loved but had been dissuaded from pursuing, it not being Prince Damianos's preference. At night, he wanders, taking in the sights of the city and as of late, the wondrous lights and biting cold. Some nights the distraction works and some nights it makes the press of loneliness even greater. Some nights he watches people move about, easy smiles and loving embraces and vices much like the ones he'd been forced into at Vere, but with willing participants. Down dark alleys he hears sounds he's very familiar with that lack the fear and pain he's associated with the acts.
All of these people, free to do what they want. They are free to have wants and desires. They are free and always have been. They've not had the very matter that makes them shaped into something else.
This night, he sits on a bench, until the crowds have cleared, watching a pair of lovers. Their touch is intimate and easy and reminds him of the stolen moments with Kallias, the longing they'd both felt. He wonders what would have happened if Kallias arrived in this place, if Erasmus could get past the betrayal. He wonders if either of them could truly believe they belonged to themselves enough to allow themselves private happiness. It angers him, suddenly and he pushes off the bench, striding towards home. It's such a foreign emotion and he's caught so off guard he doesn't hear anything until he's yanked into an alley, rough hand going over his mouth.
"Give me your money," a low voice snarls in his ear, fisting Erasmus's hair and shoving his face into the rough brick when he fails to answer. He cannot react, cannot speak and cannot think as he's back in the garden, rough hands bending him over, grabbing at him. Rank breath, heavy with Veretian wine against the bank of his neck blends with whatever this new man is saying and it's not until a sharp blow lands first on his cheek and then his mouth that he comes back to himself.
He slides down the wall, wanting badly to push the hands off of him as they fumble for his satchel, but he cannot. He cannot. He's too well trained. He cannot bring his body to obey his own command a gets a kick to the ribs for his lack of compliance. And then he is alone. His money is gone but he is not violated. He is hurt but he's alone and nothing else was wanted of him.
He pushes himself up, gingerly wrapping an arm around his ribs as he walks, forcing himself to hang on to the anger, forcing himself not to cry. It's unfair, it is not fair that he must live alone in this place with no Master and still not be able to command his own self. It is unfair and only one person can put any of this to rights.
A brief thought is given to how displeased Prince Laurent will be if he answers the door but he cannot bring himself to stop. He knocks on Damen's door, heedless of the late hour, needing to do something or say something that will make any of this alright.
