Soon. I will force the B109 down his tight throat and inject him with the repression chip soon.
But for now…
“Good night, little Lanny.”
Nathaniel
10
I FOCUS ON THEchicken I’m currently grilling, prepping early for dinner. I’m trying not to think about last night—or Landon’s smirking face as he left for the airport early this morning—and failing miserably.
I’m… conflicted.
Never once have I loathed someone so much and wanted them at the same time. Sure, it’s a sexual want, but want nonetheless. How do I deal with this?
What happens when the time comes and it’s time for me to take his power away, stripping that part of him? I don’t care if he hates me more than he already does—I’m not interested in hisfeelings.
But will I feel empty without the sex? No one has soothed these urges inside of me so beautifully before. Between his desire to fight back, the push and shove of it all, and the way he refuses to break? To give in?
Thethinginside of me that craves violence, the thing that makes me averymorally gray man, speaks to him. And he speaks right fucking back.
He coddles and caresses it with his shitty personality alone. Am I prepared to lose that?
The answer is yes. The answer willalwaysbe yes. It is my job, and it’s something that he most definitely deserves.
The tension inside of me dissipates a little.
The chicken is cooked, so I rest it on the cooling rack and wash my hands, prepared to ask Master Abraham if he’s ready for tea.
As I make my way from the kitchen and into the large front foyer of Chastain Castle, I take in a steady breath.
Everything is alright—everything is how it should be.
My eyes are drawn to the door that leads into the back gardens, and through the small window, I see Atticus. He’s staring out at the waves, stock-still.
Just as I’m about to head that way to askhimif he wants tea, he shuffles to the right, and I see him.
Julian. Standing on the ledge with one foot raised to jump right off.
My blood runs cold.
He’ll die. As soon as he hits the water, his limbs will freeze, and he won’t be able to move. To fight against the thrashing waves. That is, if he doesn’t bash his skull on a rock first.
I’m running. Before I can even comprehend it, I’m sprinting out the front doors and around the side of the west tower. If I rush in straight off the bat, he might very well retaliate and jump. I need to get him from the side.
I’m not the only one with this idea, though. Atlas is running a few paces ahead of me, seemingly completely unconcerned or unaware of my presence. He must have exited the front doorright before I left the kitchen. And as I pause by the west tower, Atlas runs straight for Julian, who jumps.
Julian sinks like dead weight, and I’m tearing through the little trail that leads down to the beach, my shoes digging into leaves and sand as I approach the water.
I only debate it for a moment. Jumping in to try and save him, I mean.
Truthfully, the only feelings I have for Julian are mild respect for his character and slight irritation when I think of his time with Landon.
But Atlas? I love him like family. And I just know, with everything in me, that if Julian dies today, a part of Atlas will, too.
The water is cold. Fuckingfreezingagainst my skin as my fingers immediately go numb, and every joint hurts to move.
But I swim anyway, opening my eyes against the sting of the salt as I push myself further and further.
