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I lift my hand up. Only a tiny ache. Good. I slowly twist my torso. Rippling pain stabs my chest. I cough, and my chest reverberates in continuous spasms. I lean back, allowing my body to fall on the bed, panting with effort.
It’s been almost two weeks already. Screw this nonsense. I should’ve at least been able to walk for a few minutes without panting like a bloody dog in heat. Or was I that weak? I did neglect workouts.
The door clicks open, Mae pushes a wheeled tray of food inside. All frustrations evaporate at her radiating smile.
She hasn’t left my side ever since I came back. I can’t understand why, but I’m glad that her presence shoves Tristan and Dylan off my back. Even if it’s only for now. Tristan won’t let this pass unnoticed. I’ll think of a method to escape the asylum later. For now, Mae and the citrus that invades the room are all I need.
What does Mae smell like, anyway? Aside from her perfume’s odour, I still can’t pinpoint her exact scent. She’s not entirely Uncle Alexander’s Autumn. Or perhaps she’s Autumn and something more.
Mae places the tray of food between us, then sits on the chair opposite the bed.
As soon as we start eating, Mae’s kitten mouth takes over. She always talks about soup and nonsensical things when we eat together.
“It’s common etiquette to keep silent during meals,” I say when she keeps asking me to speak.
“Thank God I’m not some snob.” She cuts her steak, her eyes fixating me. “Actually, I still can’t understand how you’re genetically able to keep silent for such a long time.” Then she goes back to eating and endless talks that only keep her lips moving. As if chewing food isn’t enough to busy that luscious mouth.
I rip my gaze from her and nibble on my salad before I stumble to filling her mouth with my tongue.
Hell. Since when did I become a lower-half smitten idiot? Not only Mae’s mere presence tempts me to take her body and soul in all ways possible, but she’s also alluring my demons to end her life in the most gruesome way.
‘Give us her blood already, Aaron.’ Aunt whispers. ‘We need it.’
‘How long do you think you can last?’ Father says in the only composed voice he owns. ‘It’s interesting to watch.’
Salad lies forgotten, all appetite gone. My mind swirls with options to fight my demons, protect Mae, resist the overwhelming desire to have her, all while escaping the asylum.
It’s not possible. I have to lose something in between. Better my already deteriorating sanity than Mae.
My attention dart to her shiny eyes, they’ve lost some of their gleam, but they’re still as soft as when I first met her. Persistent. Alive. She’s still breathing, smiling, and talking. If I keep her, all those will fade to black. Can I actually let her go? No. I can’t sacrifice my well-being for another person. I’m not the type.
“Is that Rubens’ painting in the hallway?” Mae asks, still chewing on her steak.
I hold her curious gaze. “It is. Grandfather bought it from an underground seller.”
“But it’s stated as missing.” She looks at me as if what Grandfather did was the most insulting thing. “Why didn’t he report it to the national museum?”
“Because he liked collecting art for his own pleasure.” I pause, filling both of our glasses with red wine. “Besides, he was the one who looked for it and paid the highest price to have it.”
Her eyebrows crease together. “It’s still wrong. Why do people like you get to own exclusive art that everyone is entitled to see?”
“Because we have power and money?” I hold my wine glass close to my nose and breathe it in. The strong bouquet fills my nostrils. This wine has aged well.
“Arrogant.” Mae narrows her eyes to slits. “Do you even care about art?”
“Not really.” I take the first sip. the crisp taste pleases my throat. When I cross Mae’s gaze, she’s ogling me as if I’m the painting. I smile. “But I care about your art.”
Her eyes widen to their full stunning blueness. “Y-you do?”
I give a single nod. “If you use the art studio to draw me something, I’ll allow a rare exhibition of Rubens’ missed painting in the national museum.”
She beams but quickly masks it, clearing her throat. “I will.”
“Hmmm.” I take a sip of wine, leisurely taking my time to savour the multiple flavours. “But wouldn’t that sully your art?”
Mae purses her lips before her sarcastic voice comes out. “I’ll consider it a sacrifice for the art community.”
A deep laughter escapes my lips. God, she’s a gem. I never had fun talking with another human being ever since Uncle died. Mae gives a goofy smile back as if unable to hold it in.
