Three: Attraction

Narcissus

'Awake,' I grunt at him as a mixture between a statement and a question. We pause. I can tell I'm the one who's going to have to fill the silence: even in the pain and darkness, he must be awed by my presence.

'There's a physician on his way to look at you.'

He still doesn't say thank you – does he have any idea how much a physician costs? Well, how much the physician should cost – he, like basically everyone else is passionately in love with me. Being me pays well. People will, quite literally, pay for my company. Everyone apart from this lunatic it seems.

I'm still reeling at the fact that said lunatic is lying in my bed. I ask a simple stable hand to do onesimple job – get him from the boat to the house – discreetly mind you – and he dumps the damn child in my bloody bed. Six other rooms in this mansion, and he doesn't have the sense to use one of them. "The beds weren't made up yet" he says, "I had to get him somewhere comfortable – he was screaming." Screaming my arse, there's seawater in the effing sheets! And, not to be an ungracious host or anything, but the child bloody stinks! The ocean must have been his first bath in months.

All now in my. Bloody. Bed.

Ugh.

My face of course, remains its perfect, placid mask. It would be distasteful to let my charm slip after I've had a lifetime of practice, after all.

'There's water if you want it.' I motion to the cup next to his bed.

He shakes his head -

'Broken fucking limbs', he sounds parched and hoarse.

'Yeah,' I just agree; I don't want the boy thinking I'm dumb or something. Although by the look he's giving me I'm guessing he thinks I'm some sadist who loves his pain. For the record I'm not, and I'm especially not when it's in my house and he probably wants to throw up again just to spite me.

Icarus

Okay, so this guy might be human but he's still definitely a sadist.

"There's water if you want it."

Hah, of course I want it! But I can't get it can I?

Only way that's gonna happen is if I beg him to bring it to me, like a little baby being fed. Never. I don't need to sink any lower.

I keep glaring at him. Despite wanting to just pass out and die already, I use the energy I have left to ask,

'Where is this place?'

'My estate,' he snaps quickly, returning my glare with cold indifferent eyes.

The man turns away, as if he's already lost interest in me. He paces the room. There's nice stuff everywhere. This guy seems well off. Not completely rolling in drachmae like royalty, but the decor and fabric are more than Dad and I ever had, even before our tower prison. There's a miniature statue in the corner, and through the shadows I can just make out a face as chiselled as my captor's. Gods this guy is self-obsessed.

Suddenly I feel angry. This egotistical bastard gets everything, wealth, beauty, and freedom. But my Dad, the most generous and hard-working man on this whole flat earth, he tries to do something good and gets stuck as a slave to a rotten king. It's not fair!

The man keeps pacing, back and forth, making me dizzy...

'Could you stop... you're gonna make me sick...'

He stops abruptly. I didn't think he'd listen.

'Please don't.' He states through gritted teeth.

Hm. Fancy that, he's afraid of me getting his place ruined. I'm tempted to think of the grossest, most sickening things just to get revenge. It's not like I've got any better ideas.

'Don't you dare.' He threatens, like he's read my mind,

'Or you're out on the street. I didn't have to do this, and I'm about this close,' he holds his fingers together in a pinch, 'from putting an end to you myself.'

'Great. Please do.'

His face twitches. It's been like watching a marble statue talk so far, stone face barely letting out the poisoned words coming through his lips.

'I saved your life. Don't I at least get a thank you?'

No! Because…

Because…

Um…

…he actually has a point. I mean he is a bit of a blunt nail, but now I know he's not a sea imp, and he doesn't seem related to Minos at all… maybe I should be grateful. Dad would me telling me off for bad manners right about now. But Dad's not here. He didn't try to save me.

He didn't want me.

I don't blame him, I've always been trouble. My face feels more tense, everything curled in on itself.

I'm not in the mood to be grateful.

'You try losing everything then being dragged back from the edge of Elysium. See how grateful you are.' I spit back at him. It's like I want him to hate me. The first person other than Dad and guards I've spoken to in gods know how long… and its like I'm screwing it up on purpose.

'Haha, dear child...'

He strides over to the small table beside the bed and picks up the water. Before I know it he's shoved the kylix to my lips. It hits my teeth with a painful 'clank' and the water splashes over the rim and all over my bare chest. It's simultaneously soothing and painful.

'Only heroes get to Elysium. You're just a stupid little boy.'

As soon as I've managed to get one desperate gulp of that sweet sweet water, he's yanked the cup away. I'm left gulping after it, probably looking like a fish.

Narcissus

I swear I was trying to help him, I just don't know how to talk to people that aren't head over heels in love with me. That just doesn't happen – not ever. If anything, it's more of a sign of the child's insanity.

Maybe it's time to work my charms.

I pose by the window, surreptitiously of course. Hands on my waist – that's the best way to show off the curve of your biceps–

lover boy taught me that –

Shut up! Now isn't the time and I can't deal with the heartbreak. He wouldn't even impart his name to my lips…

The standing doesn't seem to work so I bend down and restring my sandals – epic poetry has been written on the subject of my derriere; it's time the loon started writing.

I stand up, turn and flash my winning smile. No literally, it's won prizes.

And…

The kid's not even glancing in my direction, staring petulantly at the ceiling instead. There is nothing up there more interesting than the artwork standing right in front of him! The bloody cheek!

…It almost occurs to me that it is somewhat strange I am so hung up on this… but why shouldn't I be? His lack of attraction is clearly out of the norm. How dare he disconcert me so! He is in the wrong. Still, what did I expect from someone who is so obviously out of his mind?

At this point, voices and footsteps float from the courtyard. The physician has arrived and is ushered into the room by my latest slave girl, a pretty little thing herself. I've only had her for about year and a half now; I'm a bit careless with them so they have to be replaced every now and again. The physician kneels, kisses the sandal I've just restrung, lips lingering. I just smirk: now this is a proper demonstration of how to behave in my presence. Let the boy watch and learn.

He gets up, almost drooling like a new found puppy-

'He's the best physician around,' I tell the child,

'As if you could believe it; look at him', I laugh. The boy stares at the physician who continues to stare at me.

'Patient, physician – physician, patient,' I remind the man.

He continues to stare at me. Okay, this is where it gets old. I give a pointed glare and at long last he begins to move at least.

'Sir, uh Narcissus, my lord, you… I, er… this is the –'

He stutters incomprehensibly until I finally lose my patience. I shove him towards the boy, screaming at him to do the effing job.

He does, and after what feels like an age, the physician comes back to me with his diagnosis. It turns out most of the limbs are actually dislocated, if not sprained, which is good I suppose. So, the man just shoves them back in. Oh, how the boy screams at that! I'm quite surprised he's survived with King Minos for so long – he wasn't built for pain.

Pathetic.

Icarus

What… was that?

Through all the gut wrenching agony, the gross feel of joints crushing together and bones locking back into place, screaming for what felt like the nine millionth time today –

– his posing and muscles and toothy grin – not to mention an ass that could make all the gods of Olympus fall...

Ahem.

I'm not gonna lie. That was… weird. Pretty… but weird. After a while I just decided to look up, it was easier to not think about anything that way.

What really bothers me though, is the way other people are around him. The girl who shoved the physician in the room was looking at the floor like I was looking at the ceiling. It's almost like she was scared to even glance up, and ran out as quick as she came in. I know that feeling; she could sense danger and wanted out. Her cheeks were all red, bit like her hair.

The physician stood totally still, looking pretty out of it. Hypnotised. As soon as he stepped into the room his eyes had a life of their own, seeking, then pouncing on his face. What happened next was even weirder. The physician bent over and actually pressed his lips against, he kissed, the guy's foot. The biggest act of surrender, his mouth, the thing that forms your words and makes your thoughts in the world, against a crap covered foot. The physician must think of this man like a god.

Did he have some sort of spell on him?

Now I'm lying here sore, swollen, bruised, but at least I'm together again. I can't move without flinching, but I guess it'll get better.

He's the last one in here, the owner of the estate, my captor...

My saviour?

The physician was kicked out just moments ago (after more foot kissing – possibly more gross to watch than feeling my limbs being put back).

'I suppose I should leave you to rest. Enjoy my bed for now, you won't be there long.'

He starts to walk out, perfectly calm, a slithery smirk on his face. But it doesn't make me as angry as before. Maybe because it's not as scornful as before... maybe.

'Wait.'

The words leave my lips before I even know. He stops, a shadow in the dim sunset.

'I... I guess... thanks. Thank you I mean. For saving me.'

'You're welcome.'

He turns away completely, gone. Is it just me, or did I hear a smile in his voice?

Whatever. Why do I care?

I just wanna sleep...

Narcissus

I've cracked him – he cannot be completely insane and soon he shall love me and then it'll be so much easier to make him do what I want! Not that I'm entirely sure what that actually is yet… still, I'll figure something out for this new blip in my life. He might make a good serving boy, the grateful ones always do. I will admit though, it is strangely refreshing to see someone who doesn't already bend to my every whim. Almost…exhilarating, like the hunt of some rare beast. I'll be honest, the usual crowd have been like dull sheep for years. At least the boy offers some mild entertainment.

Over the course of the days, I keep going back to check on him. I don't know why, I had other, marginally more important plans these past few weeks. Maybe because he makes my head pound. Since the physician's visit, he's been moved to his own quarters, not that he'd notice or be thankful; he's perpetually in and out of consciousness, never fully awake enough to hold a real conversation. Constantly fitful, keeps thrashing about and crying out in his sleep. It's all I can do not to tie him down to the bed frame, he near falls out of it half the time. My breath inexplicably catches in those moments, watching him plummet all over again seems like an unnecessary sadness to bear witness to. Even if it is only two feet to the ground. As I find myself at the doorway more and more, a strange sense of investment overtakes me – my hands almost care enough to reach for his broken form, place it back in the centre of the mattress where it will nevertheless continue thrashing until the night is done. However, that moment never comes. The sorrow that torments his features always clears so abruptly, just before the drop, as if some spirit warned him of his impending doom, and he gives up his tantrum if only to save himself the pain.

There is some improvement upon rest though, his blessed "dad" gone. Although he seems plagued by some demon, at least he's more of a man.

It's one of those evenings. A quiet one, I only pause by the doorway briefly to check he is truly asleep. Though I have found his presence somewhat entertaining, there are far more important matters to attend to. I call the newest serving girl in and she stands stammering at my feet. I grab her chin, gently of course, and pull it up so her wavering eyes meet mine.

'I'm going out to – ' I pause, or rather, my tongue does so for me.

'Look after him: if he wakes, make sure he is bathed, fed, and clothed. Do everything he wants, make sure he is content; I don't want to be bothered by his cries again today.'

She nods.

'What do you say?' I ask her.

'Yes sir.'

'If you do then I may just make you very happy…' I trail off, smirking, and she blushes despite herself. See, they can't help loving me, even when they try.

'Send me word when he's up,' I order and abruptly leave; I can feel her watching me. Even the boy, I'm sure, is thinking of me in his dream state.

Poor broken kid. He's not special though; that's the dull truth with so many offspring. Maybe it began at the root, with the gods those on earth worship. Born from Titan parents who wanted their progenies dead from the get-go, Olympians, for all their power, spend their endless childhoods waging war on petty claims, biting and fighting each other for what little inheritance and worship humans can give. And the toys pray to the children for favour and mercy. What chance could any of us stand? Gods or mortals, of course none of our parents could actually waste their breath caring for us. Every one of us is a worthless generation.