A/N This chapter is new, as of June 2021. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.
...
"What have you been reading today, Alice?—Why, thank you for asking, Lucius. I have been perusing a very interesting book called, 'How To Be A Nice Person'. You should really read it some time.—How dare you speak to me that way, you uppity chit? Don't you know who I am?—No, actually, I don't. But I know who are aren't. You aren't a very nice person. Which is really why you should read that book."
I was sitting alone at the mahogany table, for Lucius had failed to appear at dinner. I had finished my meal some time ago, but had poured out a second glass of wine and was presently providing for myself the missing conversation.
"Talking to yourself is a certain sign of madness, Miss Carroll.—Yes, Lucius, but not half so maddening as conversing with you.—It cannot be helped if your understanding is unequal to your company.—Perhaps my so-called-company is unequal to making himself understood."
I took a large gulp of wine, finishing off the second glass, then placing it a little unsteadily back on the table. The wine was proving to be rather stronger than I had anticipated, and a pleasant warm torpor was spiralling through my body. My brain seemed to be gently swaying, as if suspended between my ears on a hammock.
If my calculations were correct, today marked the passing of a whole month since the night I arrived.
Thirty-one days, and I was no closer to leaving this place. Nor was I any closer to finding anything out about the man with whom I'd been forced to cohabit all this time. The man who consumed my thoughts and haunted my dreams. All I really knew was his name, and even that without complete certainty. A whole month and my brain was still as damaged and devoid of memories as when I first awoke into this strange existence, running through the forest and fog.
I reached for the bottle and poured out another full measure.
"Who gave you permission to drink all my wine, Alice, Miss Carroll, Miss ALICE Carroll?—Doctor's orders, Lucius. Strictly medicinal use. Prescribed to help you to forget everything." I hiccupped philosophically. "Or is it, to help you forget that you have forgotten everything? ...I forget." I chuckled bleakly.
"Drinking alone is such a pitiful activity, Alice. I hope you don't intend to make a habit of it.—Oh, but I do, Lucius. Feel free to absent yourself as often as possible. The atmosphere is so...enlivened without your presence.—Insolent rag-tag! Go to your room this instant!" I regarded my distorted reflection in the wineglass, then hiccupped again. "...We probably should go to our room this instant, you know, Alice," I murmured. "But...what the hell." I took another sip.
As my one-person tête-à-tête continued, my glass seemed to empty with surprising rapidity. I reached once more for the bottle, but my hand somehow took a veering turn and knocked over my glass, causing the rim to crack upon the hard wood surface.
"Uh-oh, naughty Alice..." I admonished myself. My lips were becoming numb and my tongue felt fuzzy, too big for my mouth. "Loosh...Lucius will be cross with you.—Clumsy girl!...That'sh two glasses you owe me now.—You can ssh...send me the bill, Luciush. But you'll have to find out mm...my real name before you address it. There'z-a-good chap."
It suddenly occurred to me that I would be much more comfortable on the couch, in front of the fire. Clutching the neck of the wine bottle, I stood up, flinching as my chair crashed backwards on the ground. "Woops!" The floor had begun to inconveniently see-saw, making the trip to the couch far more hazardous than I had expected. Finally gaining my destination, I practically fell into the plush velvet squabs, somehow keeping the wine bottle upright.
"You know...Looth..iush, you sshould really gedda more sh...stable floor. And a more shhh...stable personality, while you're addit..."
I propped myself against the high rolled arm of the couch and stretched my legs along the squabs. The fire, burning low in the marble hearth, crackled softly. For a while I gazed into its flickering flames, recalling its comforting warmth when, soaked through and half-frozen, a lost and frightened girl had cut her fingers on a broken glass and christened herself Alice.
I lifted the bottle up in a mocking toast. "Happy one-month birthday, Alithsss," I said, then took a deep swig.
Still frightened, still lost, still Alice.
Mustn't ask questions, mustn't pry. Definitely mustn't go upstairs. Can't bloody leave.
"But," I muttered aloud, "I don't recall any sssh-stipulations...against gedding...blind...drunk." I tipped my head back, and drained the bottle to the dregs, spilling a quantity down my chin and onto my neck and throat.
The chandelier above me appeared to be swaying precariously, so I closed my eyes, only to discover that the hammock holding my brain had turned into a fast-spinning merry-go-round.
"Ugh...shhhtupid girl." I didn't know if I was being me, or Alice, or Lucius. "Ssshtupid, brain-damaged idiot."
I hiccupped again, but this time it sounded more like a sob.
"He hates you..." I could feel wet warmth sliding down my cheeks. "...I hate you."
I was just so sick and tired of it. So...so very tired. I curled over onto my side, screwing my eyelids more firmly shut. I wished I had gone upstairs to bed, when my body still understood which way was vertical.
But even the darkness behind my eyelids was moving, swarming and swinging and reeling and my stomach had started churning horribly, bile forcing its way up my throat. I suddenly knew with complete certainty that I was going to throw up. The thought crossed my mind that Lucius wouldn't be too happy if I vomited all over his velvet couch. Better do it on the wooden floor.
"Well, well, my dear. Having a little pity-party, are we?"
I leaned over the edge of the squab and was violently sick on a pair of exquisitely-made patent-leather shoes.
"It'sh...Alith...Alithsh's birthday," I mumbled. Then I turned over and went promptly to sleep.
...
I woke the next morning to the wafting scent of strong coffee. My neck was stiff, my head was thudding, and I was cold. I realised I was still in the dining room, lying on the velvet couch where I had fallen asleep (or, perhaps more accurately, fallen into a drunken stupour) last night.
Experimentally, I tried opening my eyes, and was rewarded by a splitting pain, forcing a groan from my mouth. I blindly buried my head in the darkest corner of the couch.
"Ah, the little inebriate awakens," said a silken voice from somewhere behind me. I heard the familiar click of booted feet crossing polished flooring, then felt the squabs furrow with the weight of a person sitting down by my legs. "Here, Alice. Drink this."
I vaguely waved away whatever was being offered, my head still firmly burrowed in cushioned velvet. But the wrist of my waving arm was arrested by a strong hand, and I found myself being unceremoniously hauled upright by it.
I scowled resentfully through my tangled hair at Lucius's blurry figure. "I don't want coffee," I croaked, then smacked my lips at the terrible taste in my bone-dry mouth. My stomach heaved at the bare notion of trying to swallow anything.
"It isn't coffee." His fingers pushed aside the frizzled snag of curls, tucking it behind my ear in an unexpectedly gentle manner. Then he pressed a tumbler into my hand, and guided it up to my mouth. Too feeble to bother resisting, I took a sip, choked on its bitter flavour, coughed, retched, and wondered which part of the man I was going to be sick on this time. But the concoction miraculously stayed down, and moments later the painful thudding in my head began to abate.
Convinced, I took another, bigger gulp, wincing at the bitterness, but eager for more relief. Seconds later the awful taste in my mouth disappeared, and clarity was restored to my blurred vision. Blinking, I found myself pretty much staring straight up Lucius's perfect aquiline nose. I hadn't been so close to him since the altercation on the third floor, and was instantly aware of his solid body pressing against my legs, the intricate scent of his cologne, the formidable fact of his presence.
His expression was rather daunting.
"Thank you," I said meekly, surprised at this curiously benevolent gesture.
"Yes, well, we certainly don't want a repeat of last night's embarrassing little episode, do we?"
Oh, Alice, you arrant fool. He doesn't care about you, he cares about the state of his flooring.
Clearly, on his list of priorities, I figured lower than the ground he walked on.
Lucius's eyebrows were slanting enquiringly at me, as if awaiting an apology, and I had the distinct feeling that I wouldn't be going anywhere until I offered one up. "I'm sorry for ruining your obviously-extremely-expensive shoes," I muttered, a sullen sarcasm fraying the corners of my words.
"I cannot profess to any great transports of surprise at your...lack of decorum," he drawled in that haughty way he assumed whenever displeased by my tone. "It was, however, a regrettable waste of a very fine vintage."
I bit my lip. Why did he always have to be so cold?
"I was bored," I retorted bluntly.
"I see..." His lip curled into a sneer. "Miss me, did you?"
"No, I didn't miss you," I hissed, my eyes prickling hotly, angry and hurt that the cruel dart of his sarcasm. "I miss...I miss ME! I'm just s-so...lost, and so... so..." I wouldn't say the word. Lonely. I couldn't bear for him to mock my pain. "You don't know—how can you?—what it's like, to only know one single per-person, in the whole world!" I gulped, but couldn't stop the words and tears from bursting out at the same time: "A-a-and that one person hates you!"
Lucius observed my tears unsympathetically, then a sardonic smile flickered across his lips. "Try having the whole world hate you, my dear," he said.
"Why does the whole world hate you?" It was barely a whisper, for I knew the question was prohibited. But I was too depleted by loneliness not to try to breach his glacial exterior, in search of a human hidden somewhere inside. "Can't you...if you just tried to t-talk to me—tell me about yourself—maybe we could...maybe it would...help..." my words withered away at his changing expression. His eyes seemed momentarily to blaze with—was it anger? Or something else?—then settled into a molten glimmer, while the lines of his face assumed a suave smile that I wasn't entirely sure I trusted.
He leaned fractionally down, causing my pulse to spark into flurrying activity. "You really think you can help me, Alice?" His voice was strangely soft and caressing.
A prickling blush crept up over my wet cheek. "I just thought...if there was something in your p-past, something painful or—or difficult or... it might be good for you, to talk about it with someone..."
"And what leads you to presume there has been something painful or difficult in my past?"
"...I suppose because, you're always...always so..."
"Always so—what, my dear?"
I swallowed nervously. I detected treachery in the silkiness of his tone, and now wished I had never spoken. "I don't know," I replied, brushing away my tears with my sleeve. "Forget I said anything."
I straightened, intending to get up, but found my way barred by his suddenly-extended forearm, blocking me in between his body and the arm of the couch.
"Oh, no, Alice," he murmured, in that same gently-thrumming voice. "You brought up the subject, so let us continue it. You think I'm...bitter? Is that the adjective you were about to ascribe to me?"
Not quite daring to meet his eyes, I simply nodded.
"And, were I to confide in you, you imagine it will alleviate this, er, affliction, with which you see fit to diagnose me?"
I could sense the poison seeping through his words, but it was too late—literally, physically—to back out. With no option but to double down, I steeled myself to meet his gaze. "Yes," I said, as firmly as I could. "I do believe it would help you."
His shoulders moved slightly, his hand smoothly sliding off the couch-arm to rest upon my upper thigh. My whole body stiffened, confused, terrified, electrified at this unexpected touch. The heat of his palm seemed to scorch through the gauzy material of my robe. His warm breath ghosted over the V of my neckline, raising instant goosebumps upon my skin.
I stared up at him, desperately trying to read the meaning in his glowing eyes. I was afraid he could hear the wild beating of my heart. My eyes were drawn down to his beguiling smile.
For one stupid moment, I wondered if it were genuine. Stupidly wondered if he was finally thawing to me.
"Believe me, Alice," he murmured in that same soft, tender tone, "all nine circles of hell will freeze over, before I feel the slightest need to tell you anything about my past, so much as what I had for breakfast yesterday." His smile never once wavered, his gaze never once deviated. "Now, my dear. Why don't you run along and take a bath? You rather strongly smell like a tavern back-wall of a Sunday morning."
It took several seconds for his words to fully sink in. When they did, I could see the satisfaction in his eyes at my humiliation and hurt. I elbowed his chest, pushing him away from me. Wriggling out from under his arm, I sprang to my feet, rounding on him. He was sitting in a maddeningly elegant aspect, his charming smile replaced by a hard, taunting sneer.
"You are bitter and twisted," I hissed at him, "and, frankly, I'm not surprised the whole world hates you!" Then I all but ran from him, afraid that I might enkindle his rage with my words. But I needn't have worried. I could hear his mocking chuckle before I reached the door.
I slammed it as hard as I could behind me.