Chapter 7 - Down on the horizon
Living in courts and dark alleys for the last recognisable parts of his life had made his sleep sensitive for light. As soon as the sun had come out he and his sister were visible, which means to get up with the giant fire ball on the sky. So even now the first rays of clear sunlight, it should be one of the brighter days in London, started to tickle in his nose as soon as they reached him. Zexion drifted up from a heavy and deep sleep. Slowly he opened his eyes and again claimed on the few precious moments of a blurry world where nothing existed. It was a little difficult to sit up straight in the deep and soft blankets.
"Ouch-..." He whimpered and pulled his hand fast to his body. An examination of his right wrist exposed a huge dark blue and violet bruise with two deep fleshy wounds over the injured vein. It looked really bad and as soon as he realized that it started to throb painfully. His face turned into a painful mask and he took a look around.
Demyx lay down next to him with a peaceful look on his features. He'd snuggled himself into the deep cushions and was obviously dead to the world. Or just dead in general like Zexion thought. He doesn't breath. The faint light of the beginning day that had woken him up was blocked by the heavy woollen curtains of the vast and luxurious bedroom. If the curtains wouldn't be in place the morning light would exactly shine on the bed... was it true that vampires turned into ash as soon as they got hit by sunlight?
Zexion hesitated. If he could pull the curtains back fast enough he would burn the vampire to ash. He would be free and out of his contract with no enemies behind him and a vast new future. Sure he felt sorry for Mireille and Artur, but he barely knew those people. And besides they were old and with the things left in the house richer than they could ever spend all the money in their remaining life. He would never ever have to share his blood with that monster.
Zexion just barely remembered last night. Until the point where he watched the two watery figures dancing everything was all right. But from that point on it was just a huge blur of pictures. As if he remembered a story he'd listened to a long time ago. He had been there, but just as a out stander, a observing third party which took no active role in the actions.
As silently as he could manage he crawled out of the bed and tip toed to the huge window, which reached up until under the roof. With beating heart he grabbed one of the curtains and drew one last look back at the sleeping figure. A tiny little 'sorry' crossed his mind, yet he didn't know if he apologized on Mireille and Artur or on Demyx.
He shut his eyes and pulled.
Like the scared kid he was he just opened one eye and glanced suspiciously at the bed. It was empty. With and exasperated sigh he exhaled, the breath he'd hold, and turned.
Suddenly he inhaled all the air sharply again which made a funny whistling sound in the utter silence of the room. Demyx stood behind him and now Zexion faced the stone like figure which looked down on him like the grim judge at world's end. Zexion's heart pounded so hart and fast he could feel it in the back of his eyes. The vampires features were unreadable, his look and eyes cold and Zexion suddenly felt very very small.
"This is the second time you tried to kill me." Demyx finally broke the tensed silence. Zexion couldn't help his lips started trembling with fear. "I won't blame you for it. You are a human and you acted to save your life." Again a heavy silence settled over the two. Zexion felt unable to move under the adamant gaze of the vampire.
"As you see sunlight can not kill me," he spoke low and in a whisper, though very clear to make sure Zexion got every word he said. "You remember how I told you about the different kinds of vampires? My kind can't be killed by the sun unless I'm not under the influence of a poison or a magical spell. Or if I'm not in need of blood." The sunlight crept further over the move less figures of vampire and child. Zexion barely registered how awfully pale Demyx looked in the daylight. His features were firm for once and his eyes glowed somewhat in their holes. "The reason I prefer the night is that it is for once very exhausting for me to wander around under the sun. And for the second reason it is that my eyes are very sensitive. That sensitive that bright sunlight would call big pain forth, which I'm not eager to meet." With a rapid gesture, way to fast for Zexion's eyes to follow, he pulled the second curtain away and the two were now bathed in the young light of the early morning.
"Give me your wrist," Demyx sighed as he said this and finally released the boy out of his glare, Zexion's breathing was now abrupt and fast, but nonetheless the rose his right arm until Demyx took it into his cool hand. "I'm very sorry about this," he whispered, again not taking his eyes from Zexion's purple ones. "I should've dealt with that yesterday night, but I fear I was too distracted. My apologizes." He covered the wound with his left hand and a strange prickling feeling crawled over Zexion's skin. As soon as the hand was taken away only a light blue little bruise told from the previous injury.
"Now go down into the kitchen. Madam Mireille had surely prepared a breakfast for you already."
"My, my little plum! You know if you won't eat your eggs and rolls like I told you you have to suffer until dinner. And that will be in 10 hours, so you better hurry or your egg'll become cold. And there's nearly nothing worse as a cold breakfast egg." Against this logic born from generations of caring mother's and sisters was no cure found, so Zexion took his spoon and started to peel the shell from his egg.
"Zexion?" as the purple haired boy looked up he saw Artur standing next to the table, slightly leaning down to him. "After you're done with your work considering helping Madam Mireille in the household I want you to get properly dressed and washed." Artur spoke rarely and when he spoke he spoke in a cultivated tone and a low voice. Although his voice seemed to be low it was very powerful in his ears and full of hidden strength. From the first day Zexion'd heard that voice he was in fear of the moment when it would be actually rose it against him in a scream.
"Why, Mister Artur?"
"Your house teacher has an announcement for today's evening. The first basic lessons in reading and writing. Because we don't have a better room you'll be taught in the saloon." He waited politely until Zexion showed his understanding in a curt nod and then turned away to whatever his duties were in the morning.
As he entered the vast salon he was greeted by a stern face, whose deep crinkles showed the age of the man. The remaining whit hair on the head was as exactly accurate as the big beard.
"You have to be Zexion. I'm Mr. Brown. Sit down and we can begin." The way he spoke to him, as if he was an low insect, and the bad feeling in his gut told him that he wouldn't enjoy learning to read like he'd thought he would.
Demyx always slept very lightly during the daytime. Of course depending on his nightly actions, but after the incident during the sunrise some part of his subconsciousness kept the sounds of the house in check. And as soon as he heard the swirling sound of a fast moved wooden object, followed by a faint whimper from down the salon something in him triggered and he rushed, despite the painful brightness of the whole house, down the stairs and into the salon.
"What is going on here?" He demanded with furious voice, the neatly decorated wings of the door swinging opened on its own. In the salon itself he found Zexion sitting on a chair at the great dinner table, while a man stiffly stood next to him. He could tell from Zexion's forbearing features that something really big must be bothering him.
"Master Coerdu la Quaorix I assume?" The older man asked with an oily voice. Demyx knew how to handle those types. He folded his arms and stood on the other side of Zexion, utterly unimpressed by the fact that he was merely dressed in more than a half open white shirt and a light black pair of pants. Not to speak from the mass of his hair.
"I won't repeat myself, Mr. Brown." Mr. Brown sighed dramatically at that with the attitude of a man who talked to someone he thought of understanding his problems.
"I fear your servant is not as willing to learn as I thought, my lord." Demyx just rose a single eyebrow and glanced down at Zexion. The boy wore a stubborn expression as if he wanted himself to prevent from crying.
"He refuses to write with the right hand, my lord. Even after I lectured him that the devil sits in the left hand he still had tried to switch the pen when I looked away curtly." Mr. Brown told it as if he knew which punishment would come down on Zexion now.
"Zexion, why won't you right with the right hand?" Demyx asked.
"Because it's still hurt, Master Demyx," Zexion mumbled, still staring at the edge of the table.
"Show me your hand," Demyx demanded. Zexion rose his right hand, the inner side up. There was still the bandage that covered the wound from the knife Bill had torn through his hand. Not even Demyx could've healed it completely. There was even a dark spot under the white linen.
"And know show me your other hand Zexion." Zexion slowly rose the left hand while retreating the right one. "Show me the inside of the hand, Zexion." Across the rosy flesh of the hand was a bright red stripe visible.
"Mr. Brown, you have 30 seconds to leave my house and never come back again."
"My lord?"
"I think I already said I don't like to repeat myself, Mr. Brown. 25 seconds," Demyx answered him while he still stared at Zexion's hand. Mr. Brown tightened himself, gathered his belongings in a little hurry and was out of the door. Zexion wondered if his instinct of preservation hat told Mr. Brown to leave that fast.
As soon as the front door got shot Demyx relaxed and sighed heavy, he knelt down to Zexion who still refused to stare at something different than the table. A little tear floated down his flushed cheek.
"Zexion?" Demyx asked carefully but he got no response so he tried another tactic. "It's not a bad thing to be left-handed. My brother's too. He got always his left hand bound on his back in school but today he paints with both hands." Zexion nodded absently but Demyx knew he didn't really pay attention to him.
"I thought finally learning to read would be fun," Demyx heard the boy finally whispering.
"Aw, come here," he pulled Zexion to his breast and ruffled the violet shining hair lightly. "One stupid teacher shouldn't scare you for the rest of your lifetime. I promise you, you'll once love books more than anything else. Next time I'll make sure to hire a better teacher. I'm really sorry he scared you that hard. Ok?" He felt the tiny head nodding against his breast. "But why haven't you fought back against him? You're much stronger than that crammer, I know that."
It took some seconds for Zexion finally to answer and Demyx saw just the tiny little scared child behind those words. "I feared you'd get mad at me. For not working hard enough."
Demyx had to gulp hard at this and another long sigh escaped his lungs. "Oh, Zexion! How could I be mad at you for defending yourself? I'm not even mad at you for this morning. You did what every human would do and that shows me that I took some person with character under my service. Come on, let's go and find Mireille. She should have some ice and a balm for your hand." with that he stood up and took Zexion's hand and they made their way out of the salon.
"She should be in the garden, I think," Demyx said and hummed softly. Zexion had caught himself so far, god knows he'd worse incidents behind him, but it was such a surprise. He once heard his mother talking about shock and that you can't stop crying. He really liked it how Demyx had kicked the teacher out.
The garden was a tiny spot of green surrounded by the grey houses of London. A door lead from the kitchen onto a beautiful patio, which was framed by wild wine that grew on dark wooden pillars framing the stony ground. Behind the patio followed a deep pond with brightly coloured goldfish in it to the left and a neat grassy lane to the right. And the area behind those were occupied by Madam Mireille and her self grown vegetables and flowers.
As soon as they stepped out of the kitchen onto the red stones of the patio Demyx shut his eyes fast with a irritated tone, coming from the back of his throat. Zexion observed his figure in the bright sunlight. His skin seemed awfully pale, nearly chalk white, his lips appeared a faint blue and he could see the actual haircut he wore. The sides were cut short, while the hair on top of his scalp grew long so it could cover up the shorter parts.
"Madam Mireille?" He called out. "Could you come here for a moment, please?" The bushes parted and spat the tiny figure of Madam Mireille out, who tried to clean her hands from dirt with an equally dirty rag. Her normally neatly ordered grey hair was now out of order and a few branches had gathered in the strands.
"Master Demyx! Inside!" Was the first thing she shrieked as she saw her master in the bright sunlight, holding Zexion's comparable small hand. "How could you go out into the garden. Calling me from the kitchen would've been equally fine!"
Demyx smiled warmly as he rubbed his eyes finally back in the kitchen. Zexion could've sward he saw red streaks rubbed away from under the sea-green-blue-constantly-changing eyes of the vampire. Very dark red...
"Mireille, I fear Mr. Brown didn't turn out as qualified as we thought. Obviously he couldn't bear the fact that dear Zexion here is left-handed." Demyx had equally obviously found his good mood back and appeared to be highly amused over Madam Mireille.
"I know that." She answered him. "I mean, I know he's left-handed, but I haven't said anything. It would've been too late after all to change it. He's too- OH MY!" Again a bone shacking shriek tore through the kitchen as Demyx turned Zexion's injured left hand so the tiny little lady could see the angry red bruise.
Madam Mireille still gaped as Demyx announced with a smile, "I think I can leave things like that. I'll go back to my chambers now." And with that he was gone.
"Oh my!" This was her favourite word of horror. "My! My dear little plum! How could he! I hope he got from Master Demyx what he deserves! If he ever shows up in this house again he'll wish he would've never been born!" She swore a little more as she tore some ice from the basement and a balm from one of the cupboards.
"Oh, Zexion you don't have to cry."
"I haven't cried," but his lie wasn't very satisfying as he rubbed his swollen eyes at the same moment.
"Oh, little plum, I bet it was so astonishing. There's no shame to cry when you're appealed by sudden hurt. We can handle things much better if we're prepared. Sudden violence is just frightening."
As Zexion lay in his bed at night he couldn't get sleep fro hours. The dinner was the first one when Demyx had joined them. Mostly he and Artur talked about business things and sometimes he exchanged some warm words with Madam Mireille. It was a cheerful and amicable atmosphere over the table and Zexion had felt like an intruder with his dark mood. The meal had been the most luxurious things he'd ever eaten. Red meat (somewhere he'd heard that it should be good for the blood) had always been a piece of unreachable extravagance for his family. After the meal Demyx and Artur had vanished into the office to go through some papers which should be helpful for Demyx when he got to the harbour.
Now Zexion heard him leaving the house. He even heard the little hum on the vampires tongue as he walked through the entrance hall. The front door closed and the house was silent again. Spare for the sobs that tore their way uncontrolled through Zexion's mouth.
In his tiny little tortured soul took a battle place.
He felt so warm and welcome here. It was as if all the years of sorrow and fear and hunger and pain finally had come to a salvation. He had gone through so much. The depletion of his family as his father had died when he was 4 years old. The years with his mother struggling to keep them alive. The loss of that cornerstone of his life. After that the years of insecurity and pursuance with only his sister. And her murder. Many people would've given in to that, but not he. And now he was offered so much warmth, so much love, so much home. And yet he couldn't help than to feel sick at this. This wasn't his family, this was just a fake. Warm people gathered by cold monster who could just pretend feelings with its dead heart.
He had to admit that he really had felt save for the first time after his sister had died as Demyx had hugged him to offer him some comfort. His chest had been cushy cool, the right thing for his flushed face.
He was just a lonely little human that struggled with his believes and his feelings. Aren't we all like that? For poor Zexion it wouldn't be the last night that he fell asleep with tears in his eyes.
I hope that the link's working now http:// kaoru-kina. deviantart. com/ art/ The-narrow-path-between-91587354
Ah, and the Con-season's going to start. I'm excited to finally work on my cosplays again. It's always a stressy but also funny and joyfull work.