Wishing Well(67)

Apparently, Meadow was working towards a journalism degree but hadn’t yet made it past the basic courses. Luckily, she’d managed to find a program that taught in both English and German, since she was as frustrated with the language barrier over there as I was with two particular men at the hotel.

According to her, mom was doing well in her new marriage and the man she’d married was halfway decent, but had no sense of humor to speak of. It was a far cry to who our father had been, but dad had been one in a million.

Hitting reply, I sent Meadow a response promising her I’d stay in touch on a more frequent basis. My hands must have hovered over the keys as I made my decision whether I’d be staying at Wishing Well or not. If it had been about Vincent alone, I would have begged my sister to buy me the next plane ticket to Germany, but I had Maurice to consider.

I couldn’t leave him to waste away beneath the abuse of his older brother. Not after the moment we shared today while eating lunch. Not after I’d seen for a few minutes at least that he had the potential to lead a normal life.

So instead of begging to be rescued, I told my sister how happy I was in my new job and that I’d write to her again in a week.

The day moved quickly after that, the sun setting on the horizon as I let myself into the garden of the hotel through the back employee gate. Seeing that it was six, I made my way to the kitchen to fetch Maurice’s dinner. Except when I arrived, I had two trays given to me on a metal courier cart and I glanced up at the kitchen manager in confusion. He glared back, too busy to politely explain.

“Vincent said two meals should be ready.” Having barked out the simple sentence, he stormed off to reprimand one of the cooks who was prepping food behind the line.

It didn’t take long for me to reach Maurice’s basement suite, or for me to find him in the same room as usual. “Dinnertime,” I announced.

The typical tapping of his fingers over a keyboard stopped immediately, his eyes flicking up, a forced smile stretching his lips. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the odd expression. Pushing the cart to the table, I asked, “Were you the one who ordered two meals?”

Nodding his head once, he answered, “I didn’t want you to be hungry.”

Praising him, I said, “That was very considerate of you, Maurice. Thank you.”

He responded in such a way that the words sounded foreign on his tongue. “You’re welcome.”

“Would you like to eat now?” I asked.

Cutting his head sharply to the left, he kept his eyes pinned on me. “Not yet.”

“Okay,” I said, dragging the word out, “what would you like to do instead?”

Already knowing the answer to my question, I waited for him to tell me he wanted to fuck. Except, he didn’t...

“Would you like to take a tour of my home?”

If I hadn’t been holding on to the handle of the push cart, I would have fallen over. “Um, sure,” I answered meekly, surprise weakening my voice.

Maurice must have noticed the odd reaction because his nostrils flared with anger, his shoulders hunching together as his eyes flicked to the computer screen. “Forget it,” he barked.

Shit...

“I’m sorry for looking like I didn’t want to walk around, it’s just that you surprised me with the suggestion.”

Shrugging a broad shoulder as if to dismiss what I said, anger rolled behind his startling green eyes. I refused to give up. “What made you think to give me a tour?”

His jaw ticked, uncertainty a shadow beneath his eyes. “The internet,” he practically whispered. “I looked it up and it said that friends show friends around their house.”

My heart shattered into a million fucking pieces. He was actually researching how to be normal. Gathering myself back together, I focused on a word that he’d said as I approached him. He refused to look up at me, but I stood next to him regardless. With a soft voice, I asked, “Am I your friend, Maurice?”

His gaze darted up to my face and back to his screen, pink darkening his cheeks. “Yes.”

I couldn’t help my smile. “Then give me the tour.”

Reluctantly, he stood from his seat and offered me his hand. I took it, squeezing his fingers between mine as he led me from the room. I should have known the tour wouldn’t be normal. Waking down the halls, he pushed open every door we passed saying, “Room. Another room. Another room. Bathroom. Another room. Room with weights. Therapy room. Room.”

We reached the last door, “Room with bed.” He tugged me inside.

I should have known we’d end up here. It occurred to me that Maurice wasn’t quite accurate on his definition of ‘friend.’

Glancing around the dark room, I could only see by the flickering light of candle sconces on the wall. There wasn’t much furniture to be found, just a giant bed positioned in the center of a wall, the mattress covered in black sheets. Unlike the hallway floors of dark marble, his bedroom floor was a thick, dark carpet. No wonder he spent so much time in the yellow room, the rest of this place felt like a large coffin.

Before I could return my attention to him, he was dragging me deeper inside to shove me down on the mattress. He started to crawl over me, but I stopped him by placing my hands on his strong shoulders. Almost immediately, his expression twisted with rejection, but I spoke before he could react. “Can we try a new way of ...”