Your Cup Of Absinthe (M X M)

Chapter 2

The bitter taste of black liquorice was something I never understood the appeal of; it was a nasty excuse for a sweet.

Makhi used to enjoy them and always bought a piece from the corner shop when he could. Those memories carried me throughout my tasks in the mansion.

My job was simple; I helped the boy cook, pick out his clothes, arrange his schedule, manage his mail, pay his bills, and make his tea. The easier tasks, such as his finances, bored me. His wardrobe was so drab, formal, and stiff that I could not even pull a fun outfit from his collection. However, I expected that. What I did not expect was picking out books for him to read and sitting by the fireplace while he read them.

I knew I had to accompany him whenever he went out because of his poor eyesight in the daytime. Maybe it was a blessing that the afternoon's lustre was dimmed by a thick fog that rolled from the marsh like a wool blanket.

"Shite, can't see nothing now," I grumbled. I stood by with a lamp illuminating the garden for Loukas to work in.

Wasn't he wealthy enough to afford a gardener?

"Um . . . I guess I have to hurry after I care for Momm—Mother's marigolds," he stuttered as his gloved hands disappeared into the fog.

"Mama's marigolds are trying to get us sick," I said.

I did not know whether he saw me roll my eyes at his concern for the weeds. But, I never expected to receive a bouquet of the brightest flowers we tended for the day. It was a thank-you gift for my patience.

No one had ever given me flowers before . . .

This job was more than simply peculiar. I never expected to smile at his cooking or see myself calming him down whenever he had a nightmare. He never elaborated on his dreams, but with his clammy, sweaty skin and shaky breath, I assumed it was for the best. It was all weird, but I could not say I hated it.

The boy was so nervous that, at first, he could barely look me in the eye as we spoke. His gaze was always on the ground and his shoes, never on the person before him. I would always remember when I saw faint, horizontal scars on his arms and thighs when I walked in on him dressing. Ever seen a human tomato before? Loukas would probably win the grand prize in a contest like that.

Meanwhile, I knew my end goals and began my search on my Sundays off. My drawers were empty when I arrived, like every cabinet of the butler's quarters. Not one sign of Makhi was found in this room, even though he had lived there for months.

I had to be more direct in my search for him.

My first course of action was to gather information from the other servants, as few as they were. I always had a natural charm, so with a brush of my hair and a wink of my eye, my questions began. Yet, all I got was more concerning information about the young owner of the manor.

"Sorry, but I know nothing about this boy. He barely goes outside or even looks at us, mostly sending some temps to do the talking for him," the maid said, very much done with me, even after I complimented her large, enticing bosom any man would fall over for.

Bloody slag. Could she not take a joke?

"Brown hair, green eyes, crippled leg? Yes, I've seen him around, Patchwork. Probably did what the rest of these ragamuffin men do with Master Asbjorn. In one day and leave the next," said the accountant.

That . . .

That was not Makhi.

I restrained my annoyance at this bastard insulting him. He knew nothing about my friend. Makhi would not have just come and gone without a word. He might do many things, but to leave me in a void of emptiness was not one of them.