The Right Hand Of The Father

chapter 33

He stared at the note. The elegant scrawl of lies. The signature beneath it. The bold slash of letters, the rapier strike of the flourish at the end of each sentence. The upstrike at the end of each word.

Swallowed. Tried to ignore the way his eyes prickled and the way his stomach clenched.

George had left him.

He had done what he needed to come home to George and they had spoken and he'd explained his feelings. Declared himself to George. Told him that he could not be his son. Could not love him in that way. He was in love with George. Desired him. Needed him in his bed and in his heart and in between his thighs and George had accepted.

George had pressed his lips to Alexander's. Had climbed into his bed and in between his legs and they had joined and it was like nothing had changed.

They would continue to pretend for society but when they were together they would be as they had been before. Alexander would be his boy and George would be his daddy and they would love each other properly again.

He had drifted off in George's arms and felt safe for the first time in weeks. Had felt loved and adored and they were together.

Then he'd woken up and found that parchment on his pillow. The signature.

George had left him. Left him. Gave him his freedom and a letter of introduction and some money to get him out of town. A promise like the one he'd made Alexander's mother. Money will be coming. I'll take care of you. Simply trust me to take care of you.

Except Alexander's mother had ended up in a prison and then they'd sold themselves in bonded servitude to Thom Stevens because George had not taken care of them. Had cast them aside. Had pushed them aside. Didn't love them enough to stay. To take care of them properly.

He didn't love Alexander enough to stay.

He pushed himself out of the bed and started for the door. Turned the handle and found it locked. Jiggled it. Hammered at it with his fist. Heard footsteps on the stairs and pounded harder.

"Mister Alexander?" Daniella's voice was faint outside the door. "Do you need something Sir?"

"I need you to let me out of the room," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I can't do that Mister Alexander."

"Daniella." He could feel sweat along the nape of his neck. "Please."

"Mister Alexander."

"Open the door," he pleaded with her. "Please Daniella."

"But—"

"Daniella, I'm in this room in nothing but my skin," he said quietly. "I have nothing to wear. Please, all I want is to go to my own rooms and get some clothing."

"Oh." He heard her shuffle on the other end of the door.

"Please Daniella. Please. We're friends. You can't want me to be humiliated this way."

"You promise you're just going to your own room and getting some clothes?"

"I swear to you Daniella." He swallowed. He needed out of this room. Needed away from the bed that smelled of him and George. Needed away from that note. Needed out before the walls closed in around him. 
The air was too close. The room too warm. His skin prickled. He needed out.

His stomach heaved and his chest clenched.

He couldn't get air.

He needed out.