sued into submission 🌷 tracob

10

Troye Sivan

This is my life now, isn't it? Blowing London's richest and toughest lawyer for a place to stay?... Fuck I need to call my family.

"Hello?" My sister's oh-so sweet voice echoes through Mr Bixenman's house phone.

"Sagey?" I whisper.

She gasps, "Troye?! Is that really you?!"

"Mhm," I hum quietly.

"My god, why haven't you answered my calls? We've all been blowing up your mobile like crazy for weeks!" She exclaims. That's when guilt then settles in.

"I-I got into some trouble... but I'm okay now. Don't worry." I stutter out, pacing around the guest room of Jacob Bixenman's mansion of a house.

"What happened? Are you okay? Do we need to come get you?" She rambles on, practically yelling in concern right in my ear.

I pull the phone away from my ear a tad, "No, Sage, I'm fine. Stay where you are. I'm alright."

She sighs, "London is only a flight away, Tro."

"I'm fine, really." I murmur, stopping and staring up at myself in the mirror. What a guilty and shameful look that is, painted over my pores. I've driven her mad worried over me.

"Alright, but Tok, please stay in touch next time for both of our sakes​, please? I worry about you."

"I will, 'm sorry about that Sagey. I love you." I nod in the mirror.

"I love you too, now, let's talk about what you've been up to the past few months. It seems I've missed a bit."

...

It was hours passed and a ring of Mr Bixenman's house phone that shook me awake. Not even aware that I had fallen asleep on the couch, I jerk up and cautiously walk to the phone. It never goes off, it's practically useless. He just keeps it there for decoration. I pick it up and bring it to my ear.

"Hello?" I ask timidly.

"Sivan, I'll be home in two hours, make us something memorable for dinner." Mr Bixenman orders and hangs up in a flash, before I could even mutter an alright.

I set the phone down and hum to myself, walking to the kitchen. Dinner for two it is.

I decide on mashed potatoes and meatloaf, knowing how to make it by heart. My Mum used to make it for Thanksgiving every year, until things got tinged in liquor of course. I got the food prepared and set in the oven within an hour, giving me one more until he arrives. Not knowing exactly why, I rush upstairs and take care of myself, more or less, my mess of hair. I prep myself until I feel like the pretty boy I used to be and smile at myself in the mirror. I feel... good.

While putting the final touches to our meal, I hear the front door unlock. Freezing up a bit and quickly grabbing plates and silverware, I listen to the door open and the voices of many unexpected visitors. I walk around the kitchen and into the living room to see Mr Bixenman along with ten other men in business suits standing around.

"Sivan, our meeting is about to begin, set the table." Mr Bixenman orders, making me about fall into tears. I cooked for two, not twelve.

"Sir, I-"

"What? What did you do?" He scowls and paces to the kitchen to see my mess.

"You've got to be kidding me Sivan! Where's all the food?!" He shouts.

I choke up, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't know you were having a meeting here. I-I would've-"

"Shut up. Just shut up and make the food. You've got half an hour." He pushes past me and walks back to the living room.

He claps his hands and chuckles, "Ah, sorry guys but we're gonna be having our meeting a little late. Champagne and football will do until then, right?"

A round of cheers go around while I cry softly in the kitchen, setting the food I put oh-so much effort into and starting back from scratch. The sound of the television and Mr Bixenman passing out glasses of champagne is all that's heard in here. I try to be quiet as a mouse while cooking, trying not to disturb their guy time.

Picking out pasta and soup, it's quite easy to make in the time frame he gave me. I have it warmed and set out on the long oak table in no time, setting out a new table cloth and fresh glasses of wine for everyone. Once it's finished and the blokes all sit down at the table, I grab my bowl of mashed potatoes that have gone cold and sneak up to the guest room.

I eat and hold back tears in silence, listening to the men downstairs cheering and having the meeting of their lives. Surely it will be the talk of Bixenman Inc. all of tomorrow. The ten men that are here now will be praised there for weeks, they will be looked up upon. Everyone will want to be them. I almost wish I were one of them, I wish I could be untouchable for a few weeks.

Yawning lightly, I squeeze my eyes shut and rub them with little fists. Soon enough I find myself falling asleep with a hand holding on to a spoon of mashed potatoes.

-

a/n: petition to kick jacob's arse, sign here and here thank you xx