The Greatest Obsession

Chapter Twenty-One: Too Many Rules Against It

There was a click as Elijah locked his door, the small brass key tight in place. He jiggled it free of the many bolts and mechanisms that made sure the boy wouldn't have to worry about anyone barging in. It was the last thing he needed in the state he was in. Shakily, he placed in on his nightstand, next to his steak and potato dinner.

The nightgown shuddered between Elijah's sweaty palms. The removal of his outfit was painful. The trousers and his undershirt caused the most pain as it brushed his irritated nipples and the swollen member between his legs. Each shallow, unsynchronized breath did little to bring him back to equilibrium. He slipped the gown over his taut and lean muscled form, his wider shoulders feeling a bit out of place with his leanness. Intense heat gave way to near heart-stopping cold when the gown fell around Elijah. He gasped, clutching at his aching self as if someone had dropped him in a raging blizzard.

A light squeaking met the youth's ears when his knee slammed into the mattress. He cradled himself, scooting closer and closer to his pillows. Slowly, the heat returned and it was blistering, reddening his face and various parts of his body. The collar of his gown squeezed Elijah's throat. Tighter and tighter it grew like a coiling snake as his veins swelled beneath the skin. Heavy groans spilled from Elijah's saliva-soaked mouth.

"He will come, he will come," he whispered to himself repeatedly, clenching his fists and blocking his eyes as tears dripped over the bridge of his nose.

Then came the jiggle of the doorknob and the sound of his beloved's voice. "Elijah?"

He wouldn't speak.

"Elijah, I know that you are awake. I know that you are in pain! Don't shut yourself away like this. Please, Darling, you'll have me sick with worry, let me in." After a few moments of silence, there was a sharp slap on the base of the door. "Elijah, please! Let me do something, anything."

Elijah could picture her, now, eyes closed and forehead bowed against the locked barrier. Ignore her, Elijah Marks. It's for the best. Haydn will come. He will save you from this torture, and save her from yourself. The words of his mind were the only comfort he had at that moment. Denying Irina's offer and waiting for Haydn to arrive proved to be one of the more difficult tasks he's had to face. Elijah's silence worked, however, because not long after that Irina's heels clunked away from his room following a broken sigh.

His fingers gripped the small pocket watch on the nightstand. Through tears, Elijah struggled to notice the time. The darkening of the sky and the lack of activity on main streets did more to explain the hour than the tiny numbers. He gave up on trying to read, opting to guess it was somewhere within the hour of eight.

Rolling over, he gazed at his plate, after putting back the watch, knowing he would never attempt to eat the steak again, but maybe the lukewarm potatoes could ease the growling of his stomach. Alas, I've not the will to try to eat. Wait until the craving has subsided, yes, wait. Whilst restraining a sob, Elijah turned back to face his three windows, watching the blue-green light of day fade into purple behind a mass of black trees, painted by the red of the dying sun beneath his window.

He didn't understand why the craving had to be so painful. The nightgown made him too hot, and the sweat made him too cold. He lacked concentration and the burden of his manhood couldn't simply be an arousal. It had to feel like a punishment, and perhaps it was -- for his sins.

It is said time moves slowly when there is nothing to do. This would be a truthful statement for young Elijah whose torment in loneliness, that lasted for fifteen minutes at best, felt like hours.
A silhouette hunched by the window farthest away, and it banged rapidly on the glass.

Elijah, realizing it was Haydn, glanced at his window sill. It had been locked by a maid sometime during the daylight hours, but he wouldn't have known this. Wincing, the boy trudged his body from the bed to undo the latch that prevented Haydn from entering. Each step sent a searing pain up his thighs, into his pelvis, the bones aching deeper than without movement. Sweat beads flowed over his brows, dripped off of his cheeks, and as he approached the reflective barrier, his head grew airy and feverish.