His Many Masks *The Boy fan fiction*

Chapter nine

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person give him a mask and he will tell you the truth
-Oscar Wilde

Brahms held onto my wrist tightly as he led me through the house. I limped as fast as I could, but my legs were beginning to tire out. Where was he taking me?

Brahms finally stopped once we go to the foyer. I hunched over and grabbed my knees to catch my breath.

Brahms' hand loosened around my wrist, "look up."

I obeyed, slightly confused about the sudden excursion. I met the eyes of the large ram head mounted on the wall. I had seen it a number of times but paid little attention to it. It practically blended in with the entire house being very woodsy and rustic.

"It's the head of a ram." I said quietly, still staring into its lifeless marble eyes.

"It is." Brahms said.

Confused, I tilted my head slightly. Of what importance was this animal to him?

"My father found it dead in a side pasture on our property a few years back. I stuffed it for him as a gift."

I made an o shape with my mouth, in understanding. Brahms was a taxidermist. That explained the multiple animals placed around the house.

It was either his profession or his hobby. I had to find out.

"Is that a hobby of yours?" I asked him cautiously.

Brahms nodded slightly almost reluctantly.

"Very charming." I smiled. Charming wasn't the best word to use but I didn't have anything else in my head.

"How is your ankle?" Brahms' eyes were now on my leg.

I shrugged, "it feels the same. Walking is always a chore." At this point, the pain hardly bothered me. I just hated having to rely on something other than myself to walk.

Brahms stayed quiet, his eyes still digging into my leg. I felt a sudden surge of self consciousness under his extreme eye contact. The mask made it so hard for me to read him. His body language wasn't very intelligible and he barely ever spoke about anything important.

"Are you hungry?" Brahms suddenly asked.

I nodded at him, that was partly the reason why I wanted him to assist me down to the main floor anyway. I knew better than to pass up a meal. It was rare that I ever get a hot and full one.

Brahms then snaked his arm around my waist and gently pulled me into him as he began to walk. Prickles of heat traveled up and down my body as we slowly walked to the kitchen. Being so close to him sent unknown feelings through my head. Why was I feeling like this? My thoughts traveled to the night before. I remembered feeling the same way. How my cheeks were red, my body shaky, and my head all flustered.

I then asked myself a question I never thought I'd have to ask, especially about someone like Brahms. If I have feelings, is this what it feels like? I shook my head, there's no way I would have feelings for Brahms. There's no reason to. Do I owe him for saving my life? Of course. Do I appreciate him for saving my life? Absolutely. But does this mean I like him? Definitely not.

I settled on that answer and focused the rest of my attention to walking. That was my main worry.
Feelings or no feelings, my goal was still to heal my ankle and leave. I couldn't get attached. I vowed to never stay with someone longer than needed.

Brahms led me to the kitchen counter and helped me sit on a stool.

He then began to float around the kitchen, grabbing different items. I watched him intently as he swiftly worked. It puzzled me how skillful he was with cooking. He just didn't seem like the type to me that would have any knowledge of culinary anything. In fact, he seemed sheltered in a way; as if he had never left the house or been far from it.