by J P Sayle
Jesus, I’ve lost it.
He reined in his wayward thoughts, the same way he would a temperamental horse, with caution. He stared Morgana down, forcing himself not to break eye contact. He folded his trembling arms around his body and worried for his sanity, wishing fervently for someone to talk to about all this craziness.
When he realised he’d circled right back to the reason his life was in a state of upheaval, his shoulders slumped. He blinked back the wetness gathering in his eyes and shook off his trepidation over Morgana.
Moving back to his desk, he exhaled and sat down. Morgana jumped onto his lap and pushed her head against his cheek. He took it as a sign they were okay, and his body sagged against the leather.
“It’s all going to work out just fine,” he said in desperation.
Morgana’s wet nose touched his cheek as she gave her response.
Morgana
Morgana sat in Connor’s lap and offered the silly human the comfort he needed. Not that she wanted to. No, she hated all this pesky touching that humans seemed to like. She never tolerated being touched, except by one, the king. Not that she’d let him now. No, he could go to hell for all she cared, after sending her to this imbecile.
All right, Connor isn’t that bad. She rolled her eyes.
Settling herself on Connor’s lap, she curled into a ball. She wondered how long she was going to be stuck with the human.
The audacity of speaking her mind had finally landed her in hot water. She stewed over the events that caused her banishment.
Morgana strolled into the king’s chamber, smarting from the demand to leave Christina to come and explain herself.
Explain what? That was what she’d like to know.
“Morgana, stop hovering in the doorway. Get your backside in here and explain to me why Christina is out… out in… those places where they… dance too close together.” The king shuddered, continuing with an angry wail of distress, “letting men touch her!”
Morgana’s ears rang as she buried her head in her paws, convinced she was now deaf.
Dear lords, how had she ended up in this situation? Thousands of years, living and minding her own business. All right, maybe not entirely minding my own business. Was it her fault she was good at giving advice? Did they listen? That was the question.
She might not be able to predict the future like the fates, but you’d have to be blind to see this wasn’t going to end well for any of them. They were all going to land in a whole heap of trouble if the king didn’t pull his head from his backside.
When the rant died down, she poked her head up tentatively, looking at the king’s stiff back. She sighed. “Have you quite finished?”
The arrogant tilt of his head had her common sense desert her. “I’d like to point out that you were the one that left Christina to her own devices so she could get into trouble.”
Prowling closer, she nudged his leg with her nose.
“You were also the one who took her magic and left her defenceless in a world she doesn’t understand. And now you have the audacity to roar like a bear with a thorn in its paw, at me.” Ignoring the angry stance and red face, Morgana continued. “You have never declared your feelings for her, so what do you expect her to do? Wither and die without knowing a man’s…”
The king’s leather-shod foot aimed in her direction. Morgana hissed as she flew back in fright, her fur standing on end. The fierce anger pulsing around the cavernous room made her tremble in fear for the first time in the king’s presence.
“How dare you reprimand me—you insolent creature. I’m the king of this realm and all seven kingdoms. Something you appear to have forgotten. Maybe it’s time you were reminded. Let’s see if you enjoy meddling with humans as much as you do with me.”
Morgana recalled how she’d had no chance to answer before she found herself sitting on what turned out to be Connor’s front porch. She supposed it could have been worse. At least he was house-trained and didn’t moan too much, and she could get him to do her bidding. That right there was a real bonus.
Her feline mouth tugged up. Reluctantly, she admitted it was more fun than she expected it to be, being a guardian.
“We’ll see about that.” The all too familiar voice of the king had her grunting.
The feel of warm fingers rubbing gently across her neck allowed her to push back the worry of what the king had up his sleeve, for the moment. Instead she rejoiced in the small victory. Connor’s house was sold, and he had a job. Now they just needed to get to the Isle of Man to find his soul mate, easy.
Placing her head on her paws, she closed her eyes. This was going to be so easy. She’d be back home in no time. And she drifted to sleep cuddled in Connor’s lap.
Ellie
Ellie said goodbye and shut the door. Rolling his shoulders, he shook out his arms and headed to the front window to check they left. He gave an energetic wave he wasn’t feeling to Brody and Nick. A sigh of relief left his mouth the moment the car reversed off the drive and disappeared down the road and out of sight. He sagged, his hands resting on the windowsill.
People often underestimated him and how sensitive he was to their moods because of the way he dressed. The moment Nick, Brody’s boyfriend, had laid eyes on him, Ellie had sensed the distrust and jealousy rolling off him. Nick wore it like a suit of armour, and the weight of it had nearly crushed Ellie when it was shoved in his direction. It took everything in him to keep up a cheery front.
Wanting Nick to like him, Ellie considered he might have an uphill battle. Boyfriends, he’d heard, could ruin friendships. His heart fluttered at the prospect of that happening to him and Brody. Their friendship had been the one staying point in his life for the last couple of years. Not that Brody knew that. No, he, like everyone else only saw the happy-go-lucky Ellie, the one who put on a show. The last twelve months, he’d struggled to keep the upbeat side of himself on the surface with his life in such upheaval.
He gave himself a mental slap. Thinking like that isn’t helping.
Chewing his lower lip between his teeth, he wondered if Nick would ever like him. It was a close call. He, like Nick, couldn’t miss the physical similarities between them. It had also been jarring to see how different Nick was to Brody’s past conquests. Nick was the polar opposite of Brody’s last ex, Luke.
“Shit, shit, buggering hell.”
The name jarred a memory loose. He felt in his trouser pockets for his beloved iPhone, tapping out a text to Brody about the now remembered parcel Luke had sent to the office. Under all the confusion of packing up his things and hiding from his very own stalker, he’d forgotten to mention it. He was sure that whatever was in the box could wait. It was probably some of Brody’s things from Luke’s flat. Ellie shrugged, unconcerned, and pushed the phone back into his pocket.
The box had been packed with all Ellie’s things and wouldn’t be delivered until the next day. A flutter of nerves hit his chest, and his breath caught at the back of his throat at the thought of finally being free. Of having a place without the worry of having to look over his shoulder.
A slow grin spread across his face when he pivoted to view the empty lounge. Mine, all mine.
A slither of guilt at shoving Brody and Nick out the door melted away under the fizzing excitement. He gripped his hands together. It’s real. I have a house of my very own.
Giddy from the waves of joy, he whirled round and round on the spot until he felt sick to his stomach. Breathless and slightly wobbly, he sucked in several breaths. A wave of emotion made him lean back against the windowsill behind him. How could a place make him feel safe?
He shook his head. Who knew? He eyed the room, and more emotions rushed to the surface. This place wasn’t the shoebox you couldn’t swing a cat in that he’d been hiding out in. No this was so much more. His eyes sheened with tears, but he blinked rapidly, hoping to stop them from falling. Failing dismally, he sniffed and wiped his damp cheeks with the back of his hand.
Enough. D
on’t bring Seb here. Not now. The negative nellies sitting on my shoulders all need to take a hint and fuck off.
With a wet chuckle, he bounced with unrestrained eagerness across the room to the black leather couch. A sense of lightness he hadn’t felt in years flooded his chest. I can do this. He flopped down on the seat and jiggled his bottom to test it out. He lay lengthways across the sofa, a broad grin spreading across his cheeks till they hurt when he saw that the massive flat-screen TV was at the perfect angle for lounging.
He gave a lusty sigh, sitting back up. He eyed the room critically, rubbing his hands together as he considered the possibilities. Brody had explained that the owner, Greg, was more than happy to let him do whatever he pleased to the house as long as he paid for the work.
The sparkle in his eyes dimmed a little when he thought about his meagre funds. Small amounts he’d managed to squirrel away wouldn’t allow for a full makeover just yet. That situation would change with the cheap rent and the pay increase from his new job, surely? He should be able to add to his saving pot. A pot he’d started out of necessity when he’d finally noticed how bad things were with Sebastian. His obsession for controlling everything, for some reason, had increased the older Ellie got. In the beginning, it was something Ellie accepted, understanding that the dynamics of their relationship were different from the norm.
The earlier reminisces he’d had at the airport played on his mind. The problem was there was no going back, and he’d learnt the hard way that regrets were foolish. Now all he had to do was convince his head, and Sebastian, that it was over. He was no longer Daddy’s boy. His head was on board and had been for the last couple of years, but his heart wanted a Daddy to take care of him. He poked out his lower lip, willing himself to let go of the need, even when he knew it was useless. The heart wanted what the heart wanted, regardless of what he’d done to change it.
The text still sat in his phone, silently demanding an answer.
Come on. I got this. Twelve months, count them. Twelve whole months and not once did I go back, not once.
Positive reinforcement carried him out of the lounge and into the hallway. Working on not dwelling on the past, he stared at the one remaining suitcase sitting at the bottom of the staircase. He released a curse for not accepting Brody’s offer to take all the bags upstairs. At least Brody would be coming back tomorrow to help with unloading the van that was coming with his belongings.
Ellie had laughed off Brody’s offer of hiring a removal company to bring his things to the island. It would have been a total waste of money with the little he owned. It had taken a total of ten large-size boxes to pack his life up, and as depressing as that thought was, he reminded himself it was his stuff, and it belonged to no one else.
And for that, he could thank da… “Seb, it’s Seb. Get it in your thick skull!” he ground out through clenched teeth.
Dad—Seb. His lips flapped together, eyes rolling heavenward, “Seriously stop now.” He reminded himself there had been plenty of positives of being Seb’s boyfriend. Seb’s encouragement to go back into full-time education and then the work he’d offered Ellie at the restaurant had all given him choices. Choices he’d never considered until he’d met Brody.
A giggle bubbled up as he recalled the night he’d met Brody. He’d charged across the dance floor to come to Ellie’s rescue like some white knight. Brody’s angry features were a warning to everyone to back off. Only by the time he’d reached Ellie, he’d already dealt with the cretin hassling him. At an early age, Ellie had learnt his height and delicate features made him a target for bullies.
With his love of learning and being in the house on his own a lot, he’d used the Internet to his advantage. He’d spent hours practising self-defence. The pride he’d seen on Brody’s face had made him feel ten feet tall, which was a rarity for him. Brody had nearly knocked him off his feet with the proud slap on the back, after carting the arsehole out of the club. The punishment he’d received for sneaking out had been worth it. Not that he’d let on to anyone. No one had been aware of his relationship with Seb at the time, not even Brody.
“What the hell is wrong with me? You left him. Get over it already.” Ellie stomped his foot in a temper. He wasn’t sure why he kept thinking about Seb, but he’d had enough. Recalling what he’d been about to do, he pushed up the sleeves of his jumper and grabbed the handle of the suitcase. He staggered, huffed, and puffed, dragging it to the bottom of the stairs, heaving it up, and dropping it on the first step. Sucking his stomach in, he bent his legs and lifted it the next stair, trying to keep his momentum.
There was a loud banging on the door behind him. Ellie squealed, automatically dropping the bag. It thudded down onto the step beneath him. His shaking hands flew over his mouth to stifle the screams building in his throat. Is it Seb?
Have I willed him here?
For fuck’s sake stop it. With trembling legs he held on to the bannister, trying to reason with the paralysing fear that held him in place. You’re silly. Go and answer the door.
The next loud knock forced him to move, if not a tad slowly. A descent from Mount Everest couldn’t have been harder, not when his pulse was stuck solidly at the back of his throat, preventing him from taking a decent breath. It took twice the time to get to the door, but he congratulated himself when he’d done it. Lifting a shaky hand, he unlocked and opened the door and peered through the tiny gap.
“Yes. Can I help you?” He cursed the warbling sound that was his voice.
No sooner had the words left his lips than was he plastered to the wall behind the door, a small whirlwind having pushed the door back faster than he could have anticipated.
“Come on, for god’s sake. Open the door and stop dithering, man. This shit is heavy enough without you leaving me hanging around on the doorstep. I’m Gemma, Greg’s bestie. I was on my…”
Ellie didn’t hear the rest, the amused voice trailing off as Gemma walked into the lounge, leaving him in stunned silence.
Getting his bearings, Ellie slammed the door shut and gave chase into the kitchen. “How do I know you are who you say you are? You could be a crazed killer for all I know,” he huffed dramatically.
“Really. Do I look like a crazed killer?” Her manicured hand waved down her petite, curvy figure. The black, fitted Superdry jacket and super skinny purple jeans tucked into the same colour knee-length Fly boots didn’t make her look like a serial killer, but then how the hell would he know what a killer looked like?
Ellie snorted and gave her a wary glance. He estimated her to be only a few inches shorter than his five foot four inches. Somehow she seemed taller, more intimidating when she eyed him as if he was a bug under a microscope.
He fidgeted, unsure what he should do next.
The bags she held were dropped onto the kitchen counter before she dug into a massive handbag. A phone appeared a second later. Her brow rose as she tapped on the screen all the while muttering under her breath. Ellie watched wide-eyed when after speaking for a moment, Gemma handed him the phone. He eyeballed it, not wholly convinced it wouldn’t strike him at any moment.
Jiggling it under his nose, Gemma huffed at him. “Here, take it. Greg will explain.”
With tremulous hands, Ellie took the phone. All the while Gemma eyed him with interest.
He worked on trying to keep his nervousness under wraps as he listened to Greg waffle on about Gemma and why she’d come. Five minutes later, his stomach no longer felt like he’d spent five hours on a boat. He offered back the phone when Greg said goodbye.
“Everything all sorted now?” Gemma asked with a killer smile and a wink. “You happy now you know I’m not a serial killer. Though you will have to take a chance that I won’t give you food poisoning with my…” Gemma stopped midsentence, her eyes darting to the doorway.
A loud, booming crash came from the hall.
“What the fuck was that?” Ellie screeched. He was already running out the door and halted in the hall, his mouth hanging
open. The clothes slewed all over the floor in a colourful rainbow were only too happy to remind him of where he’d left his suitcase minutes earlier. “Crap! Crap! Crap!”
With the sound of raucous laughter coming from behind him, Ellie glared over his shoulder at Gemma. Her flushed cheeks and glittering eyes as she stared at the array of clothing scattered all over the hall had him poke his elbow into her ribs. “Hey, you’re not supposed to laugh at someone else’s misfortune,” he said, a giggle bursting out of his own mouth before he could stop it. Clasping his sides, he rocked back and forth, laughing hard when Gemma giggled and pointed wordlessly at the itsy-bitsy pink thong stuck on the bottom rung of the wooden railing.
“You know this means we’re friends for life now that I’ve seen your undies,” Gemma choked out past the fits of laughter.
Ellie struggled to understand her, but he got the gist. His lips clasped together to keep the laughter from turning into sobs. Emotions he would have struggled to verbalise ran roughshod over his tender feelings. How could a person stating they were a friend turn him into a blithering idiot?
The answer was clear; he had very few friends. He hiccupped and worked to suck back the tremors working their way up his body. There were always obstacles to making friends. His Daddy, their lifestyle, the age gap, how he had ended up with Seb. All questions he’d been told he was never to answer. Distance had seemed like the only answer, so he had used it to prevent any problems. That, though great for his relationship, did little to help the loneliness he’d endured.
“What are we gonna do with this mess?” Gemma asked, bringing his attention back to the scattered clothes cluttering the floor and stairs.
“You’re gonna help me carry it upstairs and then aid with the unpacking,” Ellie said with conviction, giving Gemma a shit-eating grin when her eyes widened. He pointed at Gemma and said with smug satisfaction, “Hey, you were the one that said we’re now friends.”
