He was what I had expected – soft and warm
and alive. There were moments when I remembered what he had been in those
videos but then, my opinion of them scattered as soon as he moved to gather
me closer to him. He was comfortable. He was a familiar lover whom I
understood and had been with for as long as I could remember.
I ran my palms over his sweat-slicked
chest. There were still dark bruises that looked hideous, shocking against
his pale skin. His legs were locked around my waist – ankles crossed and
the heels resting against the small of my back.
“You okay?”
He nodded and assured me so with a smile.
“What do you feel?” I said.
“I feel good,” he said. The smile grew.
“You are very kind to me.”
I shook my head and rested my fingertips
over where his heart would be.
“No, I mean – right here. What do you
feel?”
He appeared to be thinking for a moment
before he answered in earnest, “I don’t understand.”
That very moment, the only connection to
him that I felt and it defined everything then – was my cock that was still
inside him. It sickened me. My erection was lost rather quickly. I pushed
myself away and walked briskly into the bathroom. I slammed the door and
locked it. If he had said something, I didn’t hear it.
I stood under the lukewarm water until it
started to turn cold. I waited until my teeth were chattering before I
turned the water off and stepped out. I walked out dripping wet. Leon had
used and taken the only towel in the bathroom.
He was sitting by the window with his knees
drawn up, the sheet loosely wrapped around his waist. I didn’t go to him
immediately. Instead, I went out into the living room and poured myself a
tumbler full of Scotch. I downed half of it, refilled it to the brim and
walked back to the bedroom. The liquor worked quickly. I was no longer
shivering.
He didn’t look up at me. He seemed to be
fixated on something outside the window. I found the bathroom towel draped
over one of the chairs. It was still damp but I needed to be somewhat
modest.
I wrapped the towel around the waist and
sank down into the armchair in the corner.
“What is the earliest memory you have of
yourself?”
He cast a sideways glance at me and
shrugged.
“I don’t really know….”
“You have memories,” I said. “Unless you
are going to tell me you’ve forgotten ‘papa’ already.”
His buried his face in his knees.
“Papa is no longer here. I don’t need to
remember him.”
“Is that a directive you are required to
follow? Or something you make yourself do?”
“I don’t need to remember him,” he said
again, his voice softer.
I took another drink from the tumbler and
although I felt better physically, I felt worse than shit inside. I downed
the rest of the drink in one hurried shot, ignoring the burn the alcohol
made down my throat and until the slow spin in my head became a spiraling
whirlpool.
When I finished, I left the glass on the
carpet and stumbled back out to the living room. I didn’t realize I was
looking for something until I found it - partially covered beneath my coat.
I wasn’t certain of the source of the anger
that came suddenly, but I knew the drink had fueled it. I tucked the box
under my arm and returned to the bedroom. He stared at me and I saw his
fists tighten on the sheets. It dawned on me that he was afraid.
I snatched one of his hands and pulled him
to me. He tumbled off the ledge and landed on his knees.
“Look at these,” I said and shook the
contents from the box Souma had painstakingly organized onto the floor. “I
want you to look at these.”
The dull-colored envelopes and pouches bearing similar neatly written tags
littered the carpet until the box was emptied.
“You remember any of these?”
He didn’t make any movements to open
anything. I couldn’t read his expression but I didn’t have to, to know he
was probably more confused than he had ever been in his life.
“Leon,” I said finally and tore open the
first envelope my hand picked up. I pulled out the aged photograph that had
the slightest scent of lilac. It was a picture of a baby in blue pajamas
with feet crawling after a small toy dog. He didn’t look at the picture and
he didn’t look at me.
“You,” I said, raising my voice. I clasped
a hand behind his neck and raised his face up as I held the picture to his
eye level. “…are not a Doll.”
His eyes were glossy and for a moment, I
thought he had shut himself down. I pressed the picture closer.
“You….” I said, forcing myself not to
shout. “…are not a Doll. Understand?”
A single tear drop rolled out from the
corner of his eye. I pushed aside the shame I felt and continued.
“You have memories. All of these things
kept for you, are your memories and your past. A Doll does not have these
but you do.”
He said nothing. A few more tears rolled
out from the corners of his eyes.
“You have to want it,” I said, loosening my
grip from around his neck and pressed his face against my shoulder.
He said nothing. I didn’t expect him to
although I wanted him to.
End Part 5
