The Bone Philosopher

Chapter Twenty-five

Damn virtus a lil spicy

ily enjoy

Chapter Twenty-five 

Virtus's POV 

Literature is a poor distraction anymore. In fact, nothing distracts me. There is nothing that holds as strong a power than my fucking intern.

I lay in bed at night, and battle the urge to get up and slip my body in his bed. I want to feel him against me.

I'm completely losing myself.

There is no rational reason as to why I would be so captivated by someone like him. I've long let go of the hatred I had for myself for being so intrigued by him. 

If I can't choose who I marry anyway, if my life has never been my own, why not do whatever the fuck I want?

Uri moved in his bed. I turn my head and watch him attempt to fall asleep, but how could he? How could I?

I hate this feeling. He has ensnared me wholly, I am completely at his hand. 

Pathetic.

The memory of him yelling at me earlier at the venue, behind that hideous fucking statue. How he grabbed my shirt in his fists, and pushed me away. It was something nobody has ever dared to do before. 

He didn't ask me to stop, he demanded I stop.

His eyes had been red, his tie was undone. His whole attire was shabby and a mess. Someone had done something to him, but who?

The mere thought of someone touching him, taking advantage of the short moment I couldn't be near him; it enrages me. 

Last night's kiss was what I replayed over and over and over in my mind. Every time he pulls away, I'm more and more obsessed with it. I want more of it. I want a longer memory. I want it to continue for hours.

And his fucking words: "I wish I didn't push you away last night." 

I could have taken him right there. It took every ounce of control I had been taught since the age of two, to keep the blade on his neck, and not use it to cut every fabric of clothing off his body.

I feel my heart pound in my chest just laying feet away from him. This is exhausting, but ironically, I can't sleep. For the rest of the night, I'm stuck staring at the wall, trying not to think about everything all at once.

It doesn't work.

The next morning, Uri and I are in the kitchen, and I watch him want to grab more to eat, but refrain himself. He simply grabs a pear, and takes a bite, his eyes glued to the fresh-made toast and eggs, to which I want to tell him to eat. I have to refrain myself as well, though as much as I want to see him eat more, I don't want to mother him. 

Everyday the circles under his eyes increase. I have to sit and silently watch him starve.

It makes no sense. Why isn't he eating?

The phone rings, breaking me from my thoughts. Typically it's the maid's job to answer the phone, but the housemaids tend to steer clear from any room I'm in. I can't say that I blame them.

I push  myself away from the counter, and grab the phone to answer it.

"Virtus!" It's my father.

I try to sound as dismissive as I can, "What do you want? Alan?" I suddenly hear Uri choke on his pair, as if the sound of my father's name surprised him. 

I glance over at him, and he waves his hand indicating to ignore him, despite him coughing violently and punching his chest.

"I need you to come over right now." His voice doesn't sound urgent. He sounds drunk, at eight in the morning.