𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 | 𝟏𝟖+

4 | The Key

Thomas.

A stranger of a man; the only trace he leaves behind is the daffodil between my fingers.

He's a stranger who smells of smoke and flowers, and yet becomes an uncanny mystery. He's charming in a more rugged way, so unlike the poised perfection of Cato.

Even I know that my encounter with Thomas can't be a coincidence.

I place the lone daffodil on my bedside table and flop onto my quilts. Why does he know my name? He must've found me with an intention, not just on a whim. Hell, he even asked me to work for him. As much as I hate working for Madame Newmister at the hospital, I dislike the idea of quitting and working for a stranger I just met.

A handsome stranger.

I can't let his looks influence me.

When I try to distract my mind from Thomas, it only circles back to Cato and the soup spill.

For the past few hours, I've been trying to convince myself to avoid Cato at all costs, to protect my fragile heart from fracturing. Now, in my bedroom, the hidden longing in me comes to life. I desire him to see me, just like when we were young.

As I graze my fingertips over those notches in the bedpost, I know that my chapter with him closes. Spilling soup on him was just our story's terrible resolution.

A small clock chimes in the corner. It's well past midnight, and yet I can still hear the excitement of the celebration down in the Leveque's gathering hall. Normally by now I'm fast asleep. Madame Newmister will want me cleaning the hospital floors at the break of dawn. The thought of her ordering me to stay extra hours to replace the ones I missed today causes me to groan loudly into the pillow.

Thank goodness no one can hear me.

The lock on my door jimmies.

Evelyn's the one who told me to keep my door locked at nights to discourage anyone sneaking in. Anyone who dares to try enter in usually gives up after they realize it's locked, but the rattling doesn't stop. Infact, it becomes aggressive.

The lock clicks, and the door swings open.

I reach for the first object I can grab: my bedside lamp, and throw it across the room to the man standing in the doorway.

"Get out of here!" I yell.

The lamp hits their hard stomach and falls to the floor with a loud smash. Green eyes glance down at the broken lamp at his feet, and then up to me with hints of indignation.

Cato.

He chuckles as he shuts the door behind him. "First the soup and now the lamp? Are you gonna give me a break?"

I cower back on my bed. He towers over everything in this room, including me. In the moonlight, I take note of the differences between him as an eighteen year old and him as a glamourous twenty-four year old heartthrob.

He takes calculated steps towards me, but stops when he notices my shaking body and flushed cheeks.

"How'd you get in here?" I squeak.

"You gave me this, remember?" he pulls out a chain of keys from his pocket. There's so many—keys for his home, car, hell knows what else—and then my bedroom.

Just seeing that key again evokes those repressed memories of Cato and I. We read books at night, him leaning over my shoulder and helping me pronounce large words. When storms hammered the estate with thunder and lightning, it was his arms I sought comfort in. I gave him the key because I trusted him with everything that I am: my heart, my soul, my body.