Scribbles and Drabbles

Notebook Drabble 30

He chickened out. 

He went home and watched daytime TV instead. Numbing his heart and mind in time-tested methods. He ate dinner out of a can, drank a beer and went to bed. He slept deep and long. Nothing kept him awake for once - not even the many possibilities of whose name sat on his arms. The black was a welcome change.

The next morning, the phone number sat threateningly on the mirror. It hadn't appeared, or it had been the means of its creation ached on his opposite arm. His new master had bandaged him up before putting his body back into bed. At least they hadn't stained the walls of the room. 

Punching the mirror would do nothing but hurt. The temptation sparkled inside, and his sliced-up forearms growled with pain as his hand tightened into fists. He didn't want to be reasonable. His master wouldn't be, so why should he? The truth was that going into something like this impulsively would result in far more pain than he wanted to endure. He clenched and unclenched his fists.

He picked up the phone, tried to ignore how the number magically appeared programmed in its history under some symbol and hit call. 

No one answered. 

He did not leave a voicemail. He did not throw the phone across the room or into a glass of water. He got up, wrapped his arms in clingfilm and got in the shower. He cleaned the sweat of his body. Out of the shower, he unwrapped the bandage that his master put on there and checked over the wound. He needed to give himself some stitches to mirror the ones Dr Drake put in his right arm. 

It was harder than expected. He smeared some disinfectant on the wound and rebandaged it. His master did their best, but it was not the best work in the world.

There was nothing on his phone, they hadn't tried to phone him back. It was a Saturday, and he had no plans. His fingers twitched. Maybe, his master didn't answer because he was already on his way there? If he'd phoned under the influence, his master would have his details. Why leave the number in the blood if it wasn't a threat to use it?

Should he phone again?

How soon would be a good idea?

The phone lit up. Not his master nor any other demon crawling about who knew him from before, instead a text from his friend inviting him out for lunch. Fuck it. He'd try again afterwards. In the meantime, he cleaned the blood from his mirror and made himself look presentable.

His friend didn't ask about the bandages around his forearms, and the lunch was nice. They went for a walk in the sun and gossiped about people. 

He'd missed a call from the number. It made no sense as he'd had his phone volume at full to avoid this. He phoned, but no one answered. He refused to leave a voicemail. He got a text. Either the text file glitched while sending, or his phone didn't have the symbols installed needed to view it. Regardless he replied with question marks. Nothing followed. He continued to clean his apartment beyond reasonable and possibly cleaner than he'd ever had it before. 

Summer break approached, and with exam season, he didn't have anything to mark over the weekend. He put the radio on and sang along as he battled dust and stains. 

This time he reached the phone in time. 

"Took you long enough," said the definitely not-a-stranger voice. Richard almost dropped the phone, catching it and gripping tight. He should have called immediately. This demon did not like rule breakers, and he'd punish for this infraction. "I'm not impressed having to possess your body to get you to call, Richard." 

Mouth dry, mind blank, Richard's fingers cramped. They didn't like cowards or sheep. Time to play the line between being a weakling and being rude. Manners meant a lot to this particular demon. "My apologies, sir. When the mark appeared, I was teaching. Everyone was very concerned." 

He should have called him Master. Too late now, and the strings across his chest tugged hard. One step at a time wouldn't reason well with the Matron.  

"Which I would have accepted if you phoned in the evening. A night is far too long to answer a summons, Richard."

Getting used to the sound of his name resonating with ownership made Richard want to weep. The curl of iron chains grasped around the syllables of it, and pulled him to obey, to please snapped at his heels. As a child, he'd been a people pleaser, and the instincts waited for him to slip back into it when the right strings played. Self-loathing battered in his chest, he should have outgrowth this nonsense. 

"Richard?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You weren't listening," the disapproval slapped against his cheeks as a physical blow. "I don't like to repeat myself."

Panic clogged his voice. How could he fix this? He hadn't seen his master in person again, and he had done nothing but anger the demon. Excuses dances but none stuck. The growl of impatience rumbled through the phone line. It turned into a yawn before angry words disappeared. A bubble popped, and words returned to Richard, though his heart didn't stop pounding. 

"You're tired," Richard said, surprised. It wasn't like the Matron to show weakness. Then again, he wasn't a child anymore. Maybe it was less showing and more of him seeing beyond the Matron's invulnerability. 

"Um. There was an incident. It's cleaned up now, and the balance is restored. I took on more children than planned. That is not helping."

He needed to pick careful words here, not judgemental ones. The Matron gained their name because of their habit of collecting strays. Once upon a time, Richards belonged to the number. "The school holidays are coming up, why don't you come here? The community politics don't turn as bloody as there."

The resulting silence hummed thoughtfully with a pleased lick of his bond.

"An opinion. Some haven't travelled out of the city yet," his Master clicked. "You'll want to pack before moving here. This has merit." His master's words were cut off as a door opened. "Shouldn't you be resting, little lamb?" The soft coo and loving tones attacked the part of Richard locked away. Remembering hurt, and the ration side knew the cost of being a lost boy hadn't been one he wanted to pay. It didn't stop the impulse. 

"Tomas had another nightmare."

"Richard, I have to deal with this. Send me your address. I'll keep you informed of the plan."

"Of course, Master." He got the word out. Pleased clicks answered it. It was far too easy to fall back into place.