La Mort et ses Merveilles ✔

8. Beguile

"Well," he said as he shut the door behind him. "Make yourself at home I guess."

"You know," I remarked as I hobbled over to the sofa. "I really think you should apologise to her."

The young man only let out a deep sigh as he leaned against the shelf.

"I think she's sick of hearing me apologise," he said with a shrug.

"Well that's because you keep apologising but you still repeat whatever you do anyway," I told him. "Words hurt, you know?"

The young man kept quiet for a while, his icy blue eyes staring at the bare ground.

"You know," Leslie said, breaking the silence. "You really should change out of those clothes."

"My clothes are upstairs," I told him. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

It was then when the young man reached for his pile of folded clothes from his shelf and placed it on the seat beside me.

"It's not much," he said as he stepped towards the door. "But we're roughly around the same size, so there must be something there that fits."

"Thanks," I muttered.

The young man only bit his lip before shutting the door behind him. Looking through the young man's clothes, I eventually settled for a grey jersey and matching sweatpants. They were the only ones that seemed comfortable to me.

While I sat there alone in the room, in his slightly oversized shirt, the thoughts began to creep on me. There I was, in the room of the man who killed my father, all dressed in his clothes. It felt wrong, yet at the same time, he saved my life. Twice. I wanted to feel like there was perhaps good in him in his sad blue eyes, but I didn't know. Confused and still slightly wary, I closed my eyes and leaned back into the sofa.

Leslie came back about a few moments later, holding a rectangular container in his hands.

"I got us something to eat," he said as he plopped himself down on the seat beside me. "Hope you don't mind sharing."

He opened up the container, and handed me one of the forks. Dinner for the night was roast vegetables with sausage.

"You know," he said as he chewed, bits of food still in his mouth. "Why don't you play something in the player? There's more down there in the drawer."

I took a peek through the young man's collection. Most were either metal or alternative, and there was also the occasional punk album. I wasn't sure what to play, and the awkward sound of the young man chewing was starting to get to me, so I picked up the first album that I lay my eyes on.

The cover was a brunette in a see-through white shirt, against the backdrop of a blue sky. I didn't really think too much of it, I just popped it out of the casing and shoved it in the player. The squishy sounds the young man made as he chewed with his mouth open irritated me.

I didn't even really have a good look on the title. 'I wanna die' or something along those lines. Well I guess that was how I felt watching him eat like a horse, what was he, 12?

The first track was some sort of slow ballad, starting off with the shrill sounds of violins. I didn't know he was into that kind of music.

"Oh," he said, passing the container over to me. "I like this album. Born to Die."

Well, I thought to myself. Close enough. Without a word I picked up a few pieces of roasted carrot and strips of bell pepper with my fork and put it in my mouth. I chewed silently as the young man leaned into the seat. I watched him as he closed his eyes, exhaling a deeply. He almost seemed so peaceful there, totally relaxed as he sat beside me, the slow melody and the high notes filling the emptiness in the room.