When I pull up outside my apartment I'm surprised not to see Seven's SUV parked anywhere along the street. He usually meets me after my shift at the liquor store to stay the night with me. We haven't spent a night apart since the first night he ever stayed with me. For some reason I hope to see him waiting outside my door but am disappointed when the hallway is empty.
I shower, change and then check my phone for any communication from Seven.
Nothing.
He hadn't mentioned anything about tonight being any different than our usual routine. Maybe something came up? I would hope he'd have the decency to tell me though if that were the case. But maybe it hasn't crossed his mind to let me know he won't be coming over.
Maybe I should text him, just in case something is wrong?
No. No Lily just give him some space. I convince myself and drop my phone to my bed. He's fine and probably just wants some space, like I said we have been spending every night together recently so maybe space is what he wants...
But what if there is something wrong? What if Victor has found out about him and I and Seven's in some kind of trouble?
I scramble to retrieve my phone once again and call his number immediately, abandoning any thoughts of rational space.
"'Ello?" Seven answers on the first ring and my heart picks up at the sound of his voice, though the tension in my shoulders dissipates from that familiar low, slow voice.
"Hi." I peep, voice high. I haven't actually thought about what I was going to say to him. He answered so quickly it's thrown me off a bit.
"I was, um, well I was just ringing because you weren't waiting outside when I got home like usual - not, not that you had to be here waiting for me or anything. I was just wondering if everything was okay?" I fumble over my words as gracefully as a giraffe in roller skates; comically terrible.
"Yeah sorry somethin' ... something came up. You okay?" He asks me. There's something off in the way he's speaking. I can't put my finger on it.
"Yes, yes I'm fine." I assure him.
"Good." He answers and the line goes quiet between us.
"Are you okay?" I decide to ask.
"I uh, well yeah, yeah I'll be okay." He says and his choice of words make me frown. His words slur together too fluidly than usual.
"Did something happen?" I question.
"It's nothing, m' fine." He brushes me off but the worry begins to build in my stomach. Nervous knots begin to wined around each other at his defensiveness.
"Are you drunk?" I pick out that drunken slur in his words.
"So? Is that a problem?" His tone changes completely, turning bitter.
"No, of course not. I just know you don't usually get drunk." I keep a gentle way with my words, not wanting to irritate him. I have a feeling his bitterness is drawn from his own disappointment in himself for getting wasted and not at me. He doesn't reply to me.
"Seven, what happened to make you drink?" Did Victor find out about us?
"It's seriously nothing Lilianna don't worry." He tries his best to convince me, changing the tone of his voice to sound a little more upbeat than before, trying a new approach to brushing me off.
"If it's nothing, you can tell me what it is then." I insist and he's quiet on the other end of the line again.
"Seven?" I ask with no reply. I can hear him breathing so I know he's still on the phone with me.
"Harry, please tell me what's going on?" I speak as softly as I can and use his real name in an attempt to sway him into answering me. When I hear his sharper intake of breath I know it's worked.
"Pack an overnight bag. I'll send you my address." He says simply before we exchange quick goodbyes and he hangs up.
I can't decipher between the feelings bubbling through me right now. Nervousness and excitement fight for dominance in my system. As I begin to pack my overnight bag to spend my first ever night with Seven in his home, excitement wins the battle. My new car skids to a speed as I take off in the direction the blue arrow on the navigation sends me. The excitement builds as I take the winding roads up the city heights area, the properties begin to become more disbursed up here. Large gates surround the houses with lush green front yards, mansions sit back far from the street view for privacy. The navigation tells me his home is the next house on the right and I slow down to pull up outside the huge white walls barricading the fortress it's protecting. Security camera's perch at each side of the large black barred gate that opens as soon as I pull into the drive.
Bloody hell.
Seven's home is...well it's a fucking mansion. Huge glass frames a large wooden front door, the warm glow of the lights from the inside shine out onto the driveway as I park up and stare open mouthed at the structure. Very quickly my excitement is overturned by the nervousness as I'm confronted with Seven's wealth.
This is his house?
He lives here. And is drunk, waiting for me inside. The uncertainty of what to expect when I walk into this not-so-humble abode is setting me on edge. Seven's behaviour on the phone was already odd and I've never seen him drunk, so this is going to be interesting.
When I get out the car and sling my large tote bag filled with the night and morning necessities over my shoulder the melodic thud of music resounds over the concreted entrance. As I get to the front door it becomes louder, I don't think he will hear me if I knock.
Should I just walk in?
No, that's too brazen and this is my first time here. I rap my knuckles loudly against the wooden door and peek through the large glass to seek him out in the huge house. There's an expansive hallway entrance that doesn't give much away of the rest of the interior hiding behind its white walls. It all glows so brightly, from the shiny glass windows everywhere, to the reflective white wash walls, the smooth gleaming polished floors - also white, even to the magnitude of light fixtures themselves.
I try to imagine Seven, dressed in his usual dark attire walking this contrasting entrance. For someone who wears a lot of black, owns a black car and just all round seems to support a darker aesthetic it's ironically amusing to me that his home is so...well so opposite of that.
After a third knock and decent observation of the empty hallway entrance I try for the handle, to my surprise it's unlocked. I suppose the area is rather private so locking front doors wouldn't be as practiced, unlike my side of town. I triple lock.
I let myself into the glowing home, the music changes song and it sounds literally everywhere. When I look up to the high ceilings built in speakers project the song around the house. Fancy.
"Seven?" I call out and shut the large door behind me. The electric guitar strums in familiar intervals and I call out for Seven again over Ray Davies singing.
"Girl, you really got me going, you got me so I don't know what I'm doing."
The Kinks blast through the house and I start my efforts to find Seven somewhere in this house.
"Yeah, you really got me now, you got me so I can't sleep at night."
"Seven?" I call out every few steps down the entry way and am greeted by the extensive room at the end of it.
My eyes catch the white leather couch first. It's a huge L shape with enough seating for well over ten people. It boarders off the living room with its back to a long white marble dining table that matches the floors. Following that is a large open plan kitchen with a huge island in the middle of it made of - you guest it - white marble. The music echos more in here from the huge open space, the ceilings themselves could be three stories high in here.
Everything is white, the fluffy rug in the living area, the walls, the stone of the fireplace, the dining chairs, the cabinetry of the kitchen, all of it is white. It's broken up slightly with black accents across the interior however, like the black steel frames of the floor to ceiling windows, the huge black television mounted above the fireplace, a black oval shallow dish in the centre of the dining table.
This place is very different to mine, aside from the obvious price difference, Seven's home doesn't feel very homely at all. There are no photographs on the walls, no artworks hanging, no sentimental ornaments or anything personal in sight at all. The only connection this house seems to hold to Seven is the music currently playing through the built in speaker system.
Maybe if I can find the controls for the speakers I can shut the music off and he will know I'm here. My eyes scan each living sections of the vast open planned room and spot what almost looks like an iPad fastened to the wall near the dining table wall. I walk confidently over to it, determined to shut off the noise as if I have any clue how to work the damn thing. I'm terrible with technology but surely it can't be too hard. I tap at the speaker icon displayed on the small screen and a range of settings is offered to me to choose from. I don't understand any of it; with technological jargon in every option but I scroll with an eye out for anything that mentions the word, "Volume."
It takes me a couple tries; accidentally dimming the lounge lights and brightening them back up again, then once again back down, igniting the electric fireplace, half lowering a blind in the kitchen but then, finally, the music volume lowers.
"Looks like you're making yourself right at home." That voice speaks from behind me and I jump with my back still to him, hand flying to my heart to clutch at the thud of fright in my chest.
"Jesus Christ!" I breathe and Seven chuckles.
"Not quite." He jokes causing me to smile as I turn around to greet him.
That smile instantly drops at the sight of him.
"Seven!" I take the four long strides to stand in front of him, taking in the image of his appearance standing in front of me.
"What happened to you!" I demand, eyes running from the white bandage rolled around his head, the huge purple bruise covering the side of his half naked torso and another bandage looking thing covering his arm. His injuries all look fresh, like only a few hours old kind of fresh. I know they're from today because he definitely didn't look like this when he left my apartment early this morning.
"What happened!" I ask again as my hands hover over these spots of harm, wanting to do something to address them but too scared to touch him in case it may cause him pain.
"I got jumped." Seven shrugs like it's no big deal and I frown at him, eyes searching his for more of an explanation but his red eyes give me nothing but a drunk shifted gaze.
Is this why he drank? Because he's been beaten up?
"Who did this to you?" I ask, hoping he doesn't say it was his uncle.
"The son of a business associate." He confesses and I take a small comfort in knowing it wasn't Victor. Our secrets are safe for another day.
"The pussy attacked me from behind with a baseball bat." He spits, clearly annoyed by this detail.
"Why? Why would he do this to you?" My hand holds his chin gently as I turn his head to inspect the bandage wrapped around his head. There's a patch being held by the bandage to the back of his head and I cringe. A baseball bat hit to the back of his head from behind, I assume. Anger burns richly through my hot veins at the thoughts of anyone attacking Seven, especially like this, with his back turned and defenceless.
"Was probably just wanting to get me back for breaking his nose." Seven surprises me by smiling, a drunken smug smile that makes his dimple pop.
"Are you okay? Have you gone to the hospital?" His dressings look professional but I know first hand he's a talent for it, remembering the way he bandaged my cut finger so expertly.
"I'm fine. Just a couple of stitches and a minor fracture in m' arm." He waves his arm in my face carelessly, not bothered by the pain if there is any. I wouldn't be surprised if he's not feeling any of the pain fully with the signs of intoxication rolling off of him. I can smell the rum in his breath, the extra gloss to his bloodshot eyes, the rouge flush to his cheeks.
"Is this why you decided to drink tonight?" I gesture to his bandage and watch the change in Seven's face. You could miss it easily but I didn't, I noticed the guarded change in his eyes, the hardening of his facial features.
"No." Seven reveals lowly and steps away from me. He walks swiftly, despite his intoxication, over the sleek white marble floors towards the large kitchen. I ignore the way his muscles move in his back, no matter how attractive he is I can't let it distract me right now.
"Your house is huge." I say following behind him.
"Mm." Seven grunts an acknowledgment of my statement but makes no other effort to reply.
I watch him from the other side of the island counter as he rummages through cabinets in search of something.
"Where the fuck- ah, there you are." Seven mumbles to himself and I hear the clink of glass as he retrieves a large bottle of dark liquor from the back of the cabinet. Diplomatico Ambassador rum, I know it when I see the gold stopper of the bottle. We sell them at the liquor store, very rarely though as they go for almost four hundred a bottle.
"Is that a good idea?" I ask as Seven lifts the lid off the bottle with a fluted pop.
"What?" He asks without taking his eyes off the award winning liquor.
"To be drinking when you've had a knock to the head?" I step around the island to be closer to him. Seven retrieves a crystal glass from another cabinet, ignoring my question and instead offers me my own crystal glass for a drink.
"No thanks, I'm okay." I shake my head and he shrugs once again. He has been doing a lot of shrugging, opting for the simple gesture over talking to me.
"More for me I suppose." He comments as he pours the dark liquor into the glass. To my horror the pour continues till the glass is full, not a normal single or even a double pour. He's literally just filled the glass with it, Jeremy would be disgusted. An expensive rum poured incorrectly and given no room to breathe in the glass but I gather Seven isn't drinking for pleasure. No this seems a little more worrying than a harmless few drinks.
I watch as Seven brings the full glass to his lips, half the cup disappears in a generous gulp. Seven doesn't even pause to tip his head back and finish the rest of the glass as if it's water. There's no reaction from him, no wince as the burning liquor sloshes down his gullet, not even a blink. A clear trait of a well seasoned drinker.
He lifts the bottle to pour another.
"How much have you had tonight?" I don't think I want to know, hell I don't think he even knows.
"A few." Seven grunts before sculling down his second pour in thirty seconds. When he goes to pour the third my hand snatches the bottle from his drunken and weak grip.
"What the fuck!" Seven glares at me.
"I think you've had enough for tonight." I comment, the murderous look he's sending me sets my teeth on edge but I know Seven would never hurt me. Still, he knows how to look frighteningly intimidating.
Seven steps towards me and I step back.
"Give it back." He demands, holding out his hand expectantly.
"No." I draw the bottle back to my chest when he reaches for it.
"Lilianna. Give me the fucking bottle." He snaps and I flinch at his harsh tone.
"I said no." I keep my voice stern and it occurs to me that no one has probably refused him like this before.
Seven grunts in frustration, eyes blazing as he steps towards me again. He's trying his best to intimidate me but I don't back down.
"Hand it. Over. Now." He says lowly and I square my shoulders and shake my head at him.
"I'm not playing around Lilianna. Give me the bottle or else." He warns.
"Or else what?" I press. He won't hurt me. Well I know sober Seven would never hurt me, I'm hoping I can say the same for the man with red eyes that resembles Seven in front of me. Sharp eyes flick between mine as I wait for his answer.
"What, Seven? Or else what?" I repeat when he doesn't give me an answer. He's frowning down at me and I can tell he wants to say something but is holding himself back.
"You forget who you're dealing with here." He says lowly, his face so close I can taste the rum on his breath.
"You won't hurt me." I challenge. We keep eye contact, neither one of us backing down. After a few long seconds Seven exhales an annoyed grunt, the sound is followed by a loud smash as he throws the crystal glass against the white cabinets. The glass shatters around our feet and the noise echos throughout the large area, causing me to flinch in fright.
Seven says nothing as he walks around me, I watch him silently as he walks out the kitchen. The muscles in his back contracting as he passes the dining room table. I grab the golden stopper off the counter and cork the bottle of rum. If it weren't so expensive I'd just empty it down the sink, so instead I hide the bottle under the sink cabinet with all the cleaning products. My eyes catch something else in the cabinet I was not expecting to see.
A clear plastic bag, much like the ones my Grandmother would pack my sandwich's for school lunch in is under the sink. Though there is not a sandwich inside this bag, instead it is filled with what almost looks like bath salts, only they're slightly clearer and some have a bit of a brownish tinge to the small rocks. I pick up the packet, intrigued. I don't think this is any form of cleaning product, why is it under here with them?
My fingers pinch at a larger fragment, inspecting it through the clear plastic. My brow furrows as I wrack my brain over what this peculiar substance may be.
And then it hits me. Like a fucking lightening bolt my mind realises what this is in my hands. It's cocaine. Unrefined cocaine. And there's a lot of it, just sitting in a sandwich bag in the kitchen cabinet under his sink.
I drop the bag immediately and close the door, scared to be caught with such a thing in my hands.
I take a few processing breaths before following after the direction Seven left. Not wanting to deal with that just yet, drunk Seven and his reasons for drinking are my focus right now. I don't have the capacity to worry about a bag of drugs under his sink.
There's another spacious hallway leading out from the living room as I take the route he left. There are many doors off this hallway and I have no idea which one he went into. I try the first, a linen cabinet. Well it's meant to be a linen cabinet, but its contents are far from any soft blankets or towels. I don't even know what half of the shit in here is but as soon as my eyes notice the multiple black handguns and assault riffles I close the door immediately. Again, I'll deal with this another night, I think to myself.
With my hand on the next handle I'm almost afraid to open it, but when I do it's nothing but an empty room. I think this is meant to be a bedroom but inside there is nothing, no bed, no furniture at all. Just a completely empty room. I walk down to the next door and see that it is already open slightly. I can hear shuffling around in the room and realise this is where Seven had run off to. I peek through the line of the open door and see him. His bare back to me as he stands in front of a large wooden desk. I hear him mumbling and move my ear to the opened crack of the door to listen before I enter.
"Stupid fucking bandage." He mumbles and I pull back to watch him removing the white bandage from his head.
"Fuck sakes." He winces as he drops the bandage onto the desk. His palms lean forward onto the mass of wood as he looks down at something I can't see.
"I don't know how to do this. I can't handle feeling this way dad." He says quietly and my ears prick at the mention of his father. I know I shouldn't be listening to this, I feel guilty but my feet are glued to this spot by the crack in the door.
Feeling like what? What can't he handle?
Seven stays quiet as he continues to stare down at something on the desk I can't see. After more silence I tap gently on the door.
"Seven." I warn him of my presence before I push the door open wide.
Books line the walls like a library, the large wooden desk and chair sit in the middle of the room. I walk to Seven who hasn't bothered to turn to look at me. My hand gently rests on his back as I stand to his side. And then I see it. What he's been staring at.
A metal lock box is opened on the desk, a few items are inside it but it's the photograph that has my attention. His ringed fingers hold the edges of the photo to the table as he inspects it. I recognise the people in the photo right away. It's a young Seven, he looks just the same only his face is slightly rounder in youth, juvenile dimples indented into his cheeks as he grins at the camera. Sand on his knees and torso. The man crouched next to him is his father. I know this as Seven stands next to me right now as the carbon copy of his father. Full curls, same almond eyes, the same smirk of a smile - even the dimples.
What strikes me is I have a very similar photo of my grandmother and myself at the beach hanging in my apartment. I glance up to Seven and his eyes are slightly watery but he blinks and the moisture disappears within the second.
"Please tell me what's going on in that head of yours." I beg gently to him, my hand caressing the hot skin of his lower back in comfort. Slowly, Seven's bloodshot eyes drag from the photo to my face. He is silent as he stares at me for a moment, my eyes plead with him, wishing he'd just open up to me.
"I want you to quit working at the club." Seven says.
"What?" The randomness of his request takes me by surprise.
"Please Lily just quit." He groans and I stop myself from rolling my eyes.
"Not this again." Seven has mentioned this a few times now and every time I explain to him that I need the money till I'm back at University, then I can quit. But I'm still a few thousand off. And every time he responds by trying to offer me money which makes me super uncomfortable.
"How about we talk about this when you're sober." I deflect the inevitable argument that follows this topic of conversation. Seven sighs and sits down in the large wooden desk chair, his arms reach out for me, wincing at the movement of his injured arm and takes my hands, leading me to stand in between his parted knees.
"Are you going to tell me why you decided to drink tonight?" I try again to get to the bottom of his reasoning.
"Because I'm scared." He finally admits and my stomach drops. I know it must be something terrible for it to make Seven scared. As far as I was concerned nothing could scare him.
"Scared of what?" I ask, pushing a stray curl off his forehead. His eyes are serious as he frowns and looks away from me.
"Losing you." Seven admits, red eyes focused on the wall behind me. My heart sinks and leaps at the same time from his words. I squeeze his hand gently.
"Hey, look at me." I plead and he blinks at the wall before looking up at me. I bend down so my face is level with his as he sits in the chair.
"You're not going to lose me. I'm not going anywhere." I console him.
"You don't know that." He shakes his head at me.
"If it's within my own control then I do know. I don't want to lose you either Seven." I admit.
"You say that now but you'll get sick of me. Or maybe you'll get sick of the baggage that comes with me. And you'll leave." Seven speaks quietly and my hands take his cheeks as I force his drunk spiralling mind to listen to my words.
"I'm here right now aren't I? I haven't thought once about not being with you. I promised you that you could trust me Seven, you can trust me. I won't leave you till you want me to." I tell him and his tortured eyes watch my mouth as I speak.
"You promise?" He asks skeptically.
"I promise." I confirm and his fingers wrap around my wrists to take my hands from his face.
"In my world, we have a tradition for making promises." Seven speaks as he looks down at my wrists, his fingertips gliding over them in a soft, caressive manner.
"What is it?" I ask.
"We use blood." He explains and I frown.
"Blood?" I frown, this doesn't sound good.
"Do you want to do it?" Seven asks.
Although I'm apprehensive about this I can't deny my curiosity. Seven's lack of explanation but willingness to share apart of his world with me is very intriguing, he is usually so shut off about these things, only telling me things when I ask or filtering things only he decides are worth me knowing. For him to offer up a tradition from his way of life to me so easily and unguarded is very rare. So rare I can't possibly deny this, I need him to know how serious I am about him, how fiercely I plan on keeping my promises to him. If this is a way I can do that, then I will.
"Yes." I answer Seven and he tugs at my wrists, pulling me forward to straddle his denim lap as he sits in the large desk chair. One of his hands drops his hold as he leans to the side silently, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve something.
He pulls out a small black device I've never seen before, holding it between us in his large hand.
"What is that?" I ask curiously. Seven's eyes meet mine before he looks back down to the black object no bigger than a vape pen. It actually looks a lot like one of those things. My eyes follow his back down and I jump on Seven's lap slightly as a blade pops out in a swift and quick flick of Seven's wrist.
It's a switch blade. I've only ever seen these in films.
The blade itself is skinny and very sharp. And I gulp with wondering thoughts of what exactly Seven is going to be doing with it to carry out this "tradition" of his. All I know is that it involves blood and this switch blade.
Seven notices my apprehension to the object and brings the wrist he still has ahold of to his lips, pressing a kiss gently to the heel of my palm.
"It's okay, it's not going to hurt." He assures me.
"W-What do we do?" I ask him, tearing my eyes away from the gleaming blade.
"I'm just gonna nick the skin, draw a little blood from both of us then we join cuts - to mix the blood." He explains, I'm consciously aware that Seven is inebriated and wonder if him wielding a knife right now is in our best interests.
"Are you sure you should be doing this? You've drunk a lot." I remind him.
"I know how to cut someone Lily I've been doing it most my life." Seven rolls his eyes.
"Okay, but your blood will be thinned from the alcohol so you won't clot as fast." I point out and he sighs, annoyed by my reminders of the reality we sit here with.
"Do you want to do this or not?" He asks.
Seven is drunk and is about to cut us both to mix our blood for the sake of keeping promises? This isn't what I expected for my night and as the only sober one of the two of us I feel the responsibility to reiterate to him what we're about to do. I won't even mention my qualms of the dangers of infections mixing our blood may cause to him. This is something serious and personal to him, I feel like I need to just go along with him in this moment and I'll worry about the rest tomorrow.
"Yes." I nod and Seven eyes me carefully.
"Are you sure?" He checks and I appreciate his search for consent.
"Do it." I offer Seven the hand he already holds in gesture for him to begin. His tongue swipes over his puckered bottom lip and he turns over my hand, so my palm is upturned to him. Large warm hands curl gently over my hand causing me to hold a fist with only my index finger offered out to him.
Seven brings the blade to the pad of my fingertip and presses the edge against my skin. It slices a few layers of my skin effortlessly and rather quickly a bead of red blood pools on my fingertip. I didn't feel a thing, the blade so honed and Seven surprisingly accurate with his incision making the pain barely noticeable.
Next is Seven's turn, he's a little more rough on his own finger and draws the blood easily.
"Now what?" I ask as we both sit with red streaming from our fingers.
Seven clears his throat, folds the blade back into its handle and grabs my hand with his other hand. Green eyes glance at me before he lines up our small cuts with one another's before pressing them together.
"I promise, to protect you, Lilianna. To trust you and to care for you to the best of my ability, as long as I still bleed." Seven vows, then nods at me in encouragement to make my own declaration.
"I promise, to never betray you, Seven." I begin in a whispered voice. The intensity of the promises we are making right now has my breath caught in my throat and Seven's full attention on my mouth as I speak.
"To be worthy of your trust and to care for you as long as I still bleed." I finish and press my finger more intently against his.
Our eyes find each other and I can see something there, a thought or an emotion maybe, swimming in his irises. It's a fierce concentration even with his intoxication, I've never had someone look at me this way but I've seen it before. I've seen it between couples walking in the street, between lovers on television but more consequentially I've seen this look in photographs between my own parents.
"I-" Seven cracks, beginning to let out that emotion I'm seeing in his eyes. Our bloodied fingers lose contact as I press my lips feverishly against his.
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