"An advantage would be the discovery of an embedded lighter at the scene of the arson. Despite its odd appearance, there are a lot of owners and, therefore, it is difficult to narrow down the suspects." A bulky policeman informed, walking carelessly across the living room of the Duchy. He was the informer Julian had referred to, but Freya surely had not expected such a man. Yes, he did speak with a certain degree of rhetoric, but his looks did not match the Duke's area of acquaintances. He seemed almost tipsy, with his dirty hair clinging to his large temples and his shirt hanging loose. Freya needed to snap out of that empiric judgement that held no importance whatsoever. If Julian trusted him, then so should she.
"Pardon me for assuming anything false, but I reckon the arsonist is one of the mediocre pupils' parents." Freya uttered, making both Julian and the police officer gasp in bewilderment.
Julian approached her, his hands ruffling his pitch-black hair in an attempt to release the stress that was bestowed upon them. Why would she presume such a horrid thing?
"I know what both of you may be thinking, but I know these parents, and they would do anything to preserve their offspring's reputation. Incredibly gifted children are certainly not on their wish list." She continued, noticing Julian's features slightly shifting.
"I cannot interrogate the parents, milady. Suspecting powerful individuals without specific proof is like digging your own grave." The informer retorted, shaking his head in utter refusal.
"You seem more intelligent than your coworkers, sir. I am sure it would not be a problem to verify them... unofficially." Freya refused being weighed down by stubborn parents who denied their offspring's idiocy.
Julian smirked admiringly, playfully revealing his dimples. She is indeed worthy of my appreciation. He thought to himself, in remembrance of his vow to test her limits.
"How can you hint such an unlawful proposition?" He asked her, matching his expression to the self-imposed harshness of his voice.
Freya sighed, rubbing her fingers against her temples. Don't let him ruin your spirit! She scolded herself, although the last night's memories hindered her discontent. A stranger brought her a sense of relief she had never felt before, and she should have been grateful for such an indescribable aid. Yet all she was able to do was finding unrealistic meanings in everything he said.
"Because I want to teach these kids to accept their uniqueness. I cannot do such a thing unless I have no more pressure from the authorities. The almighty bloody..."
"Enough." Julian enunciated, raising his index to silence her. She conformed, despite the jostle of her rebellion against her ribcage.
The Duke turned to face his informer and whispered in his ear. "Be discrete." With that final advice – it was more of an order, actually – the policeman left, his mind already processing ways to approach the matter efficiently.
A deadly silence installed in the living room, making Freya shift uncomfortably in her seat. What was she presumed to tell? Maybe it was time she thanked Julian for his help. When she woke up, he was nowhere to be found - probably due to his responsibilities – and his absence brought a bizarre sense of relief, for dealing with her emotions still felt unobtainable.
"Thank you." She uttered, her gaze as piercing as it was grateful.
Julian glared at her, his outlined jaw clenching. "Don't. If I chose not to mention the thing from last night, you should be doing the same."
Freya rose from her seat, placing her hands on her hips. "Is this how you refer to your help? A thing? Why don't you let anyone see the human side of you?" She incredulously asked, her confusion clearly visible.
His statuesque features darkened, and a low groan left his lungs. "Why don't you let anybody see the inhuman side of you?"
Freya blinked a couple of times, his unexpected retort dazzling her. "Excuse me?"
"Do you always act like the bloody Virgin Mary? Are you that ingenuous or do you simply dissemble your darkness?"
"What is wrong with you?" She already felt the stinging burn of tears staining her curved lashes. "I did not force you to help me the other night. You did it voluntarily, and still you have the audacity to blame me for this? What kind of a monster are you?"
Julian simpered malevolently, his fingers grazing the light stubble on his jaw. "You should not add so many question marks in a retort, milady. Have you forgotten your grammar lessons?"
Breathe, Freya, breathe.
"You obnoxious devil!" More colourful words were on the verge of breaking the barriers of her mouth, but she ceased them cautiously. I should not waste my energy on such a heinous man. With those thoughts bearing in her mind, she left the living room and headed towards John's whereabouts.
Her reactions are profuse, and her ego is easily bruised. Not good for the Queen of Utter Poise, am I right? He inwardly asked, the corners of his mouth twitching perkily.
Meanwhile, Freya had already encountered John, who seemed in a good mood. Of course he is, I defended him unhesitantly. Nevertheless, she was proud of both her fortitude and John. He trusted and believed in her, and such a reaction could not have been interpreted differently. It was an utter belief in her abilities, her talent, and her courage. It was a heart-soothing feeling that Freya clung onto for dear life.
"Have you slept well?" She asked, picking a random strawberry from a basket in the kitchen.
John moved to her side, placing his hand over hers. His thankful scrutiny was all the proof she had needed. She was not keen on labelling people, but she thought of him as a good man, someone that she, herself, could trust. A man who would probably renounce his own life to express his gratitude for her aid. Maybe she could reach out to him every time Julian decided to be a full-on bloody idiot.
"Do you think that I could invite my pupils for a learning session?" She inquired. "Until the investigation finished, my courses are interrupted. I would feel extremely guilty if I deprived my kids like that."
John smiled tenderly, his face lighting up. "It amazes me how you can refer to your pupils as your own flesh and blood."
She returned his smile, her thoughts drifting away to Paul Johnson, the child whose mother informed her about the arson. He was indeed God's creation, for his mind was able to accumulate an astonishing amount of information. On top of that, he shared Freya's love for poetry. He was unable to write poems – yet – but he enjoyed listening to his teacher's soothing voice as she pronounced each and every word of art.
"I love them. Their presence enthrones me. Everything I learn is because of their raw curiosity, their appreciation for life's enigmas, their endless optimism." She noticed John's gaze shift to a more humble one, but she decided to continue. "I would not let your master take them away from me."
She heard a low chuckle echoing, and she instantly realized why John had adopted a feeble attitude. The monster was there. Dear God, preserve my patience! With a single movement, Julian motioned John to leave, and the butler surrendered silently.
"I will not allow any of your pupils to enter the Duchy. This is a highly-respected institution, not a kindergarten."
Freya rubbed her glaring eyes, unable to understand why he declined her every proposal. Was he really that misanthropist? She could not imagine the reason behind his callous attitude, but the persuasive feeling of being drawn to him incited her to no end. She had to unearth him.
"At least, may I have a video-chat?"
He nodded, curious about her lessons. He was aware of her talent to mould young minds and was lured by the prospect of witnessing one of her classes.
"Thank God!" She muttered under her breath. Heading towards her room – theirs - she turned on her laptop and started the video chat.
Normally, other teachers would substitute her, but even the principle understood Freya's connection with her pupils. Therefore, her class was allowed to have a week's worth of vacation.
For a couple of minutes, the screen was black, but it soon filled with individual boxes in which her pupils' faces were visible. She had not expected such promptitude, but she was glad they responded to her call so quickly.
"Hello, my loves. Since conducting face-to-face lessons had been prohibited, I thought we could meet each other virtually."
"We are glad you did." A blonde girl cheered, her curls bouncing as she spoke.
Freya clasped her hands together and started teaching them about the value of a meaningful essay. The syllabus obliged them to conform to a certain pattern, a predictable one that Freya avoided at all costs. How could anyone apprehend the art of writing if he was compelled to hinder his creativity? In the middle of the explanation, another pupil proposed the lecture of a poem that could describe the subject they were discussing.
Children's intervention was one of the things Freya appreciated the most. The freedom of speech, as she referred to it, was not only compulsory, but also indispensable. That was the reason she listened to their opinions, because in most cases, their statements held valuable principles – raw forms of self-expression.
"That would be great. What poem do you bear in mind?" She gently asked, longingly waiting for their answer.
"One of yours."
Freya blushed, lowering her gaze as she smiled self-consciously. She could have called herself a poet, but she dodged that term. However, for her pupils, she stripped her shyness and agreed to their proposal. She leaned against her chair, picking up a notebook kept in her purse. She would never leave her poems in a random spot. Gently touching every paper until she found the most appropriate poem, she cleared her throat and started to recite, her voice freed from any restraints.
"People with futile explanations are eternal,
Their self-sufficiency being highly mutual.
They fail to understand life's intricate meaning,
Renouncing any principle, value or feeling.
I live among them, like a hopeless outcast,
Seeing people's faces building up my past.
While I strive for something better,
They're like ink stains on a letter.
Meaningless, manipulated, hungry for an enticing lie,
Involuntarily waiting for their morals to die.
It is such a pity, to notice their decadence,
To witness such a sustained resemblance
To a herd with countless sheep.
Oh, how much I want to weep!
I shouldn't care what their future holds,
Or how they carve and sculpt life's moulds.
But we are all humans, part of the same creation
In which God put such devotion.
What is left to be done, what should I do?
The answer is hoping and praying for you!"
Julian had heard the words rolling off her tongue, as he leaned against the door. His heart was pounding loudly, his breath was suddenly obstructed. He was at a complete loss for words, the kind of silence that only conquered him during his father's speeches. Her voice resembled his father's tone, as if it were identical. The same attention-grabbing inflexions that fascinated the boy he used to be. His mouth dried, as it did years and years ago. His gaze remained fixated on her, as it did on his father when he used to speak of meaningful things. Julian was astounded. As hastily as his fascination unearthed, a sudden rage filled him. He could not link Freya to his father, he could not bear the remembrance of the former Duke's sins. What if Freya ended up just like him? What if Julian would relive the pain and the torture of being a witness to... NO, I would not let this happen! He promised to himself, tempted to hit the wall with his enraged fists.
He stormed out of the room, careless about slamming the door and Freya's acknowledgment of his presence. Why did he still let his father ruin everything that he has built? Why on Earth would he be influenced by someone's intoxicating presence? It all started as a natural relationship between a father and his son, yet it converted to poison - poisonous retorts, smashed plates, endless screams that cracked windows. A collision of two independent hearts, a bloody disastrous one! Julian's hatred could not match anything. The wrath, the pain he felt, they were needles to his skin, grazing his balance, shattering it to pieces. He should not have flinched when Freya called him monster. For he was indeed one, but only as a product of another monster, who strangled every possible innocence until none was left.
"To hell with everything!" Julian yelled, slamming his fist on the table in his office. His temples throbbed, the veins across his neck spreading like roots on the ground. He would have felt the pain igniting from clenching his jaw too tightly, if it wasn't for the increasing wave of pain, as he slammed his fist again, and again, until he brutally collapsed on the sofa. He stared numbly at the ceiling with narrowed eyes, as if he was trying to block the sunlight. He despised brightness, for it only reflected falsity. The brilliance of the day? Utter nonsense. Each day was filled with sorrow, and not a single chimera of happiness would have revived his passion for life.
He finally surrendered to numbness, only after he called John to cancel any meeting. He could not have dealt with people in those moments. Especially people whose hypocrisy filled his mouth with the bitter taste of disgust.
During his tantrum, Freya was able to complete her lesson, making sure every pupil understood their assignment. Basically, they had to create an essay describing two iniquities they had encountered, referring to books of their choice as literary support. As she closed her laptop, she suddenly remembered hearing a loud noise after reciting her poem. Was it the door? Did anyone hear her poem? I should not mind. She thought to herself, brushing off the scent of Julian's cologne that somehow lingered in the room.
She rose from her seat, took a short break and for the next few hours, she analyzed the files required for her social activities. Nearly half of them were a clear sign of deceit, for most of the people involved had a stable financial support and other acquaintances that could have already helped them. They mistook us for idiots, didn't they? She inwardly asked, scoffing as she rummaged through the remaining files. Only God knows how much I try not to chop their heads off. How dare they sordidly profit from us? I must speak to Julian. Grabbing the guilty documents, Freya descended the stairs and almost bumped into John, who was finishing a conversation over the phone.
"What was that?"
The butler cleared his throat and answered truthfully, despite his master banning him from disclosing any information. "It was the Ministry of Defence, I had to take care of milord's duty for today."
Milady furrowed her eyebrows, a wave of concern flooding her sense. "Is he alright?"
"He's in his office." John hinted Julian's whereabouts. If milady was able to ensure John's safety despite the violation of his master's indications, calming him down would not be a problem anymore.
She stormed in the direction of Julian's office, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong. The moment she entered, a burdening sensation overwhelmed her. She headed towards the window, attempting to open it, but a deadly growl cast away her intention.
"Do not do that." Freya spun around, facing a murderously-looking Julian, who was laying on the sofa, with his shirt partially unbuttoned. A perilous smirk darkened his features, menace written all over his face.
"You sound like him."
"Like who?"
"My father." Julian limited his words, for speaking too much would have unearthed his past.
Freya's face lit up, resembling a child's. "The man whose speeches were absolutely alluring?"
Julian came to a standing position, the unbuttoned shirt revealing a scar crossing half of his chiseled torso. "He did not belong to the land of milk and honey. I hated him, I still do, and if you resemble him so precisely, that means I hate you too." He stated in an abnormally calm voice, although the last four words were spitted disdainfully.
Freya involuntarily took a few steps back, hitting the wall opposed to the couch. She could have sensed his hatred even if she had not been there, face-to-face with a man who left her quivering in a mixture of fear and anticipation. She gulped a few times before approaching him again, lowering herself to his standing position. Her scrutiny left him stripped of his guard, for the walls he built so carefully around his heart started to crack, bit by bit. He harshly bit his lip, trying to deviate his attention to the small droplets of blood painting his mouth. She rose her hand, the other gently touching his knee, and rubbed her thumb over his bruised lip, her finger resting on his swollen skin longer than necessary.
"If you dislike him, than so shall I. I trust your judgment and value your reasoning, therefore I will not speak admiringly of him anymore. Would that be alright?" Her voice sounded like a rose petal in the blowing wind. Soft and feathery, warm and inviting.
However, Julian refused to indulge himself in the pleasure of being soothed, and jerked away Freya's hand, dismissing her words. Oddly enough, the absence of her touch left him quite... empty.
"Look, you have to deal with your emotions."
"Just like you? Tell me, have you already dealt with yours?" He maliciously asked, watching her as she lowered her gaze. "I guess not." He continued, rising from his seat as he moved towards the door. He turned around, leaning against the wooden surface, and said. "You are just as poisonous as he is. You fool people into thinking you are a saint, when you are nothing but a sinner. I have sins too, but at least I do not pretend to be someone else."
He grabbed the door handle, but stopped in his tracks as he heard her resolute steps approaching him. He slowly turned around, the muscles bellow his collarbone bulging teasingly.
"You must have developed the Stockholm syndrome if you still want me around after I have just dismissed you." He chuckled, the amusement flickering in his sapphire eyes. Julian rose his hand to button his shirt, but Freya stopped him, her soft touch igniting a feverish sensation. She traced the line of his scar, realizing that it went further down his torso. For both of them, it felt as if the time froze, but no one had the audacity to interrupt that intimacy. His pulse quickened as she placed a feathery kiss on his collarbone, then moved to his mouth, where her plump lips made contact with the corner of his Cupid's bow. His breaths were shudders, his Adam apple bobbing as his self-control slowly, but steadily left him.
His hand snaked around her waist, pulling her closer to his beating heart. She gasped, yearning for the forseen collision of their lips. Her gaze was meaningful, and as Julian stared deeply into her eyes, he realized she wanted to kiss his pain away. But he did not want a butterfly kiss. No. He wanted his rage to encompass both of them, to intoxicate her as much as she poisoned him. He entwined their lips, his hands travelling down Freya's spine, as they witnessed her tremble. She was slightly taken aback, for she had expected a soft caress of skin and flesh, not a battle for domination. He licked her upper lip right before his tongue merged into hers, dissolving any rational thought or reasoning. It almost felt like a fight, with him trying to silently yell at her through strokes and rummaging hands. He wanted her to know his pain without verbally expressing it. He wanted her to feel his wrath, his sins, and the monster inside him. As he nibbled against the flesh of her luscious lips, she deliciously moaned, the sound of her voice shattering the remaining ounce of his self-control. He shifted places and slammed her back against the wall, her core clenching as Julian stroked her thigh and cupped the cheeks of her perfectly-rounded bottom. With every pant, every groan, his palms caressed her more gently, his rage fading away, until their lips reached a constant rhythm, resembling the persuasive waves of the sea as they crashed into the shore.
When Julian eventually broke off the kiss, the evanescence of the darkness in which he previously succumbed, became more and more vivid. He was freed from that horrid feeling, she freed him. How could that even be possible?
"Why do you do this to me?" He found himself verbalizing his thought, his voice slightly cracking as her alleviating presence engulfed him.
She fully-smiled, batting her eyelashes. "We need each other as a shelter." Freya murmured, witnessing his muscles flex from underneath his shirt.
"As an emotional involvement?" Julian asked, anticipating her answer, but still wanting to hear the murmur of her rose-stained lips.
"Not really."
Julian's jaw clenched and the creases on his forehead deepened.
"Your answer is lacking any assurance. Freya, I am obliged to stay focused. Curvy buttocks and voluptuous bosoms are clearly a distraction!'' His apparent calm was now shattered to pieces. "Falling for you would be the death of all my principles!"
"I am not referring to love, but a certain amount of humanity would undeniably help you. Restraining yourself from your human side triggered the gap between you and your people in the first place! They need not some self-deprived monster with the rage of a bull!" It was Freya's turn to throw stinging words at him.
If some random photographer would have captured them, they could have easily mirrored a pray and his predator. Frankly, the distribution of the roles was still questionable.
"That's enough! You are overstepping your boundaries."
"You have crossed mine too." She uttered, watching him gulp nervously. He shook his head, renouncing the relief the kiss has brought. "To hell with the shelter you bring! And please, limit your interest in political matters. If you picture yourself as a sheep when referring to me as a lion, imagine how they think of you. Nothing more than a mosquito buzzing around their tails."
And with that final retort, the curtain call has arrived. Julian left his office and while setting a deadly silence, he also ripped a part of Freya's heart. Or was it her ego?