Chapter Eleven

I awake in a cold sweat, my heart thumping loudly, though I have no idea why. The clock on the wall says that a full six hours have passed. That would make it night. I’ve had enough sleep.

I go into the bathroom and inspect the rich selection of soaps and shampoos. I take a long shower and then use the brush hanging near the sink to untangle my mass of hair. This job takes me at least ten minutes. I briefly wonder why I have never cut it off. I don’t think on it long. Wearing the robe which was hanging in the bathroom, I open the bedroom closet. There are cloths here. I wonder for a moment if they are waiting for me.

I rummage through them, sliding each hanger across the pole as I inspect each of the dresses. Before long, I come across a long dress of purple and black, lavish and expensive. For a moment, I am tempted, but I decide against wearing it and settle for a pair of black denim pants and a long-sleeved, black shirt, each of simple design. They fit me surprisingly well, hugging my female form much better than my usual clothing.

Timidly, I leave the room, having no idea what to do with myself. The halls are dark and seem to go on forever. The place is easily big enough to get lost in.

I hear a noise behind me and turn, my heart beginning to pound. I don’t see anything, but then again, it is very, very dark. I turn again and continue walking.

Only a few seconds pass before my heart is back to its normal pace, my fear having evaporated. But that is soon to change. I feel a hand grip my shoulder and swiftly turn, grabbing the wrist of the attacker and attempting to twist it behind his back. I am unable to. I’m not powerful enough.

The attacker is Julian, smiling calmly. He swiftly takes the hand that has been struggling with his powerful wrist and holds it gently in both of his. “You’re up,” he says, bringing the hand to his lips. The second that I begin to pull away, he politely lets go, losing none of his confidence. “Your friend woke up an hour ago, I believe.”

“Is Mercivious alright?” I ask, my breathing ragged.

He nods and his smile warms, becomes sympathetic. “What’s got you all worked up, Darling? I assure you that I’m the most dangerous thing in this palace, and I wouldn’t harm you in a million years.”

I pause. “Can I see him, please?”

Julian nods. “Of course. Right this way.” He turns in the opposite direction and I follow him.

“Are you usually so kind to strangers?” I ask as we walk.

“No,” he says. “Never.”

“Then why—?”

“Like I said,” he interrupts. “You remind me of someone.”

It is clear to me, by this time, that he plans to tell me nothing else of this “someone.” I let is rest. “Alright.”

Mercivious’ door is opened when we arrive at his room, and the lights are on. He lies in the bed directly inside the room, a thin layer of clear and shiny cream covering every exposed part of his body. It makes his burns look terrible, but I suspect it is there to heal them.

“Midnight!” he exclaims drowsily with a delighted smile. “How are you?”

“That’s what I should be asking you, Mercivious. Do you remember what happened?”

“No…” he says.

“You collapsed. You were sick. You still are.”

“Oh, I know I’m sick.” He sounds faintly drunk. “My skin hurt like hell when I woke up…”

I turn to the nurse on duty. “What is he on?”

“Painkillers,” she responds.

“Thought so…”

His joy is immense and childish. “It made everything feel so much better, Midnight!”

“What’s that he keeps calling you?” Julian asks.

“Oh,” I say, my eyes still on Mercivious. “It’s a nickname. I hate it.”

“You love it, Babe,” Mercivious says with a laugh. “And I love you, remember? Why don’t you love me back?” His smile hasn’t faded. He’s completely out of it.

Julian laughs, and I sort of smile. “I don’t love,” I respond.

“Liar!” Mercivious says, closing his eyes.

“Goodnight, Merci,” I say, and I turn to leave the room.

“’Night, Beautiful.”

I leave the room and Julian follows. “How much like that does he usually act?” he says sarcastically.

“He’s usually more serious,” I say. “He was a scientist—a doctor—when he was just thirteen, maybe younger. And he just lost his parents.” I smirk a little. “Usually, he just whines until I tell him to shut up.”

Julian laughs. “Where did you come from, Tia?”

“You’ve asked me that before, and I told you that—”

“That you don’t remember, I know. I mean recently—where did you come from? Where were you two before you found your way here?”

I pause to consider whether or not to answer. “Why should I tell you?” I say finally. “You still haven’t told me anything but your name.”

“There’s nothing about me that you need to know right now. And haven’t I been very kind to you and your friend? Opening up my home and such?” He gently and humorously pleads.

“Yes,” I say. “But you’ve refused to tell me why.” I find myself feeling playful—a strange happening—and I walk ahead of him with a mischievous grin. “Tell me who I remind you of and I’ll tell you where I came from.”

He laughs openly and chases me, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my cheek. “Tia, you’re amazing.” He gently rocks me back and forth. Trapped in his iron grip—helpless and female—I begin to feel safe. “Tell me where you came from, Tia, and I will consider telling you more about myself.”

“‘Consider’?” I ask. “It sounds like you’re just trying to get something for nothing.”

One arm still firmly around my waist, he brushes the hair from the side of my neck and kisses me there. I love the feeling. “Never!” he says sarcastically. “I am appalled that you would so much as get the idea that I could be so sneaky.”

“Let me go, Julian?” I say lightly.

“Never,” he says.

“Now,” I say with a bit more conviction, still not losing my playful tone.

“Stubborn woman.” He lets go. I turn to face him. “Did you always live on this planet?” he asks.

“Did you?” I respond.

He smirks. “This stand-off could go on forever.”

“Yes, it could, couldn’t it?”

He laughs. “Do you want something to eat?”

“That would be lovely,” I respond.