Kill Me, Kiss Me

TWENTY FOUR

    IF he hadn't the same fortitude, he wouldn't have been able to move a single step.

    The grand oak doors opened to an entrance hall with marble floors and a crystal chandelier that dominated the entire ceiling, but that was far from the most breathtaking detail. It was not the long tables covered with wine, Canapés and flowers, it was not the quartet stationed at the doorway leading further in to the house, it was not even the buzz of waiters dressed in black waistcoats and white shirts, no, it was the sheer number of people.

    Theo had been to a number parties in his life, the biggest one being perhaps his university graduation ceremony. They'd gone crazy and at the end, more than half of the people at the venue weren't even graduating. This was on another scale; it could not even be compared to the networking socials at his office. People streamed in and out of the inner hall, the women in extravagant dresses, the men in suits with their hair slicked back, all deep in conversation with champagne in hand and professional smiles splashed on faces.

    His face burnt hot, and the air threatened to stifle him - it did stifle him, he could not deny it no matter how hard he clenched his jaw and steadied his pace at Keir's side. At the moment the doors swung open and the crowds caught sight of who was coming, the steady buzz of voices died into silence. The quartet piece continued in its resilience, but it only accentuated the consuming quiet and the absurdity of the situation. He still had his pride, he'd thought. Now, he couldn't be quite so sure.

    Keir's words rang true, they were really all looking at him - the jet black leash hanging from his neck, the glittering chains choking his neck that threw dazzlingly spectrums under the light, the hanging silk of his blood red shirt, his hair, his eyes, his face, not one place remained unnoticed, unseen. Something deeper and more uncomfortable, more sour than nausea swirled within the dividing line of his chest and abdomen. Yes, they were looking at him, these people stewing in their wealth, they were looking at him more intently than they did in his previous life. But he was not shining, it was not because of his abilities or his power, or even his friends.

    It was simply because he was a thing, and as a thing, he had a price that could be gauged and bought.

    But worst, worst of all, in those shining gazes, those grimaced lips, shifting eyes, he could read the sympathy like they were giant signs in black and white hanging over the walls.

    What of his pride? It was shredding into fragments.

    Theo's hands trembled, but he forced himself to stare straight ahead at the muted orange glow beyond the doorway. I can save some of it, he thought, there's still some chance. But to do that, to do that would mean to relinquish himself, to flaunt this position, to throw 'this' all into their faces until they drowned and choked in its cloying stickiness. He'd seen it done before - at uni, at clubs, at those underground underground casinos with his superiors.

    How did those men and women do it so freely with so much ease? Or did they feel this same crushing weight of those belittling stares that probed the edges of his clothes and deeper as if by just looking at him, they could touch his flesh?

    A light, feathery laugh emanated from Theo's side.

    Like a switch flipping, the hubbub resumed, the waiters continued on their frantic but co-ordinated bee lines, the men and women huddled back into their small circles, the alcohol continued to be drunk, but there was always a silver of a sticky gaze that stuck to his face.

    "Loosen up." Keir whispered, squeezing Theo's waist even tighter until he could feel each indent of Keir's fingers.

    A passing waiter's face flushed red at the words and cast a strange glance at Theo. He gripped the side of his face and dug his fingertips into his pulsing temple.