Superior

Chapter 3- Mr. Dreamy

   I put a hand up to cradle my injured cheek and put my head down to shade myself from any further shame. I don’t dare utter another word to Mr. Dreamy, surely he’s mad enough at me already. I’ve caused him so much humiliation…

   I shut my eyes somberly and concentrate on walking in a straight line. My head is still spinning from the blow I’ve taken, and the threat of my tears is enough to send me flying toward the ground. The noises outside my head dull and mingle together, creating a numb buzzing noise in my ears. I hardly feel the ground beneath me, and I only remember Mr. Dreamy’s presence when he reaches over to steer me away from a street cart.

   Soon enough, we reach what I assume is his house. Without taking much of a look at the building, I follow Mr. Dreamy into the front hall.

   “Here, sit down,” he says quietly, pulling me aside into his living room. I stand above a chair, feeling too dirty to sit, until he instructs me again to take a seat.

   Mr. Dreamy finds a seat himself and leans forward. I wait for the onslaught of accusations and violence, but there is only silence. Pity-filled silence.

   I pull my head up to stare at him. I realize I must look horrible with a shiner the size of a fist covering half my face, but my embarrassment isn’t enough to stop my curiosity. Why isn’t he attacking me like the other man?

   “Oh, ouch,” he says, getting a clear look at my face. “I’ve got some ice that will help that.” Mr. Dreamy stands up and walks into another one of his rooms, leaving me to gap in confusion. Isn’t he mad? How could he not be? He just went to an auction, overpaid for a stingy sixteen year old Reject girl, and was then publicly humiliated by her. He acts as if he’s fine with it.

   Am I missing something?

   Mr. Dreamy walks back in with a crème cloth bound around something cold. I watch his chilled red fingers as he presses the cloth to my cheek and almost sigh with relief when the ice draws out my pain.

   “Thank you,” I mumble, closing my eyes in bliss.

   “He really got you good, didn’t he?” Mr. Dreamy slides easily back into his seat and folds his hands in front of him. After a moment of silence he adds, “I’m sorry about your friend.”

   Remembering Spruce brings tears to my eyes, but I keep my gaze down to hide them. I try to find my voice to thank him for trying, but it only comes out as a raspy cough.

   “You should probably rest,” he says, moving to get up again.

   “No!” I stop him, my eyes growing wide. I quickly stutter to say, “I—I mean, no, please don’t go to any more trouble for me. I’m the one that should be—I mean, you bought me to—“

   “I bought you to please my father,” he interrupts. “I have no plans to abuse you like that oaf down at the auction.”

   I fall silent. Then, quietly, I mutter, “Oh.” Such a huge amount of relief flows out of me in that one word, though, that I know it’s the only thing I could have managed to say.

   I press the ice pack tighter against my skin as Mr. Dreamy continues to explain.

   “I come from a family of very political men. We’re actually kind of, well, known for it around here. I don’t expect the name Periculos to have any effect on you, but in the streets of Rome it holds power.”

   Rome. So that’s where I am.

   “My father thinks that, to hold such power, I need to obtain an amount of…” he pauses, searching for the right word, “entities, er, no… retainers?” Mr. Dreamy squints in confusion. Then he shakes his head and says, “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, a servant was on that list. I’m not completely sure of my father’s logic, but I’m guessing he thought reigning control over a Reject would help fill out some of the power in my name.”