Dream Eater (m|m)

Chapter 4

It's almost seven, an hour past the arranged time, and I haven't left Dante's apartment yet. 

I've been debating all day whether or not to tell them about Damien's messages and how, like the idiot I am, I agreed to meet him again.

At seven-fifteen, time makes the decision for me, and I head for the door.

"Alex? Are you going out?" Dante calls. They're sitting in front of a massive canvas, on which is the beginnings of a new painting. I recognize my own form, reclining on a block of marble, draped in black silk. There's something funereal about the image, and I glance away.

"Yeah," I say. "I--I'm not sure when I'll be back."

They turn and regard me keenly. "Do you have a job?" they ask, one perfect brow raised.

"I do. It's...It's across town."

Dante holds my gaze a beat. When I don't say more, they nod once. "Good luck, then. Be safe."

I start to leave, but stop with my hand on the doorknob. 

"Dante--thank you. Thanks for letting me stay here. Thanks for...caring."

They set down their brush and stand. I wait while they cross the floor.

Dante lifts my chin with two fingers, forcing me to meet their eyes. I know that their power is exponentially greater than mine. If they wanted, they could charm me, make me tell them anything.

I know they won't.

"Alex, little bird, you are always welcome here. Don't ever think you have to run away on my account. Whether it's in a few hours, tomorrow, or in three months--you come back whenever you need to, you hear me?"

My breath catches, and they wrap me in a hug.

I cling to them for a moment before letting go.

"Thank you," I say again.

Dante smiles. "I should thank you, beautiful bird. You are my favorite muse, after all."

I laugh at that, and then I force myself to leave before I change my mind.

~xxx~

At the corner of Damien's apartment building, I hesitate.

I don't want to do this. I don't. The thought of experiencing a dream like that again makes me nauseous.

And yet if that's what he goes through every night... How can I not at least try to help?

Swallowing my nerves, I step around the corner.

He's waiting, taking away my last chance to turn chicken and run.

He looks worse than he did a week ago. Then, he looked like he belonged on the cover of Forbes; now he looks like he'd fit in better with the hobos down by the docks.

His hair is lank and unwashed, dark shadows circle his eyes, and his skin has the gross, colorless look of cold oatmeal.

He brightens when he sees me coming towards him, like a starving dog at the promise of food.

"Alex. I was afraid you wouldn't come."

"Mr. Knight." I keep my voice cool.

He grimaces. His suit looks like it needs to be pressed. "Here," he pulls out a thick wad of hundreds and waves it towards me with a shaking hand. "What we agreed. $25,000. It's all there, I promise."

Christ.

"Uh, let's go inside, Mr. Knight. Damien. I only take money for services rendered."

I grab his arm and steer him towards the door.