Utterly Forgettable | MM Romance | Complete

Eight: I'll Call You Minion (2/2)

A deep frown marred Hall's bland features when, four hours later, he collected Josh from the living room; Emma would receive them in her bedroom which, judging by Hall's reaction, was an unusual occurrence.

Her bedroom was a strange hybrid of personal and hospital room, with an unmade bed that clearly aimed to bridge the gap between both worlds; there were more monitors around it than Josh had seen in some actual hospital rooms, but most of them seemed to be unused. There were two other doors, one open to reveal a part of a desk with papers cluttering every inch Josh could see, and another which Josh assumed led to a private bathroom. There were horizontal bars lining the walls a little below waist level all over the bedroom.

And then there was Emma.

If Emery Hall was blandness in tailored clothes, Emma Hall was the exact opposite. Sitting on a wheelchair in sweaty workout clothes, with her wavy dark brown hair all over her face and a hard look in her shaky brown irises, it was readily apparent that she would have been beautiful, if life had treated her more kindly.

Was beautiful still, if one looked past the oddly curved spine — scoliosis, Josh would wager — and the eyes that never stayed completely still in their sockets, wavering slightly as if she were an antique porcelain doll. Her speech had a faintly slurred quality to it; anyone who heard her would understand that her train of thought was lightyears away from what crossed her mouth.

Hall looked at his sister, dismayed. "Emma," he gestured in her general direction, "really?"

"What," she asked, chin jutting out, "was I supposed to play dress up for the babysitter? Must have missed the memo."

"Emma, please. You never—"

"Put it in an email next time. Telepathy isn't working." She spared Josh a scathing look, her head twitching involuntarily. She continued to address her brother as if Josh weren't even in the room. "So this is the new hired help. At least this one's easy on the eyes." A grin that was more than a bit wolfish. "Want to bet on whether he lasts the week?"

Josh just loved the smell of hostility in the morning.

Hall pinched the bridge of his nose, black-framed glasses lifting up before falling back into place. He seemed poised to speak but Josh took the opportunity to have a say in the conversation.

"I thought we could talk. Discuss expectations, that sort of thing."

"And he speaks. How quaint." She was still addressing Hall. "Tell your new minion he's better-looking when he's quiet."

Josh had seen this before, this behavior that bordered on emotionally violent, from a few of his clients. It tended to mean they saw Josh as a threat to their relationships with their loved ones. The unfortunate thing was, some of them weren't wrong; there were people who were even less cut out to deal with the impending death of those they cared about than others. Those were the ones likely to pull away, seeing Josh as someone to absolve them of any lingering guilt — if a suitable emotional crutch had been arranged for, then they weren't neglecting their loved ones, they thought.

They were also the ones hit hardest once the actual death had happened, whether at the funeral or years down the road. The weight of things unsaid and moments not lived was a powerfully destructive force. From his brief conversation with Hall earlier that day, he didn't think he'd be one of those, but it was too early to tell.

"This is Mr. Winters. I'm quite certain you can be civil enough to at least talk to him."

"Mmm." She made a show of considering his words. "You're right, I can. Whether I want to waste my time? Different matter."