Men. A complication in the universe that causes me more headaches than I ask for.

In the last week since Cato's visit to my bedroom, my mind has been occupied with fantasies of the esteemed astronaut. When I lay in bed, I reminisce about his kisses against my skin, his soft lips grazing my exposed neck. I fantasize about fingertips trailing up my breastbone, crossing my fingers that the next time they touch me they aren't blocked by the fabric of my clothes.

Cato Leveque weakens me, and I fear that the next time our paths cross, I won't be able to resist his charms.

"Maureen."

The abhorrent sound of Madame Newmister snaps me away from my daydreams.

Her hounding has been a constant as I scrub down one on of the operating rooms. Someone bled out on the table earlier this morning, and the gory mess was everywhere. Every nook, every cranny, every crevasse—blood. Even I have never seen a room so grotesque. When Madame Newmister excused herself after assigning me this task, I vomited into the trash can.

I lift my eyes from scrubbing between the tiles. "Yes, madame?"

"Do you know the time?"

I search for a clock, finding none.

"It's well past six at night." She crosses her arm across her chest. "Go home. I do not want to see your face again tonight, and I'm not paying you for the extra hour."

My cheeks redden like raspberries. How long had I been thinking about Cato? I've never been one to zone out before, but Cato's kisses bring me to a whole other universe. I need to get that boy out of my head. Erase him. Forget him. Delete him from my memories.

Yet, it's not like I can avoid him when his childhood photos strewn in picture frames across the Leveque's estate. He's a forever presence in my life, a staple in the Leveque household.

I weave through the corridors and drape my shawl around me. Even from inside, the rain rushes through the hospital gutters and pounds against the rooftop like tiny hammers. The trip back to the Leveque estate isn't one that I'm thrilled about taking this evening.

The walk from the hospital to the Leveque Estate takes around twenty minutes or so, give or take the amount of traffic I need to get by.

I step outside and begin to rush down the hospital's steps, only to have my shoes fill with murky street water from the large puddles. I hike up my maid's dress, but the edges are already brown from the constant splashing.

Curse this damn weather. My clothes will certainly need a good wash.

I barrel down the hospital steps, the rain saturating my hair and shawl. The faster I run, the quicker I can seek out the warmth of my quilts back at the estate.

A car horn honks from in front of me, and I see a man get out, waving his arm. A cigarette sticks between his lips.

Thomas.

He points for me to get into the passenger seat.

If it weren't pouring rain, I wouldn't dare get into his vehicle, but the bastard knows how to play his cards right. I find myself crawling into the passenger's side.

He tosses his cigarette out the window as I crawl inside.

"Took you long enough, daffodil. I was beginning to think you actually quit your fucking job."

"How'd you find me here?"

"You told me you worked at the hospital."

I scowl, then catch a glimpse of myself in his side mirror. My long blonde hair remains in a sopping chaotic braid. Lost strands plaster themselves against my skin and caked to my blushing cool cheeks. I must look like an old hag—er, more like a witch—with my drenched dress and soggy footwear.

And Thomas? Although his hair is a little wet from standing outside for about fifteen seconds, his clothes remain quite dry. He dresses in a shirt and jeans, exposing the black intricate ink on his muscular arms. Like last time, he keeps his dirty blonde hair tied back, with only a few blonde strands falling down his cheeks.

Unlike me, he looks like someone who has their life intact.

He starts driving, and I immediately crank the window open just a smidge. His car smells of cigarettes, but I still catch the faint whiff of springtime flowers caught in the seat cushions. He's a mixture of sweet and smoky.

"Who are you?" I spit out.

He chuckles. "Thomas."

"I know that," I roll my eyes, "but who are you really? How come you know my name?"

He takes a quick glance at me, then focuses his blue eyes back on the road. "A simple 'thanks for the ride' would've done it. I wasn't expected to get interrogated like this."

"Then pull the car over," I demand, not caring if I'm supposed to be a submissive servant. "I'll just walk the rest of the way—"

"No, stay in the fucking car," he holds my arm as he says this, his touch oddly gentle. He slips his hand down to my thigh. How discreet of him. The wet dress clings to me like second skin, cold, but I doubt it leaves anything to Thomas' imagination. "Are you hungry?"

He's ignoring my question.

"Don't switch the topic on me," I rouse. "I know what you're doing."

He grins. It's a little infectious, and I can't resist upward curve of my lips that reacts to it. "I'm just being a good chauffeur. I wouldn't want my passenger to be hungry."

I settle my hand on top of his own that rests on my leg. "I'd prefer if my chauffeur just brought me back to the Leveque's. Evelyn will be furious if I don't make it back."

"You'll make it back," he drops his hoarse voice until it smooths me like sandpaper. "I just need you for something."

"What?"

He drives into a gravel parking lot and parks crookedly, not giving a damn about the spaces next to him. He shuts off the car and opens up the door, letting the rain lash at him. I expect him to get out, but not before the flame of his lighter flickers. He lights another cigarette.

I cough at the wretched smell. "Do you have to do that in here?"

He grunts. "It calms my nerves."

"It raises mine."

He hesitates as I say this, then removes the cigarette from his lips and extends it over to me. "Try it."

I shake my head, annoyed that he'd even think I'd want a puff of that. "I'd rather not."

He smirks and places the cigarette back in his mouth. "You're cute when you're pissed."

Before I can react, he steps out of the car and rushes over to my side and opening it up (like the surprising gentleman he is). The moment I step out of the car, Thomas swings his arms underneath me. He picks me up bridal style, sheltering me from the cold rain battering against us. His chest remains warm.

"Put me down!" I shriek, which brings out a low brooding laugh that rumbles his chest.

"Relax, daffodil. You're fine."

The glimmer in his blue irises allures me. They sparkle like sapphires, and I'll admit: I feel more than fine when I'm within his strong arms.

He carries me into a nearby building. It's run-down, a little shabby with metal sheets acting as patches for the roof. The building itself is several stories tall—three, maybe four stories? A small balcony juts out from the tallest floor.

The bottom floor appears to be a deadbeat bar with only a few customers sitting around. When Thomas enters in, everyone turns in his direction as if they were a compass, and he was north. How could anybody's eyes overshadow such a man? Thomas' tall physique acts like a beacon to be gazed at, a lighthouse in a storm.

I breathe in the air. I doubt this is the first time he's been in here. It smells like smoke, like Thomas.

Thomas' arms tighten around me as he angles his body in away that they can't stare at us, or rather, at me.

The bartender waves a glass at him. "What did I tell you about the damn cigarettes in my bar?"

He cringes a little, causing the cigarette in his lips to tip up. "Like I give a fuck."

"And who's the girl?"

"The new floor cleaner."

"Is this the—" Thomas gives them no attention. He only makes his way to the staircase, carrying my soaked body up each step.

When we're out of sight, I attempt to wriggle out of his arms. "You can let go of me now. I know how to use my legs."

"Hmm, keep that in mind for the negotiations for your new job."

"I'm not working for you."

He grunts. "I told you I wouldn't forget about you, daffodil."

We reach the top floor. It's an apartment, with old out-of-date furniture and appliances. There's minimal decorations, and the wallpaper peels and chips. Some of the floorboards remain warped and the sheets on the bed are wrinkled and torn (but to my eyes, appear clean). The only door separating anything is the one that leads to the bathroom, otherwise, it's all in the same space. A perfect bachelor's apartment.

He settles me on my two feet again and continues to nurse his cigarette. He pulls out a shirt from his closet. "Strip down and put this on."

I blush gazing at the oversized shirt. "Excuse me?"

"Put it on."

"That would be improper to do, especially in front of you."

"And why's that?" his blue eyes flicker with desire.

"I don't know who you are."

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray and wanders over to a couch. He sits on it, lounging backward and manspreading wide. He raises his eyebrows at me, awaiting for me to strip. His gaze warms me up, sending a shiver throughout my body, but I can't dare to meet his eyes.

"Daffodil," his rough voice heats my cheeks. "Look at me."

And I do.

Cato isn't the only one in this world who makes me weak.

"I may be a servant, but I'm not bound to you," I rouse. "I belong to the Leveque household, so don't you dare think you can control me like this. So no, I will not be redressing myself."

He takes a minute to let my words soak in, his eyes widened to expose the full blue purity of them. Never before had I been so brisk with another person, but Thomas somehow pries that part of me out. He makes me frustrated, maybe because of him, or maybe because of the story that the world writes for me that I desperately try to escape from.

He stands to his feet, this time with a blanket in his arms. He comes up to me and drapes it around my shoulders. This utterly confusing man drives me through the roof. First he kidnaps me, then asks me to strip into his clothes, but maybe I was misunderstood.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot... again," he winks at me. "Want to start over, daffodil?"

"If we keep doing that, we won't get anywhere."

"Is there somewhere you want to go?"

"No, but you—" drive me crazy. I bite my tongue to refrain from saying that outloud.

He gestures back to the couch and chairs. "Take a seat, daffodil. I'll explain why I brought you here."

Thomas sits across from me with a smirk tainted with mischief. A blonde lock of hair falls from his small hair tie, framing this face. It's now I notice scars into his skin, like a mosaic of stories untold. My gaze travels down his bare tattooed arm, wondering what they mean to him.

Thomas is an enigma I'll never fully comprehend. There's something hidden behind those blue eyes, like a puzzle needing to be solved, but he won't reveal the clues just to any ordinary person. I doubt he'll even drop any hints about himself to me of all people.

"You done staring?" he questions, his lips curving into a smile.

I blush and hug the blanket around my cold body tighter than before, trying to subdue the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

Then at once, the playfulness that Thomas seems to possess turns to stone.

"Cato Leveque," he states. "What'd he tell you?"

━ ◦ ❖ ◦━

Tension is in the air as the mystery of Thomas begins to unravel.

Thoughts on Thomas so far?

Updated August 5, 2022.