Brought Down

20. Late Supper

Garrett

I'm not making the mistake of letting Julian out of my sight this time. As we navigate the empty corridors, he walks first, and I follow, giving him orders at the intersections.

"Turn left. Now right."

I'm trying to get Kevin's expression out of my head, but it keeps returning. Given my rank, he couldn't quite stop me from taking Julian to a different place, but his look of suspicion stung. Why did he think I was dismissing him? I should have given a proper explanation, so that he wouldn't doubt me.

I'll talk to him tomorrow.

Perhaps by then I will know what to say.

"Stop. It's here."

I open the door and let Julian in, then follow him inside and flip the switch.

My room is as I left it, with my bed in disarray and my damp towel hanging off an old armchair's elbow. Julian looks around, then turns to me. His face shows no emotions, just a passive expectation of whatever is coming next.

"Be my guest," I say. "There. Kitchen."

In the kitchen, he stops tentatively, breathing in the smell of the soup that is still strong with my unwashed bowl resting in the sink.

"Sit down." I point at one of the two stools by the small metal table. There's barely enough space for more than one person, and it's only after Julian slips into his chair that I can walk to the counter and retrieve the soup pot. I spill the remains of the soup into a bowl and place it in front of him. Then fetch a spoon and put it on the table.

He just stares at it without moving.

"Soup," I say. "It's for eating."

"Is this some kind of prank?" He looks up. "Did you poison it, or spiked it with something?"

"Why would I do something like that?"

"Why would you just give me soup?"

I shrug. "Because you're hungry. Anyway, there's more than I can eat." I could add that it just feels unnecessarily cruel to keep starving him, but that's more insight into my motives than I'm willing to offer. Being kind is too much of a weakness to expose it openly.

He just stares at me, his expression unreadable.

I shift, and he probably thinks I'm about to take his food away. He leans over it in a protective gesture. Then, seeing that I'm not doing anything, he grabs the spoon and begins to eat. After the first mouthful, he cleans the rest in such a haste that makes me remember my own experience with hunger. There's nothing like that moment when it can finally be satisfied.

It feels weird to just stand there and watch, so I turn away and start washing the dishes. When I turn back, he is scraping the remains of the soup from the bottom of his bowl. I consider offering him some crackers or some canned food that I have, but when you haven't eaten for days, you better start gradually.

He places the spoon in the empty bowl. I'm half expecting him to ask for more, but he seems consistent in not asking for anything that's not being offered.

"Thanks," he says at last, without looking at me.

"Welcome," I say. "Surely not the kind of food you're used to at home."

"It was like I died and went to heaven."

I snicker. "Yeah. Angie cooked that."

"Your Angie is a multy-purpose. Pilots aircrafts and cooks like a pro."

"She's not mine." I pause. "I mean, she's with me, but she's... on her own."

He looks up. His face is still gaunt and his eyes glint feverishly, but there's some color returning to his cheeks, and his voice sounds more alive. "What now?"

"Wait for me in the room," I say. "I'll finish it up here and take you back to your cell."

He bows his head in agreement and raises from his chair. I step out of the kitchen to let him out. Once in the room, I remember the knives that I keep next to the sink, and make a move to return. But Julian comes out without any attempts to open a drawer or pick anything. He walks past me, sinks into the armchair, and closes his eyes.

"Nice furniture," he mutters. I'm not sure if he's being sarcastic, so I don't reply.

I return to the kitchen and finish the dishes. There's nothing in my bedroom that he could use for a weapon, and if he tries to leave the room, I'll hear it. I'm on high alert anyway. It's not really that urgent to do the dishes now, but I'm curious to see what he will do. Will he repay my gesture with another attempt to escape or attack me?

I wipe my hands on one of the towels Angie has left and return to the room.

Julian is where I've left him, sitting in the armchair. His head is tilted to one shoulder and his hands rest limply on the arm pads. His eyes are closed.

I sit down on the bed and watch him, trying to figure out if he's pretending again. The room is shadowy since I have only left the light in the kitchen on. It's quite possible he did really fall asleep, given his state.

I let my eyes travel over his face. There's not a shade of hair growing there, and I remember rumors of some royals permanently depilating facial hair. A ridiculous thing to do, but I guess it worked for Julian. His skin is porcelain clean and his features are slender, like those of a drawing or a statue. He's... handsome. Beautiful even. Never thought I would apply the term to a guy, but here I am. Perhaps it's him not quite looking like a guy that messes with my head.

I don't remember ever thinking about Angie in terms of beauty. She had so much to offer as a person that beauty was kind of irrelevant. In case of Julian, it is the only thing that is relevant. I don't know what he's really like as a person. There were glimpses of humor and smarts, but mostly, he's just behaved like an asshole. Yet I never felt from Angie such a magnetic pull as I feel now from this thin, elegant face.

Am I really that shallow? If I could get him, would I throw away all the good that is Angie, and exchange it for someone doll-pretty but likely ugly inside?

I frown. Why the hell am I thinking about that? He's a guy. I don't want to 'get him'. It's just some strange obsession that will go away.

Yet I can't quite take my eyes off him. His graceful features. His slightly parted lips.

I find myself wondering what kissing him would feel like.

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