:
<b>81 </b>
55 vouchers
“There’s a greenhouse,” Kross said, no longer looking at me but at the wall behind me, a faraway look in his eyes. “Just behind the mansion. It was once a ce of beauty but it’s now ovee by weeds and the like. That’s your job. Revive the garden.”
I know nothing about gardening–I don’t even know how to hold a trowel–but that is what the inte and books are for.
I nodded, though I was just nodding to myself because he wasn’t still looking at me. I stared at him, looking at him from a fresh view. He didn’t seem so cold right now. It seems all his walls have been dropped. Maybe it was because he was tired, but it made me see him with fresh eyes.
He wasn’t a machine; he felt things. And right now I couldn’t decipher what he was feeling, but I could still see the sadness.
“The greenhouse meant something to you, didn’t it?” I asked softly.
He worked his jaw, as if he hadn’t wanted to be caught showing emotions like a human, turning to face me slowly but his eyes weren’t hard like I thought they
would be.
“It was my mother’s,” he answered softly. “Our mother’s. She loved the greenhouse. It’s where she would run to when life gets… too much. And she went there a lot.” He looked around the room, the sadness in his eyes very much obvious now. “This was her home. We moved in after she… died.”
That strange feeling returned–that feeling of wanting to offerfort, but even though I gave in to the feeling, I wouldn’t know the first thing about offeringfort. So I stayed put, but I still couldn’t resist asking questions.
“You three didn’t live with your mother? And why didn’t she live with your father?”
He sighed, removing his eyess and rubbing his eyes. I thought I had crossed the line with those questions and he was going to kick me out of his office, but instead, he walked to a drawer, bringing out a bottle of liquor and two cups.
“You drink?” he asked without looking back.
13:03 Mon, Sep <b>8 </b>
“No.”
<b>81 </b>
55 vouchers
He dropped one cup and walked past me to the sofa. “Come sit. I’m too tired to keep standing.”
And so I sat opposite Kross, the man I thought was incapable of feelings. Even his brothers had called him a heartless machine, and that made me realize he didn’t show this side of himself to people.
Why did that make my heart jump?
He filled the cup and drank it all in one go, refilling as he said, “My parents‘ marriage was overwhelming. At least to my mother. She was a soft petal, while he was a cold marble statue. She needed love and care, but my father wasn’t the kind of person to offer those things.” He turned the cup, watching the brown liquid in it twirl. “She asked for space and he gave her this mansion. She wanted us toe live with her, but Father refused. He wanted to raise the perfect heir, and he feared Mother would only make us soft. So we lived with him while asionally visiting her, until we heard she was dead.”
His hand clenched around the cup, so hard I heard it crack. I didn’t ask, I just gave him time. Finally, he continued, “It was a flower. Oleander, they called it. It was poisonous, but just one inhale can’t kill you. She burned it. She gathered the flowers, locked herself in the greenhouse, and she burned it. That was when it became even more dangerous; when burned. Before they found her it was toote.”
The ss finally broke, the liquid escaping from it, mixing with his blood. I stared at his injured hand before I stood up and searched the office until I finally found some paper towels.
I sat beside him, taking his hand into mine, and like his brothers, his skin was also unnaturally warm. I ignored that and cleared the wound. The liquor must have entered the wound but he didn’t even flinch.
“Do you hate your father?” I asked without looking up even though I could feel his eyes burning into me.
“No. Should I<b>?</b><b>” </b>
<b>81 </b>
55 vouchers
I shrugged. “I can’t tell you what to feel. But if it had been me? I would hate him. And probably my mother too. Because it would seem like she didn’t love me enough to stay. To endure.”
The wound was clean and the slit was clear. It wasn’t deep or long, so I was sure he would be fine. “Is there a first aid kit here?” I finally raised my head to look at him and I couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes.
“There would be no need for that,” he answered softly, his eyes locked on mine. “I did hate my mother, Rosette. I did indeed feel like she didn’t love us enough to stay. I hated that our love for her hadn’t been enough to save her. She hadughed. She had smiled, but I should have seen through all that. I hate myself for not seeing. I hated everybody but my father who was responsible. What does that make me?”
I looked away from his eyes, looking down at the wound. “A human.”
We stayed silent for a long while, until I cleared my throat, standing up. Kross‘ eyes followed me, hot on me.
“I’ll start tomorrow.” Or today, since it was already midnight. “The things I would need, are they avable?” He nodded slowly and I nodded to myself, suddenly hot. What was my problem? All he did was look at me, and I just felt his warmth, and I was suddenly burning. This wasn’t normal. “Alright, then. I have to get some sleep. Good night.”
I turned, my steps hurried, eager to be out of the room so I could breathe some fresh air without his scent invading. My hand was already on the door knob when he called my name softly. I paused, biting my lower lip as I turned to face him.
But he wasn’t looking at me; his eyes were fixed on the wound I just cleaned, his other hand tracing it softly.
“Thank you,” he whispered, so softly I could barely hear. But I heard him, alright. My shoulders seemed to rx and my breathing came easily. How did a simple thank you manage to calm me down? And I couldn’t tell what he was thanking me for.
“Warm milk can help you sleep,” I said, nodding goodbye to him, and he nodded
back.