Chapter Three After

Black ink was smeared over her pale skin and one of the wrinkled ebony sheets was draped over her, just barely covering her breasts. Her eyes were closed, and her hand resting on Roach’s dark ink stained abdomen. Roach’s eyes were fixed on the canopy hovering above him; he felt tired.

Joyful Tears nuzzled his chest in her sleep, and Roach glanced down at the top of her head, feeling as if he should put his arm around her, but he could not bring himself to do so. His fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides shakily. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. He had thought he would feel good, relieved, afterwards. Instead, he felt lonely.

He wished that he could go find Precious.

“Roach?” Joyful Tears leaned up onto one elbow, looking down at him. “Are you alright?”

The boy nodded, looking away from the canopy to meet Joyful Tears’ eyes. “Yes, I’m fine.” He whispered, his lashes slightly damp with tears. He could not help but feel embarrassed and self conscious. She had been with countless others over the years, others that were probably more handsome and better than he was. Joyful Tears stroked his cheek; he lowered his eyes shamefully. She laid back down and sighed against his ear.

“You were fine.”

Roach felt his cheeks grow hot. “Thank you, Mother.”

“You should go.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“Go,” She continued softly, settling back down under the sheets. She turned onto her side, her back to Roach, who was watching her with a mixture of hurt and concern.

“Did I do something wrong?” He whispered, sitting up and placing one hand down on the mattress to leaned over her in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her face. “Mother, I-” He stopped abruptly for Joyful Tears had, in a single fluid motion, pushed herself into a sitting position and whipped her delicate hand around, striking Roach across the face so hard that he fell down onto the bed.

Roach trembled, bringing one shaking hand to his face to touch his stinging cheek, feeling a little blood trickling down from where one of Joyful Tears’ nails had cut him. He pushed himself up and scrambled off of the bed, stumbling over his robes as he staggered backwards. Joyful Tears’ face was streaked with tears and she was turning away from him, offering him her back again as she settled back down on the bed.

Roach stared at her bare back in shock before timidly crouching and gathering his robes. He draped them haphazardly over his shaking, sore body and wearily walked through the doors, glancing back over his shoulder once before closing the door softly behind of him.

For a moment, he lingered just outside of the doors then he turned and began to slowly trudge down the long, dark hallway toward his and Precious’ chamber. He had taken only a few steps before the emotions within him crashed together all at once. He felt waves of pain and disappointment and shame. He only had one purpose in life and he had blown it somehow. His legs shook as a cry tore from his throat and he broke into a run.

The robes fell away from him, and soon he was tearing down the long, narrow hallway naked with tears flowing in thick rivers down his face. He lifted one arm and buried his face in the crook of his arm, lowering his head down as he ran. He ran and ran until he crashed into the door of his room, his elbow cracking against the sturdy wood of the door. Crying out in agony and frustration, the boy dropped down to his knees in front of door and wept.

Amid his violent sobs, he vaguely heard the sound of the door opening and footsteps. Suddenly there was a gentle arm circling about his back and a hand cradling the back of his head, stroking back his tousled hair. A damp cheek pressed against his temple, and Roach jerked the other closer, throwing his arms around the boy and grabbing handfuls of the fabric of the younger boy’s pajama shirt.

Precious lifted his own tear filled eyes, tightening his grip about the Drone in his arms as other Drones and Sons poked their heads from their doors to look out at the broken, sobbing boy. Precious narrowed his eyes and pulled free of Roach’s grip long enough to unbutton and shrug out of his shirt. He draped the shirt over Roach then pulled him back into his arms, cradling him against his chest like a child. The boys’ audience soon slipped quietly back into their own chambers, and Roach and Precious remained in their doorway until the first grey streaks of dawn pierced the darkness of the night.