Chapter Two Birthday

Roach awoke to the warmth of the sun as it spilled through the windows down onto his face. Yawning, he closed his eyes again and reached to the other side of the bed where Precious had been the night before. His dark hand fell on nothing but sheets and a pillow. A frown turned down his lips, and Roach pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes with the heel of one of his hands. “Precious?”

Roach leaned over, looking down at the empty mattress with its sheets folded neatly into place. The boy settled back into the bed and ran his trembling fingers through his dark hair. His eyes found the canopy hovering over him again, and he sighed, massaging his scalp before lowering his hand to his chest. A sigh slid past his lips and he had begun to doze again when the smell of food filled the room. Sniffing, he opened his eyes again, in time to see Precious padding across the floor with a tray in his hands.

Roach’s eyes widened, and he carefully sat up as Precious offered him the tray, setting it down on Roach’s lap carefully. The younger boy smiled shyly, his cheeks flushing as he clasp his hands together at the small of his back. “Happy Birthday, Roach.” he whispered.

Roach wetted his lips as he looked down at the china plate covered with scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and pancakes saturated with syrup and a square of butter on top. There was a small porcelain cup of a jam and two slices of toast in the corner of the tray. The boy’s stomach growled, and he grabbed a fork and spoon that laid on the tray by the plate wrapped daintily in a pale handkerchief. Putting the handkerchief into his lap, he began to eat while Precious stood at his side, rocking back and forth from the balls of his bare feet to his heels. Roach had nearly half of the food that had been prepared before he heard a soft noise. He glanced up, his fork decorated with a square of pancake hovering just in front of his lips. Lowering the fork, he blushed and scooted over on the bed. “Precious?”

“Yes, Roach?” He stammered, his fingers laced together at his stomach in embarrassment.

“Sit down, have some.” He offered, pushing the piece of pancake into his mouth before offering the fork to Precious. The blonde boy’s eyes widened, and he smiled as he sat down beside of Roach and took a piece of the toast, smearing some of the jam onto it before bringing it to his lips.

The meal was quiet, and once it was finished and the tray was resting on Precious’ mattress, they both laid back in the bed and snuggled under the sheets, drowsy and satisfied.

“Roach?” Precious asked, closing his eyes. His head was resting on Roach’s chest and one hand was laying on Roach’s abdomen. Roach idly twisted locks of Precious’ hair about his fingers.

“Yes, Precious?”

“Do you think it hurts? To be put down?”

Roach went rigid, his hand beginning to tremble faintly as it combed through Precious’ hair. “No, of course not, Precious. Its like… going to sleep.” Precious considered this then opened his eyes, tilting back his head to look up at Roach.

“If I must be put down, will you be the one to do it?”

Roach furrowed his brows, letting his hand stop in mind stroke among the other boy’s pale hair. “Precious, must we talk about this now?”

“I have to know…”

Roach closed his eyes, bringing his unoccupied hand to his temples and massaging them with his thumb and forefinger. His Son’s question had brought back the painful memories of the Morgue.

The Drone Lovely had taken him to the Morgue to watch some of the terminations when he had just been fourteen years old. He could still remember the cold, concrete walls and the long, thin fluorescent bulbs that ran across the ceiling in rows.

The floor was stone, and rats, their tails wriggling behind them like snakes, scurried about the edges of the walls, disappearing into the cracks. The terminations took place in a small square room at the back of the Morgue. It had a two way mirror facing out into the Morgue where Sons and Drones stood to look in and the poor soul being terminated would not have to see the pitying or impassive faces that watched them die. Within the Room was a metal table where the person would lay and there was a single door that led back into the main room; this door was always locked and the only ones permitted to enter the Room were the high ranking Drones, which were the favorites of the Mothers, those who had been born of Joyful Tears and Roach, who had been born of Joyful Tears’ only sibling.

Roach had been given his own key to the room when he had become a Drone, and the cold strip of metal hung at all times about his neck by a leather cord. Since it was given to him, Roach had kept the necklace and its morbid pendant against his chest concealed beneath his tunic.

A boy just seventeen summers old had been laying on the table the day that Roach had been taken to the Morgue. Roach could still remember the young boy’s face. He had had shoulder length black hair and beautiful olive skin. His named had been Bright Eyes because of his unusual bright emerald eyes. Those eyes had been saturated with tears that day; Bright Eyes’ face was devoid of emotion as he stared up at the ceiling and awaited the arrival of the Drone that had raised him. Roach could not remember that particular Drone’s name, but he did recall the handsome young man stepping into a room with a syringe. Bright Eyes had not moved or even turned to look at the Drone as the elder male moved to Bright Eyes’ side and doubled to kiss Bright Eyes’ forehead before pushing the needle into the boy’s arm.

“Roach? Roach, what’s the matter?”

Roach cringed as he opened his eyes and looked up into Precious’ startled face; the younger boy’s blue eyes were wide with fear, and his hands were resting against Roach’s cheeks. Roach slowly sat up, blinking away tears that he could not remember shedding. Precious’ voice was shaking. “Roach, I’m sorry. What’s wrong?”

Roach stretched one arm and wrapped it about Precious’ waist, his other hand still tangled in the boy’s blonde hair. “I just… I don’t want to ever speak of this again.” Precious reclined his head against Roach’s chest, nodding slowly.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Roach. I won’t bring it up.”

“Good,” Roach whispered, burying his face into Precious’ hair.

“Roach?”

“Yes, Precious?”

“Let’s go outside.”

~

“You’re going to be fine, Roach.”

The boy’s hands were shaking as one of the Mothers, one called Finally, carefully cleaned Roach’s long nails. Finally shook her head filing the tips of his nails to a neat, gentle curve. “Roach, what were you thinking?”

“I needed to relax some. It is my birthday, you know.”

Finally arched one thin brow, letting Roach’s hand fall into his lap as she moved around him and sat down behind of him grabbing handfuls of his hair. “There are other ways to relax, Roach. Playing like a child in the dirt and grass is not something you should do before you mate!” She gently admonished, shaking her head.

Roach flinched as the Mother’s fingers combed through his hair to try to get out the tangles and pieces of grass. “Finally, I’m a little worried.” He confided, fidgeting as she tugged his hair into elaborate twists and braids, weaving ribbons and beads into his hair. She brushed a few tendrils of hair down, letting them hang by his stiff jaw line.

“Roach, its going to be just fine. Everyone is nervous their first time.” She shrugged her thin shoulders, clipping back the loose strands with a crystal barrette. Roach pressed his lips together firmly, taking in a deep breath through his nostrils. A small stab of pain shot through his lower lip and chin, and he extended his tongue to tentatively lick the silver ring that now decorated his lip. It still stung.

“There you are! Your hair is done and you’re all cleaned up.” Finally leaned forward and kissed his temple. “Stand up now so we can finish.”

Roach stood to his feet, keeping his eyes down as he felt heat rising at his neck and cheeks. The group of females giggled softly as they stepped to him and began to draw intricate designs on his dark skin. His hands were done last, and the whirling, twisting designs curved around his fingers and spread out like pointed flower petals in his palms. “You look so handsome.” One of the Mothers whispered into his ear once they had finished. They all bustled around him gathering cloth for his robes while the ink dried onto his skin.

Roach was visibly shaking by the time the Mothers had draped the burgundy and gold colored robes about his lithe frame. His feet were delicately slid into elegant slippers, and a droplet of blood was dabbed away from his newly pierced lip before he was ushered into a hallway outside of the chamber where he would mate.

The two heavy doors to the chamber were tugged open by two Mothers and Roach saw Joyful Tears. The woman, five years his senior, was wearing a gold colored sari wrapped about her slender body; the fabric clung to the curve of her hips and chest and spilled about her ankles into a pool of glistening yellow. Light brown hair fell to her waist in cascading waves. Her green eyes flickered as they studied the boy standing in front of her, and Roach swallowed hard under her scrutiny.

Her full lips turned up in a smile and she offered her hand to Roach as the other Mothers scurried away. Taking a deep breath, Roach took the woman’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it. “Mother.”

Joyful Tears curled her fingers about his hand and drew him inside. Roach followed her through the spacious chamber, his eyes immediately coming to rest on the full sized four poster bed surrounded by translucent, lacey curtains and a drooping, pale canopy. Joyful Tears pulled him toward the bed and released his hand, turning back to look at him again. Roach’s eyes moved nervously about the room, taking in the soft, amber light from the thousands of candles.
“Cockroach?”

Roach turned to Joyful Tears. “Yes, Mother?” He tried in vain to keep his voice steady.

“Just relax,” She said softly. She rolled her shoulders slowly, allowing the sari to shift and slide off of her shoulders to the floor about her feet. Roach’s eyes widened and he took a step backwards, falling onto the bed. He crawled backwards toward the headboard as Joyful Tears moved toward him, pressing one knee onto the mattress and leaning over toward him. “Don’t be nervous.”

Roach’s eyes were fixed on her, his breathing ragged and irregular as she put her other knee onto the mattress and curled her fingers delicately about his ankle, tugging him gently toward her. She laid on top of him, the tip of her tongue caressing the hope about his lower lip. Roach’s fingers curled around the black sheets beneath them while Joyful Tears’ hands pushed away his robes. Her lips touched his throat and he closed his eyes, his whole body going rigid. Her warm breath spilled over his shoulders, and their lips met.

Roach’s grip on the sheets tightened as her hands searchingly moved to his arms and her thumbs moved in slow, firm circles, massaging his biceps and smearing the tattoos. When their lips parted, his robes fell into a heap by the bed, and he opened his eyes, watching as the light from the candles gave Joyful Tears’ skin an amber hue. Releasing the sheet, his fingers found the curve of her hip and ran up her side, brushing over her ribs before he let his hand fall again to the mattress.