by Detergent
"Bloody hell, I'm late!"
Dara flung himself out of bed, stood bolt upright for a second and tried to find his fatigues. Ogodogodogod, not late, not late to muster, oh shit, putain! Then he noticed the hardwood floor under his bare feet, smelled the sweetness of coming rain on the breeze that blew through the open window and mopped his face with his hand.
"You're at the Farm, lad," his brain supplied belatedly. Gusting out a sigh of pure relief, he sat back down on his bed, heart still racing with the adrenaline of the thought that had lanced through him while he was still asleep. He leaned across the bed and scooped up the pillow that still smelled faintly of Yeyette's perfume, putting his nose to the pretty material. The perfume, floral, creamy, spicy, mixed with the musk of clean skin helped him calm himself as he breathed in, counted to four and breathed out to the same count. He sighed again, knowing that soon, he wouldn't be able to distinguish the perfume on the cloth from his scent. Sören hadn't said anything to Yeyette because she hadn't appeared to boot him from the house, she hadn't been much in evidence for the past few days due to her rolling schedule at the hospital. And Dara was reluctant to say anything to her lest he damage the good but fragile-feeling relationship he had with her.
Now he felt like a coward too. He had never had much of a taste for gambling and all in all, he thought he'd rather have a friendship with Yeyette than none whatsoever.
He got up and took a quick shower. He could say something. DeKalb had already given him his permission, having guessed what was afoot under their shared roof the day he'd let Dara help him build the rustic bed-swing that they'd hung on the back porch. The older man had been very direct but understanding in the end. And, judging by the knowing look that Victor had given him more than once, Victor did not seem to mind. But it bore addressing, didn't it? With the two of them, it did, before he said anything to Yeyette. Or maybe he was just devoted to being a coward and calling it courtesy to make himself feel better about coveting another man's wife. Er, and another man's girlfriend who was also that same wife. Things certainly operated by different rules here but for that, he was thankful.
The stairs creaked as he descended from the second floor. Usually, this was enough to bring out Eugène to verify what was going on but the orange tabby with the white ruff did not appear, not even when the light to the kitchen came on. Dara opened the refrigerator and was greeted with barrenness. Only half a carton of two percent milk sat on the otherwise empty shelves. His shoulders slumped as he closed the door. The breadbox sat empty. He shook his head, defeated. It had been such a busy week and everyone's schedule had been at odds. No one had found time to go shopping for groceries. Dara rifled through the cupboards feeling like a thief. He came across a box of Froot Loops. He knew that the cereal probably belonged to Sören, however, he and his partners had gone up to Bloomington to tour the vineyard and picnic. Surely he wouldn't care if Dara had some Froot Loops. They would be gone for a few days. He reached for the box and ferried it to the kitchen table. He could replace what he ate before Sören returned. He'd have to apologise, of course, but an apology and a new box of cereal might cover for Dara's moment of weakness.
He got himself a bowl from the cupboard and grabbed a spoon from the drawer. Though he still felt guilty about what he was about to do, Dara poured milk over the colourful, fruity cereal and began to eat. He had never had Froot Loops before. The sugary sweetness made his teeth hurt. He half-considered making a cup of strong coffee to make the cereal more tolerable but realised if he tried that, the cereal would seem even sweeter and for feck's sake, he didn't want that. He could just feel cavities forming as he chewed but his belly kept complaining, so he continued to eat.
Mindlessly, he shovelled cereal into his mouth until he felt something tap his leg. Dara looked over and found Eugène standing at his side on his hind legs as if he were a human.
"Brother, I am anhungered," said the cat, looking up at him plaintively. His beautiful eyes were round and pleading.
Dara stared, his hand holding a spoonful of cereal stopped halfway to his open mouth. His mouth stayed open for a moment. Cereal slid from the spoon, splattering milk onto the table. A few drops hit him in the face.
"Brother, may I have some loops?"
In shock, Dara dipped up more cereal and milk and extended the spoon to Eugène, who grabbed the spoon with both paws and devoured both cereal and milk.
"Loops! A kindness, Brother!" Eugène wound himself around Dara's ankles, purring. "I like you!" He headbutted Dara's leg and then leapt onto one of the empty chairs at the table, curled himself into a doughnut and continued purring. The purr sounded like a quiet "Looooopssss Loooooppssss."
Dara stared at the cat for a few heartbeats more and then finished the cereal. He made a mental note to pick up some cat treats at the store. He washed his bowl and spoon, took the dishrag and mopped up the milk on the table. The fallen cereal went into the bin. The dishes he left in the rack to dry. He glanced at Eugène and went into the living room to make a grocery list.
He sat on the sofa with his phone, looking up the recipes he wanted to use in the coming week. After a few moments, it hit him. Eugène called him "Brother".
How odd.
My Muse: