In a little building drowning in raindrops of pink Queen’s wreath, deep in the Garden District, Louis set the last book on the shelf and closed the glass cabinet door. How long had it been since they’d met last? Better not try to calculate it. Excitement and anxiety built in tandem together, minute by minute. He checked his phone again, Lestat’s last text was an hour ago, and it wasn’t dripping with emotion.

[Text] [Lestat]: En route

At a coven gathering some time ago, Daniel had set Lestat’s icon as a vintage illustration of a red-faced grinning devil as a joke, and Louis had not changed it back, as it had pleased Lestat so much. It also seemed close enough to the truth.

Of particular anxiety would be Lestat’s freshly bronzed skin, an unavoidable consequence of his long absence. Lestat being gone this many months usually culminated in a day or two spent out in the violent glory of the sun. It was always jarring to see him after this. He’d arrive, settle into his chair, and then preen as he talked about anything superficial, absently adjusting his clothes to feel the fabric. He would mention for the thousandth time that he could “feel more” when he came back from these... treatments. Louis had enough tactile sensation as it was; why did Lestat always demand more than the senses he already had?

Louis took a glance in the reflective glass of his bookcase, tied his hair back. He had at least put on fresh black jeans, a green shirt with loose, slightly-rolled up sleeves, and the soft brown leather bracelet Lestat had given him in Rio with their initials stamped into the material. 

It was Some Effort.

Satisfied that the rooms had been dusted enough, his books shelved, cut flowers arranged w/ fresh water in their vases, Louis settled at his desk with a copy of the Times-Picayune to wait on Lestat’s arrival.

Cocooned within the pillow fort, I could not see Lestat enter the room, but my heart skipped in my chest at the familiar step and the words spoken. The only point of entry provided an unobstructed view of the flatscreen, which was playing City Lights, a Charlie Chaplin film. I aimed the remote, clicking the volume down several ticks.

There are nights when the word “annoy” would be the gentle version of what he does.

I only share this with you publicly now because he knows these things bother me, already. It’s no secret. I’m further bothered that it sometimes takes public humiliation like this to get him to address the suffering he inflicts, however unintentionally, as he must keep control of his precious public image. I couldn’t give a damn about mine.

He can be the most irritating creature. We’ll have nights when he pesters me with questions incessantly for hours, like a little boy trying to provoke some kind of reaction. Sometimes he gets one, and will continue to dig as long as it entertains him. Sometimes I excuse myself for my own sanity.

murder-husband

Sometimes I wondered whether Armand had any real interest in me or if his desire was all just because I belonged to you, Lestat. Especially when he admitted he had lied to me about your passing. 

devilsfool

Are you admitting that you ‘belong’ to me, Louis? 

murder-husband

I never denied such. You often forget it, however, and need be reminded.

devilsfool

-leers-

Care to remind me now?

murder-husband