Desmond's Impulse - Chapter 2
This is the second chapter in what is tentatively titled Desmond's Impulse. I have no idea why my brain insisted on writing this what I was trying to do something *else* for Camp NaNo. I retconned the events of Chapter 1 somewhat, too. Oh well, here's a story -- I hope you enjoy! The previous chapter is below.
1
---------
“You -- you didn’t,” Russell breathed, his eyes going wider than Desmond had ever seen them. His jaw dropped, and the silence was loud enough to press itself against Desmond’s chest. He couldn’t breathe -- when he tried to open his mouth and speak, all that came out was a strangled sort of gasp.
“Are you alright?” The voice cut into Desmond’s thoughts, and he realized he was still holding hands with the cause of Russell’s surprise. He let go of the man’s hand, as if it had shocked him. After giving his head a shake, he tried to speak again -- he failed, making yet another strangled gasping sound.
“No, he’s not -- he’s completely lost his fucking mind,” Russell muttered. He glared at Desmond. “You’re aware your parents will kill you in about seventy different ways when they find out you bought a slave, right?”
“I’m -- I’m aware,” he squeaked. He could barely get the words out, but at least he finally spoke.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Russell muttered. He sighed. “Can you -- can you return him?”
Desmond’s stomach clenched at the suggestion. “I -- don’t know,” he said, his voice slightly strained.
The slave, who had been standing there looking rather bewildered, shook his head frantically. He looked afraid, his eyes wide and his face pale. “Please -- please don’t return me,” he said.
“I’m not gonna return you,” Desmond said, putting a hand on the slave’s shoulder in an effort to reassure him. He then looked over at Russell, who still wore an expression of disbelief. “I -- can explain.”
Russell just raised an eyebrow. Desmond noted that people were giving them odd looks for standing in the market, so he ushered the three of them to a more secluded corner. “Someone else was going to buy him,” he said.
“So?” he said, his eyebrow still raised.
“The other potential buyer -- he wasn’t very nice. He -- he said he wanted ‘a slave who could put up with a good beating.’ The seller said he would accept his offer if someone didn’t make a better one by the end of the day. What was I supposed to do?” Desmond muttered, glaring at Russell. He left out the part of the story where he had kissed the slave after agreeing to buy him. His friend didn’t need to know about that.
“Leave the rescue missions to, um, people like your parents who actually know what they’re doing?” he said. He flung his hands into the air before glaring at Desmond again, his blue eyes icy as they bored into him.
“What’s done is done, okay?” Desmond muttered. He looked again at the slave, noting once more his striking amber eyes. He shook his head to clear it. “You never answered -- what’s your name?”
He blinked, apparently somewhat surprised by the question. “Name? Oh, I’m Everett,” he said.
Russell glanced around the market. “We should, you know, get out of here before you do anything else stupid,” he muttered.
Desmond nodded. He thought he spotted what looked like an exit and pointed in that direction. “I guess we go that way,” he said. He took Everett’s hand, because the slave seemed so lost. For that matter, Desmond himself felt lost, too -- what exactly had he done?
“Fine,” Russell muttered.
Once they were out of the market, Russell turned around and glared at Desmond again. His eyes were still icy, and they only got icier when he saw how he was holding Everett’s hand. “You know who else is going to kill you? Annika -- she is going to fucking kill you,” he said.
Desmond’s stomach sank -- their third roommate would throw a fit when she found out about this. “Do you think she’ll understand it was a rescue mission?” he asked.
“I’m -- sorry to cause such trouble,” Everett murmured. “But I am grateful for the rescue.”
“It’s not really your fault,” Russell muttered, looking pointedly at Desmond. “And, no, she will not in any way understand it was a rescue mission. Impulse purchases are not proper fucking rescue missions.”
Sighing, Desmond let go of Everett’s hand and checked his own smartphone for directions to the tea shop they had been trying to find -- no way was he going to trust Russell’s phone after its faulty directions lead them to the slave market. Eventually, he figured out a route -- they weren’t actually that far from where they needed to go.
“I have directions to the tea shop,” he said. “I figure Annika might be less likely to kill me if we bring her the tea?”
“Maybe,” Russell said, though he sounded skeptical to Desmond’s ears.
* * *
They managed to find the tea shop, which was utterly tiny and located on a narrow, out of the way street. The old-fashioned wooden sign read “Clara’s Tea Shoppe” in faded gold script. Russell looked at Desmond. “Maybe I should just go in and buy it myself,” he said.
“Uh, why?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Because this doesn’t look like the kind of place that would approve of you bringing your -- friend in,” he said, glancing at Everett.
Desmond shrugged. “Fine, whatever.” He didn’t feel like arguing with Russell.
His roommate entered the store without another word. Everett fidgeted, and he wouldn’t meet his eye. “He -- doesn’t like me,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
“Excuse me?” he said, confused.
“Your friend -- thinks I was a mistake.” Everett looked at the ground.
“You’re not,” he murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. That made him look up, his eyes slightly wide. “Really, you’re not, okay?”
Desmond knew that might be a bit of a lie -- he didn’t, after all, have any idea how to handle this situation and was still in a bit of shock. But it had been an honest rescue mission, and how could that be a mistake?
“Really?” Everett asked, the disbelief obvious in his voice.
He nodded, trying to smile. “Really.” He removed his hand from the other’s shoulder and looked at the tea shop. A breeze blew, and he shivered, which caused him to turn his attention back to Everett. “Do you, maybe, want my jacket or something? You’re -- not wearing very much.”
The slave wasn’t exactly...covered. He had to be cold in that outfit, even if it did look good on him. Desmond shook his head -- had he been staring?
“But won’t you be cold, then?” Everett asked, sounding confused.
“Nah, my clothes cover way more than yours do,” he said. He took off his jacket and handed it to him.
Everett took the jacket. “If you’re sure,” he murmured as he put it on.
Russell emerged from the tea shop with a paper bag. He spotted the other two. “Annika’s really, really gonna fucking kill you,” he muttered.
“Come on, let’s head home,” Desmond said. He checked his smartphone and found the directions.
They started walking in the right direction, while Desmond’s stomach twisted into knots. For the second time that day, the realization of what he had done truly hit him. He could barely move from the sudden shock. How was he going to deal with this?
He had no idea.
next chapter
1
---------
“You -- you didn’t,” Russell breathed, his eyes going wider than Desmond had ever seen them. His jaw dropped, and the silence was loud enough to press itself against Desmond’s chest. He couldn’t breathe -- when he tried to open his mouth and speak, all that came out was a strangled sort of gasp.
“Are you alright?” The voice cut into Desmond’s thoughts, and he realized he was still holding hands with the cause of Russell’s surprise. He let go of the man’s hand, as if it had shocked him. After giving his head a shake, he tried to speak again -- he failed, making yet another strangled gasping sound.
“No, he’s not -- he’s completely lost his fucking mind,” Russell muttered. He glared at Desmond. “You’re aware your parents will kill you in about seventy different ways when they find out you bought a slave, right?”
“I’m -- I’m aware,” he squeaked. He could barely get the words out, but at least he finally spoke.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Russell muttered. He sighed. “Can you -- can you return him?”
Desmond’s stomach clenched at the suggestion. “I -- don’t know,” he said, his voice slightly strained.
The slave, who had been standing there looking rather bewildered, shook his head frantically. He looked afraid, his eyes wide and his face pale. “Please -- please don’t return me,” he said.
“I’m not gonna return you,” Desmond said, putting a hand on the slave’s shoulder in an effort to reassure him. He then looked over at Russell, who still wore an expression of disbelief. “I -- can explain.”
Russell just raised an eyebrow. Desmond noted that people were giving them odd looks for standing in the market, so he ushered the three of them to a more secluded corner. “Someone else was going to buy him,” he said.
“So?” he said, his eyebrow still raised.
“The other potential buyer -- he wasn’t very nice. He -- he said he wanted ‘a slave who could put up with a good beating.’ The seller said he would accept his offer if someone didn’t make a better one by the end of the day. What was I supposed to do?” Desmond muttered, glaring at Russell. He left out the part of the story where he had kissed the slave after agreeing to buy him. His friend didn’t need to know about that.
“Leave the rescue missions to, um, people like your parents who actually know what they’re doing?” he said. He flung his hands into the air before glaring at Desmond again, his blue eyes icy as they bored into him.
“What’s done is done, okay?” Desmond muttered. He looked again at the slave, noting once more his striking amber eyes. He shook his head to clear it. “You never answered -- what’s your name?”
He blinked, apparently somewhat surprised by the question. “Name? Oh, I’m Everett,” he said.
Russell glanced around the market. “We should, you know, get out of here before you do anything else stupid,” he muttered.
Desmond nodded. He thought he spotted what looked like an exit and pointed in that direction. “I guess we go that way,” he said. He took Everett’s hand, because the slave seemed so lost. For that matter, Desmond himself felt lost, too -- what exactly had he done?
“Fine,” Russell muttered.
Once they were out of the market, Russell turned around and glared at Desmond again. His eyes were still icy, and they only got icier when he saw how he was holding Everett’s hand. “You know who else is going to kill you? Annika -- she is going to fucking kill you,” he said.
Desmond’s stomach sank -- their third roommate would throw a fit when she found out about this. “Do you think she’ll understand it was a rescue mission?” he asked.
“I’m -- sorry to cause such trouble,” Everett murmured. “But I am grateful for the rescue.”
“It’s not really your fault,” Russell muttered, looking pointedly at Desmond. “And, no, she will not in any way understand it was a rescue mission. Impulse purchases are not proper fucking rescue missions.”
Sighing, Desmond let go of Everett’s hand and checked his own smartphone for directions to the tea shop they had been trying to find -- no way was he going to trust Russell’s phone after its faulty directions lead them to the slave market. Eventually, he figured out a route -- they weren’t actually that far from where they needed to go.
“I have directions to the tea shop,” he said. “I figure Annika might be less likely to kill me if we bring her the tea?”
“Maybe,” Russell said, though he sounded skeptical to Desmond’s ears.
* * *
They managed to find the tea shop, which was utterly tiny and located on a narrow, out of the way street. The old-fashioned wooden sign read “Clara’s Tea Shoppe” in faded gold script. Russell looked at Desmond. “Maybe I should just go in and buy it myself,” he said.
“Uh, why?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Because this doesn’t look like the kind of place that would approve of you bringing your -- friend in,” he said, glancing at Everett.
Desmond shrugged. “Fine, whatever.” He didn’t feel like arguing with Russell.
His roommate entered the store without another word. Everett fidgeted, and he wouldn’t meet his eye. “He -- doesn’t like me,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
“Excuse me?” he said, confused.
“Your friend -- thinks I was a mistake.” Everett looked at the ground.
“You’re not,” he murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. That made him look up, his eyes slightly wide. “Really, you’re not, okay?”
Desmond knew that might be a bit of a lie -- he didn’t, after all, have any idea how to handle this situation and was still in a bit of shock. But it had been an honest rescue mission, and how could that be a mistake?
“Really?” Everett asked, the disbelief obvious in his voice.
He nodded, trying to smile. “Really.” He removed his hand from the other’s shoulder and looked at the tea shop. A breeze blew, and he shivered, which caused him to turn his attention back to Everett. “Do you, maybe, want my jacket or something? You’re -- not wearing very much.”
The slave wasn’t exactly...covered. He had to be cold in that outfit, even if it did look good on him. Desmond shook his head -- had he been staring?
“But won’t you be cold, then?” Everett asked, sounding confused.
“Nah, my clothes cover way more than yours do,” he said. He took off his jacket and handed it to him.
Everett took the jacket. “If you’re sure,” he murmured as he put it on.
Russell emerged from the tea shop with a paper bag. He spotted the other two. “Annika’s really, really gonna fucking kill you,” he muttered.
“Come on, let’s head home,” Desmond said. He checked his smartphone and found the directions.
They started walking in the right direction, while Desmond’s stomach twisted into knots. For the second time that day, the realization of what he had done truly hit him. He could barely move from the sudden shock. How was he going to deal with this?
He had no idea.
next chapter