Desmond's Impulse - Chapter 3
This is the third chapter in what is tentatively titled Desmond's Impulse. I retconned the events of Chapter 1 somewhat, too. I hope you enjoy! The previous chapters are below.
1 | 2
Annika grumbled as she stared at the unfinished paper taunting her from her computer screen. The little cursor blinked on and off, mocking her inability to come up with an opening sentence. She brushed a piece of her long straight dark reddish brown hair out of her face and then decided to readjust her headband, taking it off and putting it back on again. Sighing, she crossed her arms in front of her chest.
And where were Desmond and Russell? She had sent her roommates out to get that tea what felt like hours ago, and they hadn’t so much as called or texted her to say they were going to be late. They had probably gotten lost -- Clara’s Tea Shoppe was pretty obscure and hidden, after all.
Glaring at the blank screen did nothing -- papers weren’t written with angry looks. Tightening her arms over her chest, she wondered why she was having so much difficulty with the thing -- a paper on the history of the modern slave trade shouldn’t be so hard. Maybe she could ask Desmond for help since his parents were actively involved in the anti-slavery movement. They would have things to say about the history of the terrible institution.
She got up from her ancient office chair and decided to make some coffee. Once she got from her room to the kitchen, she grabbed the coffee beans out of the storage shelf, noting what a mess the kitchen was. There were stains on the white -- why white? -- countertops and a whole heap of dishes in the sink. She had a paper, and other homework, to do, but what were Russell’s and Desmond’s excuses for letting things get so messy?
Annika had just finished making the coffee and adding milk when she heard the key turn in the lock. She breathed in the aroma wafting up from her drink. For some reason, she was oddly reluctant to greet her roommates. A bad feeling crept up her spine, but she shook her head and told herself she was being silly.
Gripping her mug of coffee more tightly than was necessary, she walked slowly towards the door. By the time she got there, Desmond and Russell were standing just inside the doorway -- along with someone else -- and Desmond was holding the stranger’s hand.
Russell closed the door behind him. They didn’t notice her standing on the opposite side of the living room -- yet. Desmond wore a strange, guilty expressions, and Russell looked afraid, while the third man seemed more confused than anything. That feeling of “something’s wrong” increased as Annika watched them.
She inspected the stranger -- he was unusually attractive, if you liked guys. He had golden blonde hair and odd amber eyes, along with a lithe body and tanned skin. That wasn’t what struck Annika, though -- what caught her attention was the fact that he wore tiny shorts and a midriff-baring top, along with Desmond’s jacket. Free people did not dress like that.
But there had to be some other explanation. Desmond wouldn’t -- he knew the history of the slave industry better than any of them because his parents were so involved. He just wouldn’t buy a slave. So something else had to be going on.
Right?
Annika took another sip of coffee before announcing her presence. “Tell me that guy is not what I think he is,” she said.
All three heads snapped over to look at her. Three pairs of eyes went wide.
Desmond almost immediately averted his green eyes. A blush crept across his face. “That -- that, um -- that depends on what you think he is,” he said.
She just glared at him -- he flinched, but he didn’t drop the guy’s hand. Annika walked over to them slowly.
Russell held up the bag in his hands. “We got your tea,” he said, a strained smile on his face.
She narrowed her eyes. “You got something else too, apparently,” she muttered. “Who is he?”
“I’m Everett,” he said. He also avoided meeting her eyes.
“And you’re a friend of Desmond’s?” she asked, taking yet another sip of her coffee.
“He -- rescued me,” Everett whispered. He still looked at the ground.
“Rescued -- you? From what, exactly?” Annika said, narrowing her eyes.
“The slave market,” he said.
“Please tell me you happened to be walking through it as some kind of coincidence and the ‘rescue’ just involved pushing you out of the way of an oncoming car,” she muttered as she felt her stomach sink. Somehow, she didn’t think that the rescue was so innocent.
Everett shook his head. “It -- wasn’t like that. I was -- on sale,” he said.
“What,” Annika said.
So he was a slave? And Desmond had bought him? Unless he someone managed a rescue by other means? That didn’t seem likely, though she hoped it was the case.
“I’m -- going to go put this tea away,” Russell murmured. He scurried off.
The air tightened around them as Annika stared at the two people left in the living room.
Desmond finally looked at her. His eyes were strangely hard. “Someone else -- made an offer,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow. “And so?”
“The seller said the man could have Everett if nobody made a better offer. And the other potential buyer wasn’t very nice,” he said, looking her directly in the eye now.
“Nobody who buys a fucking slave is ‘very nice.’ Including you,” she muttered, shaking her head.
“That’s -- not true,” Everett said, looking at Desmond. “The other man, he -- he said outright that he would beat me. I -- begged Desmond to take me.”
“I was trying to do the right thing,” he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair.
Annika took another sip of her coffee. He sounded sincere enough about his apparent good intentions, but he had fucked up. Apparently he didn’t know as much about the slave trade as she had thought, because even a well-intentioned purchase supported the industry and did nothing to free any of the other slaves, some of whom would inevitably go to owners as bad as the one Everett almost went to.
“The right thing? Your parents are going to kill you. I should kill you,” she said.
Before she could say anything else, a phone rang -- it was Desmond’s. He dropped Everett’s hand and checked his smartphone. His eyes widened and he almost dropped it. “Crap, it’s my mom,” he said.
“Answer it,” Annika said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. She had to admit to herself that she wanted to see how Desmond would handle this.
He picked up the phone -- she could see how he trembled. Annika took another sip of coffee.
“Oh -- hi,” Desmond said.
There was a pause as his mom spoke.
“Am I free tomorrow? Um...” he murmured hesitantly.
Another pause.
Everett looked at him with an expression of confusion on his face. He seemed so out of his element. Annika would have felt bad for him, if she weren’t so busy being annoyed at Desmond’s abysmal stupidity.
“Bowling?” Desmond said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “You -- want to go bowling? Annika and Russell are invited?”
She felt a grin spread across her face -- Annika had an idea. Before Desmond knew what was happening, she grabbed the phone from him. His face showed pure horror. “Give that back,” he cried.
Annika put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Mrs. Walsh? It’s Annika. We would all love to go
bowling. Can Desmond bring another...friend?” she said, flashing her grin at her roommate.
“Of course. That would be fine. Is noon a good time for all of you?” she said.
“Noon works,” Annika said. “I’ll give Desmond back to you now.” She handed him the phone.
With a stuttering voice, he finished making plans to meet up at the bowling alley at noon for “Bowling Brunch.”
When he hung up, he glared at her. “What -- what was that for?” he said.
Annika smiled. “Simple. I have a challenge for you,” she said.
“What kind of challenge?” he asked, obviously wary.
“A bowling competition. Your team versus my team. If you win, I won’t tell your parents what Everett is. If I win, I will tell them,” she said. She took another sip of coffee, feeling rather pleased with herself for this idea. It took some of the responsibility off her for deciding whether or not to tell on Desmond. He absolutely should not have done what he did, given the terrible history he was supporting, but he apparently had good motives. Apparently.
Desmond’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He seemed incapable of speech.
“Do you -- really think that’s a good idea?” Everett asked. He fidgeted with the string of Desmond’s jacket.. “It -- doesn’t seem fair.”
“It seems perfectly fair to me,” she said.
“You -- if I refuse, you’re gonna tell them anyway, a-aren’t you?” Desmond stammered.
Annika nodded.
Desmond sighed. “This is a terrible idea, but -- I accept. I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?” he said.
“You don’t,” she said.
This would be interesting.
next chapter
1 | 2
Annika grumbled as she stared at the unfinished paper taunting her from her computer screen. The little cursor blinked on and off, mocking her inability to come up with an opening sentence. She brushed a piece of her long straight dark reddish brown hair out of her face and then decided to readjust her headband, taking it off and putting it back on again. Sighing, she crossed her arms in front of her chest.
And where were Desmond and Russell? She had sent her roommates out to get that tea what felt like hours ago, and they hadn’t so much as called or texted her to say they were going to be late. They had probably gotten lost -- Clara’s Tea Shoppe was pretty obscure and hidden, after all.
Glaring at the blank screen did nothing -- papers weren’t written with angry looks. Tightening her arms over her chest, she wondered why she was having so much difficulty with the thing -- a paper on the history of the modern slave trade shouldn’t be so hard. Maybe she could ask Desmond for help since his parents were actively involved in the anti-slavery movement. They would have things to say about the history of the terrible institution.
She got up from her ancient office chair and decided to make some coffee. Once she got from her room to the kitchen, she grabbed the coffee beans out of the storage shelf, noting what a mess the kitchen was. There were stains on the white -- why white? -- countertops and a whole heap of dishes in the sink. She had a paper, and other homework, to do, but what were Russell’s and Desmond’s excuses for letting things get so messy?
Annika had just finished making the coffee and adding milk when she heard the key turn in the lock. She breathed in the aroma wafting up from her drink. For some reason, she was oddly reluctant to greet her roommates. A bad feeling crept up her spine, but she shook her head and told herself she was being silly.
Gripping her mug of coffee more tightly than was necessary, she walked slowly towards the door. By the time she got there, Desmond and Russell were standing just inside the doorway -- along with someone else -- and Desmond was holding the stranger’s hand.
Russell closed the door behind him. They didn’t notice her standing on the opposite side of the living room -- yet. Desmond wore a strange, guilty expressions, and Russell looked afraid, while the third man seemed more confused than anything. That feeling of “something’s wrong” increased as Annika watched them.
She inspected the stranger -- he was unusually attractive, if you liked guys. He had golden blonde hair and odd amber eyes, along with a lithe body and tanned skin. That wasn’t what struck Annika, though -- what caught her attention was the fact that he wore tiny shorts and a midriff-baring top, along with Desmond’s jacket. Free people did not dress like that.
But there had to be some other explanation. Desmond wouldn’t -- he knew the history of the slave industry better than any of them because his parents were so involved. He just wouldn’t buy a slave. So something else had to be going on.
Right?
Annika took another sip of coffee before announcing her presence. “Tell me that guy is not what I think he is,” she said.
All three heads snapped over to look at her. Three pairs of eyes went wide.
Desmond almost immediately averted his green eyes. A blush crept across his face. “That -- that, um -- that depends on what you think he is,” he said.
She just glared at him -- he flinched, but he didn’t drop the guy’s hand. Annika walked over to them slowly.
Russell held up the bag in his hands. “We got your tea,” he said, a strained smile on his face.
She narrowed her eyes. “You got something else too, apparently,” she muttered. “Who is he?”
“I’m Everett,” he said. He also avoided meeting her eyes.
“And you’re a friend of Desmond’s?” she asked, taking yet another sip of her coffee.
“He -- rescued me,” Everett whispered. He still looked at the ground.
“Rescued -- you? From what, exactly?” Annika said, narrowing her eyes.
“The slave market,” he said.
“Please tell me you happened to be walking through it as some kind of coincidence and the ‘rescue’ just involved pushing you out of the way of an oncoming car,” she muttered as she felt her stomach sink. Somehow, she didn’t think that the rescue was so innocent.
Everett shook his head. “It -- wasn’t like that. I was -- on sale,” he said.
“What,” Annika said.
So he was a slave? And Desmond had bought him? Unless he someone managed a rescue by other means? That didn’t seem likely, though she hoped it was the case.
“I’m -- going to go put this tea away,” Russell murmured. He scurried off.
The air tightened around them as Annika stared at the two people left in the living room.
Desmond finally looked at her. His eyes were strangely hard. “Someone else -- made an offer,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow. “And so?”
“The seller said the man could have Everett if nobody made a better offer. And the other potential buyer wasn’t very nice,” he said, looking her directly in the eye now.
“Nobody who buys a fucking slave is ‘very nice.’ Including you,” she muttered, shaking her head.
“That’s -- not true,” Everett said, looking at Desmond. “The other man, he -- he said outright that he would beat me. I -- begged Desmond to take me.”
“I was trying to do the right thing,” he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair.
Annika took another sip of her coffee. He sounded sincere enough about his apparent good intentions, but he had fucked up. Apparently he didn’t know as much about the slave trade as she had thought, because even a well-intentioned purchase supported the industry and did nothing to free any of the other slaves, some of whom would inevitably go to owners as bad as the one Everett almost went to.
“The right thing? Your parents are going to kill you. I should kill you,” she said.
Before she could say anything else, a phone rang -- it was Desmond’s. He dropped Everett’s hand and checked his smartphone. His eyes widened and he almost dropped it. “Crap, it’s my mom,” he said.
“Answer it,” Annika said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. She had to admit to herself that she wanted to see how Desmond would handle this.
He picked up the phone -- she could see how he trembled. Annika took another sip of coffee.
“Oh -- hi,” Desmond said.
There was a pause as his mom spoke.
“Am I free tomorrow? Um...” he murmured hesitantly.
Another pause.
Everett looked at him with an expression of confusion on his face. He seemed so out of his element. Annika would have felt bad for him, if she weren’t so busy being annoyed at Desmond’s abysmal stupidity.
“Bowling?” Desmond said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “You -- want to go bowling? Annika and Russell are invited?”
She felt a grin spread across her face -- Annika had an idea. Before Desmond knew what was happening, she grabbed the phone from him. His face showed pure horror. “Give that back,” he cried.
Annika put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Mrs. Walsh? It’s Annika. We would all love to go
bowling. Can Desmond bring another...friend?” she said, flashing her grin at her roommate.
“Of course. That would be fine. Is noon a good time for all of you?” she said.
“Noon works,” Annika said. “I’ll give Desmond back to you now.” She handed him the phone.
With a stuttering voice, he finished making plans to meet up at the bowling alley at noon for “Bowling Brunch.”
When he hung up, he glared at her. “What -- what was that for?” he said.
Annika smiled. “Simple. I have a challenge for you,” she said.
“What kind of challenge?” he asked, obviously wary.
“A bowling competition. Your team versus my team. If you win, I won’t tell your parents what Everett is. If I win, I will tell them,” she said. She took another sip of coffee, feeling rather pleased with herself for this idea. It took some of the responsibility off her for deciding whether or not to tell on Desmond. He absolutely should not have done what he did, given the terrible history he was supporting, but he apparently had good motives. Apparently.
Desmond’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He seemed incapable of speech.
“Do you -- really think that’s a good idea?” Everett asked. He fidgeted with the string of Desmond’s jacket.. “It -- doesn’t seem fair.”
“It seems perfectly fair to me,” she said.
“You -- if I refuse, you’re gonna tell them anyway, a-aren’t you?” Desmond stammered.
Annika nodded.
Desmond sighed. “This is a terrible idea, but -- I accept. I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?” he said.
“You don’t,” she said.
This would be interesting.
next chapter