Roman struggled to process what was being said. A public punishment? Or…an initiation? “Okay,” he settled for replying. Whatever he had to do, he’d do it, as long as nobody else was hurt.
“Okay…” Tyler paused. “So. Why don’t you come down to dinner?”
Shock rocked through Roman. Dinner? He was being rewarded? He looked up, had to know if this was a trick or a joke. He was so hungry—just a little bit of food, and he’d be fine.
Where Roman had expected mockery or sarcasm, there was nothing more than slight irritation and confusion, as if Roman should have expected what Tyler had said.
“Okay. You coming, then?” Tyler prompted, and Roman jerked to his feet, trying to appear obedient but not too eager.
The meal, of course, was a disaster.
Roman was sat beside Tyler and a woman who began arguing with the Dom immediately, making Roman freeze and hope Tyler’s anger wouldn’t be taken out on him. He seemed to misstep at every opportunity—waited to be given permission to eat, spoke only when spoken to, ate as little as possible—but Tyler still glared at him almost constantly.
All Roman could do was keep his face devoid of emotion as he savoured each mouthful. The food was…indescribable. Full of flavour, the ingredients simple but rich with herbs and spices. He was overcome by being fed something so good for what felt like the first time in his life.
Roman had loved cooking, a long time ago—when it wasn’t a danger to get things wrong. Before his father had been made High Witch, he’d lived alone, left mostly to his own devices, and he’d cooked every day, searching online for new recipes. He’d hoped to share his food with someone one day—a friend, even.
Another one of his stupid dreams.
Roman focused on his plate—a forkful of salad covered in a thick, green vinaigrette. Red rice—Roman had learnt it was rich in antioxidants—which he mixed with the squid in tomato sauce cut with…kimchi, if he wasn’t mistaken. For dessert, there were little custards that melted on the tongue.
A little from all over the world, he noticed, inclusive of a lot of the people sitting at the tables.
Roman’s chest ached as he helped clear the tables. If only someone would touch him—a hand on his shoulder, or a pat on his head. It was pathetic, he knew, like a dog begging for pets, but it had been so, so long since someone even looked at him. Even Connie, the sub who appeared friendly on the surface, was just out to gather information.
“Is that all?” Roman asked, making sure not to sound tentative or eager. Maybe he could stay there for a little while longer. If he was quiet and still enough, people wouldn’t even notice him.
He could pretend to be good for a little while.
“Yeah, that’s all. But make it down to dinner at least, okay?” Tyler dismissed him.
Roman didn’t react. Everything that was trying to claw its way out was pushed back down, like always.
At least he’d managed to—somehow, somehow—behave enough to be allowed one meal a day.
Roman’s room seemed even quieter than before. He opened the window, letting the fall breeze wash in.
He curled up on his bed and enjoyed the feeling of being fed.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here. If he could just get someone to acknowledge him, he’d be okay.
He’d survived worse.
**********
When Roman belonged to his father, all his scenes had been in the basement. He had been told from the start what he was, what he was being trained to be—their Worm.
Roman didn’t know if that was a term other covens used. He hadn’t seen any Worms in Meliora so far, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.
The training had been difficult. He was taught to be better, to dispose of his own needs. A Dom would have a sub they slept with, and scened with, and loved, and then they’d have a Worm—something worth only enough to serve them.
Roman had been lucky not to have been castrated—Worms were stripped of their sexuality, to appease real subs, make sure their Doms didn’t stray.
His father had tried to mould him into furniture, a kicked pet, a cook, a maid, a punching bag. Roman was bad, and he had to be made into something better. His father got good at slipping Roman right into the edges of subspace and keeping him there, making him do things that would strip him bare. That would break him down little by little until he was what he was—less than nothing.
The worst was the cleaning of the blood. This was a person, Roman would always think, watching the red stain his clothes, his skin. His hair, sometimes, if his father shoved him over. He couldn’t help but think that he would become just that one day—a puddle of mud on his father’s floor.
In the Main House of the Meliora Coven, Roman woke up reeling. It was an endless cycle of Dropping and sleeping and nightmares and waking up feeling as if he were drowning.
Roman crawled out of the bed and onto the cool, wooden floor. It was dark, the new moon sky glittering with stars. Inside his room, though, it was all shadow.
There was a fist in Roman’s throat he couldn’t breathe through. He was trying, desperate for just one clean lungful of air, chest aching with the effort. His teeth chattered, the noise loud in the empty night.
He needed to be quiet. He needed to be better.
Roman dragged himself across the floor desperately. If only he could stop shaking, but he was so scared it was like a madness, thoughts screaming and splintering apart.
He had to hide. He needed to find somewhere small and safe and curl up there, where no one could find him.
He opened the closet. There was barely anything inside, a cavern. He forced himself back to the bed—he was bad, bad—and yanked all the sheets off, the one pillow he had. Stuffed them into the dark cave. Pulled clothes from the hangers. Shut the door.
In the tangle of soft things, he stilled. He couldn’t hear a thing. Maybe no one could hear him, either.
He curled up there and Dropped.
CHAPTER THREE
ROMAN
A knock on the door startled Roman. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just past four in the afternoon—not a mealtime, then.
Fear lanced through him as he scrambled up, straightening his clothes. He’d been washing his underwear and shirts in his bathroom sink, so at least he didn’t smell bad despite how much he’d sweat during Drops.
He surveyed the room quickly, making sure there was nothing out of place, before opening the door.
It was Tyler, of course, with his typical scowl. Roman made sure not to meet his eyes or be disrespectful in any way. It was more than obvious the Dom didn’t like him, but he hadn’t doled out even a single punishment yet.
Roman really wasn’t looking forward to finding out what the Dom would come up with when he did.
“Hey,” Tyler greeted, although he sounded as if someone had dragged him there against his will.
Roman didn’t dare say anything, sitting on the bed and gazing to the side politely, like he’d been trained.
“I should probably show you around,” Tyler went on. “You wanna put shoes on or something? I dunno who you’ve met yet, but I can introduce you to a few people.”
Roman didn’t hesitate to go to the closet and do as asked, but a bolt of fear trembled down his spine.