The Surrogate (24 page)

He washed quickly, then checked to see what had happened to their aborted meal. Jaime had tidied up in his usual efficient fashion, he saw. No sign of his lover’s tantrum, nothing out of place—like Seve made no difference to his routine at all. Nothing stopped Jaime getting on with his new life—not angry lovers, not his own emotions, and certainly not the fear of strangers, of being seized and imprisoned and....

Seve slammed his fist down on the work table. Why couldn’t he put all that behind him? Minas was
dead
. They were all dead or banished or imprisoned—even the very temple had been razed to the ground, its coffers emptied and all its guards and staff and priests scattered in shame to the four quarters of Gidin. Nothing, no one, threatened them any more. So why was he so afraid all the time? Why did Jaime’s touch only remind him of Minas’ dry, revolting hands? Why could he not...why was he so...disgusted...by the very idea of making love, when that was all he’d wanted to do for so long, for four lonely, incredibly miserable years? And why was Jaime able to pick up a new life, when Seve was so paralysed by terror and pain?

He was useless, a failure as a lover and a man. He should have killed himself in the temple. He’d had so many chances, and if it had been to try and spare Jaime pain, it’d been a wasted sacrifice. All he did was hurt Jaime and hold him back. He should leave and let Jaime get on with it. The only thing that stopped him was knowing that Jaime would just look and look and never stop until he found him again—Jaime was tenacious and brave and stubborn as an ass. Seve would kill himself if it wouldn’t mean that Jaime would never forgive himself, and probably join Seve in death out of remorse. Jaime had a new life, even if Seve didn’t—Seve
wanted
Jaime to live and be happy. He just wanted to be happy too, but happiness seemed a distant, unreachable dream.

Several times that day, he thought about going to the academy to meet Jaime, to perhaps talk outside their little house, use fresh surroundings for a fresh approach. But every time, he cringed at the idea of being in a crowd, facing strangers, and his courage utterly failed him. He threw himself into his gardening, digging new beds, trying to exhaust himself in the hope that tiredness would rob his anxieties of power.

But it was all for nothing—he put the fowl on to cook, and prepared a vegetable dish that he knew Jaime particularly liked—but as sunset came, darkness fell, and his lover didn’t come home, he realised he had finally gone too far. Jaime had finally lost patience and had clearly found more congenial company. Seve sat in the quiet kitchen, watching good food spoil, and felt the kind of desperation he hadn’t known since he’d been a prisoner. Only he
was
still a prisoner and the bars and chains more tight and cruel than any Minas had imposed because they were forged by his own hand.

He lay in the bed that smelled of Jaime and tried to rest, but for hours, he could not find peace, tormented by thoughts of a life without Jaime, of what he could do, what he should do, and how his courage was not up to his desires. Finally, wearied by his exertions and the poor rest the night before, he did sleep a little. He woke while it was still dark, and lay facing the window, hoping that any moment, he would hear the front door opening, and his lover’s footsteps through the house. But as the long pre-dawn gradually brightened and became a glorious pink-tinted dawn, Jaime still hadn’t come home.

He was paralysed. Was it over? Should he leave now, let Jaime return to the house that had become his home so much more thoroughly than it ever had for Seve? Should he...walk into the ocean, and disappear from Jaime’s life? But no...he needed to be sure Jaime had really given up on him, so he could leave with a clear conscience. Then he would go and find peace in death, since he was denied it in life.

He cleaned, washed clothes, wiped windows, scrubbed floors, as if preparing to hand it all over to Jaime with his blessing. In his heart, he hoped Jaime would come soon and put an end to this agony, then he could be set truly free.

When the front door opened, he thought he would throw up from stress, but all he did was stand in the hallway and twist the duster he was using in his hands. Jaime stopped short when he saw him.

“
Oh...Seve, I....”

Seve wanted to speak, but his throat was dry. He couldn’t meet Jaime’s eyes. He turned and walked into the kitchen, needing water...something....

“
Seve, I’m sorry I didn’t come back....”

Seve waited until he’d got his water from the jug. “Are you staying now?”

“
What? Of course I’m staying, I just...needed time to think. I’m sorry if you were worried.”

Worried? It hadn’t occurred to him to worry. Jaime would always survive. It was Seve who didn’t know how to live any more. “And did you make a decision?” he asked coldly, his voice sounding calm, even though his hands were shaking.

“
A decision? About what, Seve?”

“
About us. This. Don’t tell me you weren’t making up your mind to leave me.”

“
No! Seve, I would never leave you.”

Seve stared at the sink, and wondered how long Jaime would continue to lie to him. Why would Jaime want to stay with someone who couldn’t bear to touch him?

“
Seve?”

A hand grasped his arm. He couldn’t help it—his heart racing and his gut twisting nauseatingly, he reacted in pure instinctive, striking out with one hand as the other sent the mug of water flying. Jaime’s cry of pain came simultaneously with the crash of the mug against the wall.

Seve stared at the mess, his lover’s hand against his injured cheek. He couldn’t do this any more, he couldn’t. He grabbed the nearest knife, the big one that he’d used to cut up the vegetables for a meal that no one had eaten, and plunged it towards his neck.

“
Seve!”

He was knocked sideways, the knife struck from his hand as Jaime threw himself at Seve, pushing him against the wall, and dragging him down. “No, you can’t, Severin, no!”

“
Jaime, let me go, let me die, please...please....”

“
No, Seve, don’t leave me, please, I love you, don’t...please don’t, please don’t leave me....” Jaime was babbling and weeping, and all Seve could do was clutch at him and cry, his agony unrelieved, the one route for escape taken from him.

They sat like that for what felt like hours, Seve’s hysteria gradually being replaced by a hopeless emptiness, a knowledge that he was as trapped and imprisoned as ever, and it somehow made it worse that his jailor was the man he adored. Never had he wished more strongly to disappear, to never have existed. If he had never been born, so much pain for everyone would have been avoided. All this, because of him.

It was cold, sitting on the floor, and his body began to complain. It was full night now, the only light that of the moon coming through freshly cleaned windows. “Jaime? I want to get up.”

Jaime leaned back, tears still shining on his cheek. “Are you going to try and kill yourself again?”

“
Why do you care? I just make you unhappy.”

Jaime crawled off him and glared. “And you think your death would change that? Are you insane?”

“
Apparently.”

“
You
bastard
. You bloody, selfish
bastard
. How could you...for
four
years, all I wanted was to be with you again, and now you want to just...leave? How can you, Seve? How could you think of doing that to me? Do you hate me that much?”

“
Hate...? Jaime....” He covered his face. “I don’t hate you. I hate myself. I can’t stand this anymore.”

“
Stand what, Seve? We’re free. We can live the way we always wanted. You just need to...snap out of it. Stop being so damn...obsessed with the past.”

“
Stop...you think I’m doing this
deliberately
? You don’t think I want things to be different?” Seve’s despair was being replaced by a slow rage. “You think this is the life I
want
?”

“
Well, if it isn’t, change it. I’m sick of this, Seve. You won’t let me help you, you won’t help yourself, and every time there’s a problem, you run away! Either you run...or you...you do
this
!” Jaime got to his feet. “Why won’t you fight, damn it? Why won’t you just
try
?”

Seve stared up at him, filled with a blinding sense of injustice being done to him. “I am trying! I try all the time but I can’t... I can’t help it! You know why I’m like this, it’s not my fault!”

“
Well, it’s not mine either, but you’re punishing me like it is!”

“
I’m not....” He slumped against the wall. So tired.... Why wouldn’t this all stop? “I’m getting up. Don’t touch me again.”

“
Don’t go for the knife, Seve. I didn’t fight to get you free so you could throw it all away.”

Seve climbed to his feet and then looked at his lover, getting up warily. “That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it? You paid a price to free me, so you want full value from me.”

“
You forget,” Jaime said in a tight voice, “it wasn’t just me who paid that price. You forget Nikolas nearly died to save us both. Will you throw away his sacrifice too?”

“
He saved you. I was just collateral. I mean nothing to him. No one wants me for me. I’m just important for who I fuck.”

“
Then that’s nothing to do with me any more is it? You selfish, blind
shit
. I can’t believe you’re throwing this back in my face. Our face.”

Something in Jaime’s expression.... “You were with him, weren’t you? You spent the night with him.”

Jaime drew himself up. “Yes,” he said defiantly, daring Seve to judge him.

Seve dared, most certainly, cold anger and sickening betrayal replacing his miserable desperation. “Did you fuck him? Did he fuck you?”

Jaime’s beautiful lips thinned to almost nothing. “No,” he answered, his voice icy with disdain. “Nice to know you trust me, Seve.”

“
Nice to know you run off to your little friend the moment there’s a problem.”

“
The...? Look, that was the first time in over three months that I’ve even seen him! Are you even going to begrudge me friends now? Gods, Seve, when did you become so self-centred?”

“
When did you become so disloyal?”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve got work to do. If you want to talk, I’ll listen. But I’m not going to stand here and let you make up reasons to fight with me.”

“
Fine. There’s a cold fowl in the cool room. Enjoy.”

He stalked off to their bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Jaime didn’t come to their bed that night. Seve didn’t hear him leave until dawn, and when he got up, he saw that one of their bedrolls was out of position. He didn’t know whether to be glad or to despair that Jaime hadn’t gone back to Nikolas.

Nikolas. The man he owed, the man he feared. The man who had come so close to death to buy them enough time to escape, the man about whom Jaime had been so worried. The man to whom Jaime had turned for comfort when Seve had disappointed him. Their friend—his rival.

He sat in their silent kitchen, looking at the remains of a meal neither had eaten, and wondered if this was truly the end for them. Had he endured for four cruel years, resisting the seductive call of the razor and the knives, only to lose all that made his life have the least meaning? Was he to surrender the man he adored, and would gladly die to keep safe, to a handsome, charming man who wasn’t damaged or afraid, who knew how to give Jaime what he needed and was only what he deserved?

He gnawed his lip, his hands grasped white-knuckled on the smooth wood of their work table. For so long, he had dreamed of a normal life—even before he’d been selected as the ‘god’, he’d plotted an escape with Jaime, though he’d never had a chance to discuss it with him. This kitchen, this quiet life—the garden—a simple life of freedom, had been all he’d wanted. A simple life and Jaime with him.

He sat there as the sun rose higher. Would Jaime come home tonight? Would today be the day when he would simply decide Seve was just too broken to be bothered with? Was this the day when he would give Jaime to Nikolas and wish him luck?

“
No!” He slammed the table painfully hard, then shoved his stool back. He would
not
give up without a fight. But he would have to go into the town....

He dithered, mindlessly tidying and wiping and shuffling, scrubbing already clean pans and pots, sweeping a spotless floor, trying to screw up his courage to face the mass of strangers he had avoided for months and been forcibly separated from almost all his life. Minas was dead, he told himself as over and over, he tried to fit a bit of broken tile back into place, its jagged shape a mirror of the ragged thoughts racing through his tired mind. Minas had been tortured and strangled to death. Minas couldn’t hurt him more than he had, and there were no spies waiting to steal him away and seal him up in a temple which no longer existed.