#me: daveed will live in a world of comf from now on

[comfy-whumpee]

Again

Bibi had specific shops for specific products. Daveed was still getting used to the tour, and the way everyone had started greeting him, recognising him as Asha’s charge. They asked how she was doing, how he was doing, how about her grandson, was he back yet? Could she ring them tomorrow night about the sewing machine they’d borrowed? Would she be able to come to the birthday party?

 It was strange. It was nice. They all smiled and trusted because he came with her seal of approval, and they helped him pack the shopping bags and asked whether he was eating properly or whether he wanted a haircut, cheap, just at their son’s place around the corner, you must have seen it...

 It was a community. Daveed, in his too-baggy, too-short jumper, shopping bags on both shoulders, was welcomed into it simply because he had a scrap of paper in his hand written by everyone’s favourite grandmother.

 None of them touched him. That was something he dwelt on, that he thought Bibi must have spread around before he started doing the weekly shop for her. They all knew already that he didn’t want to be surprised with touch.

 And so, when a hand settled on his shoulder as he was waiting at a crossing, he didn’t immediately collapse. He turned, instead.

 “Don’t kneel,” the Teacher said, smiling genially, right behind him with his hand still raised. “Cross the road.”

Daveed stopped breathing. The hand on his shoulder let go, and he sucked in air, and walked across the street on numb legs. The Teacher followed, and the hand settled on his elbow as soon as they reached the other side. Then he was turned into a side street, taken away from the bustle of the shops, around another corner to a small green on the edge of a suburban crossroads.

 The Teacher sat down on a bench, and Daveed followed the hand gesturing for him to do the same.

 “You look so different these days,” the Teacher said quietly. Daveed was still taller, but the Teacher’s presence loomed. He stared straight forwards and wondered if anyone would search for him when he was gone.

 “I’ve been looking for you. You ran away.” The voice was disappointed, chastising, the kind that would always be used to gently lean on 326’s compliance.

 Daveed pulled in a breath. He didn’t let go of the shopping bag, even though he knew he wouldn’t run. Not from the Teacher.

 “It’s my fault, really,” the Teacher sighs. “I should never have sold you. You were always mine, weren’t you, 326?”

 Daveed sank. In his place rose an old, old self. It had only been through effort that his genuine self had been staying afloat, after all.

 “Weren’t you?” the Teacher prompted.

 326 exhaled. “Yes, sir.”

 “Mhm, that’s right.” The Teacher leaned back against the bench, smiling broadly. “I’m amazed you cut your hair. That must have taken guts.”

 “No, sir.” 326 didn’t have courage like that. It was – it was a spur of the moment decision. Cowardice, rather than be faced with a real hairdresser.

 My son, it’s his passion, owning his business, really they’re very good--

 “Do you still work?”

 326 felt nothing. No shame, no fear, and he had nothing to hide. “Yes, sir.”

 “That’s good. It’s all you have, really, isn’t it? Your chores. Your worth is your work, you remember that well enough. From what the others said about you, at Alice Landon’s trial, you were her perfect butler, weren’t you?”

 “No, sir. Never perfect.”

 The Teacher laughed. It was a dizzying sound. “I should have known. Yes, she’s a stern one. How was your place after that?”

 “...Much the same, sir. Less...physical work. No physical punishments to be delivered.” Not that it had stopped her putting the duty for the shocks into his hands.

 “And after that?”

 “...That was when I – absconded, sir.”

 “Because of 510, I assume? The poor creature you beat every day?”

 “Yes, sir. He... He is kind.”

 The Teacher laughed again. 326 sat at attention, hands clasped tightly in front of him, looking out over the fields and imagining his own stare in the mirror every morning at Miss Landon’s, straightening his tie.

 “Well, he let you go and live with his grandmother, so I would say naive rather than kind, wouldn’t you?” He nudged 326 with his shoulder. “The terrible Butler, who tortured him day in, day out. What did you do to earn his forgiveness?”

 The question was a bitter reminder. 326 looked out at the low bushes lining the green. Leaves tangled amongst intertwined branches, creating a thick wall of hedge that was no longer distinguishable as individual plants. One monolith woven out of parts all trimmed to look the same.

 Anyone who grew past those limits would be trimmed back.

 “I don’t know, sir,” he answered at last. “Some days I don’t believe I did.”

 “Of course you didn’t,” the Teacher said smartly. “You’d do it all again if you were told.”

 A weight settled on 326’s shoulder. That hand weighed on him throughout his life even in its absence. The ghost of the touch was always with him. This was how the Teacher had attached his reins, and could steer him like a blinkered horse, even now.

 “I don’t mind not being forgiven,” he admitted.

 “You shouldn’t need forgiveness. You did well. You did your job, and obeyed the employer. You did wonderfully, 326.”

 The praise was stale and sickly. 326 swallowed against a dry throat. The Teacher was proud of him. He was still – he thought – he hoped – a special trainee. It didn’t matter how long ago he had ‘graduated’ from training under the Teacher and his people, no. This man’s orders were hardwired into him.

 “How long ago did you find me, sir?”

 He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. He was given it anyway. “Last week. Were you following the statements from your colleagues in the news? They mentioned your role in it. I knew you would never normally do something like that, so who else could I look to blame but 510?” The Teacher sighed, letting go of 326’s shoulder to lean back. “He was always a corruptive influence.”

 Behind them, at the road, there was the sound of a car passing - and then parking.

 A soft, heavy weight drifted down to settle at the bottom of Daveed’s chest.

 “Come along,” the Teacher said, standing. The hand lifted from his shoulder - but it never did, not really.

 “Yes sir.”

He let go of the shopping bags. He stood. He followed the man who had owned him, once, and always will.