Chapter 75: Inner Voice, Part 2

Soon enough, his nemesis reared its head. Sam was referring to small talk, of course—conversation that frequently revolved around the past, a past they didn't share. Sam did what he could to get by. He couldn't respond to everything with "that's how it was" or "I don't remember," but he also couldn't take wild guesses and risk being discovered. So he tried asking careful questions without the question part, seeking information.

Deep down, he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. In reality, preventing them from knowing he had lost his memory wasn't as important as it had been in the mansion—he already had them in his pocket and that wouldn't change. Although they would certainly be upset that he had lied to them, San didn't want to reveal it, so he would make an effort even if only to delay the inevitable.

What gave him a respite wasn't exactly welcomed with open arms. In short: he needed to pee.

San tried to get up from the bed—tried being the key word. Both Christina and Violet leaned forward, putting their hands on him to try to stabilize him. He wasn't ready for foolishness yet. His face was burning, but it was even more humiliating not knowing how to accept that he needed help. He needed help just to breathe and, pragmatically, he would accept it even if it meant anything, even if it meant making a fool of himself. He would look more foolish if he fell trying.

"I need help getting to the bathroom," he said.

Both offered very enthusiastically, but in the end Sam resolved the stupid argument by having them both help him. He stumbled to the bathroom hanging from both their shoulders, an arm on each. His cheeks were burning.

At least he went inside the bathroom alone, first leaning against the wall, then on the sink to be able to sit on the throne. They closed the door, although they would surely keep their ears pressed against it in case something happened. So they would know everything anyway.

He wasn't satisfied with that, but he had to accept it. San removed his pants and sat down. His penis barely didn't reach the water—by very little, but that's what counted. He wasn't sure he could pee standing up in these circumstances, not without help, and he didn't want to test it now. He did his business and then came out.

The sisters insisted on taking him to bed, although not in the good way he had imagined for a moment. Well, it's not like he was up for it anyway. Men were all dirty-minded, but the day you saw your guts more outside than inside and convinced yourself you were going to die miserably without being able to change anything... well, it wasn't exactly the right day.

"Have you ordered the servants to return to the mansion yet?" he asked. "I know everything isn't ready yet, but we need them... I'm particularly interested in Anabel," he continued.

"Oh?" asked Violet. "You always said you didn't like her, that she was bought by everyone, that nobody could trust her."

"That," said Christina.

It made sense. But now the Wrights were dead. And Annbelle was the only servant he knew personally and had as chained as his own sisters, maybe even more so, since she was devoted to another person, not to herself.

"Prejudices like any other," said Sam, "stupid prejudices. The truth is we talked a bit before everything happened." It was the euphemism of the year, maybe the century, he'd dare say. "And well, I gave her some money for her sick mother. I'd like to know how she's doing. That's all."

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"Her mother is sick?" said Christina. "I didn't know anything about that. If I had known I would have given her money too."

She was strangely insistent about this, as if she was afraid he would judge her if she felt otherwise. That spoke very well of her image of him. Of him.

"I'm glad you did something for that woman," said Violet. "You have a good heart, I've always known it." She shrugged. "It's good. It's good to see it with my own eyes."

"Well, you know what I mean."

"Yes, I'm not that picky, don't worry."

Then all three laughed. Nobody had said anything funny, but somehow all three ended up laughing. The most surprising thing was that their laughter wasn't forced. He still felt a bit disoriented after what had almost happened to him, he supposed. That would be his explanation and his excuse. But nobody was going to ask him. Nobody knew anything about him and that's how it would stay.

Without making any progress, but without much concern, night slowly arrived.

"Well, it's been nice talking with you, but I'm tired now. I've turned over. I think I'm going to sleep."

Sam lay back in bed. He narrowed his eyes. He didn't get any further because he saw Violet starting to take off her shirt.

Oh yeah, baby, he thought. Keep going.

"What are you doing?" asked Sam, although truth be told he wasn't too concerned about the details.

"Changing?" replied Violet. "Changing, of course? Did you think we weren't serious? About not taking our eyes off you?"

"Yes, you're not going to get rid of us, not even at night."

Great, he thought. Christmas has come early this year.

"Oh, come on," said Sam. "I'm not bad, I'm out of danger now."

"Don't argue," said Christina. "If you don't let us sleep here, I don't think we'll be able to get some shut eye."

"Okay, okay," said Sam. "I don't mind, it'll be like old times."

"Yes. More or less like that," said Christina, clearly thinking about the times he had fucked her hard. "I mean, literally like that."

Violet blushed to the tips of her ears and retreated to the bathroom to change. Christina, as expected, didn't act so innocently. She undressed, although she had a slight advantage.

The two lay down with him, one on each side, lying on top of him as if to prevent him from escaping. Tonight he was going to sleep great, feeling their soft and warm bodies against him. He almost didn't mind now having lost the day doing nothing at all. Nothing productive anyway. Almost. Either way, it bothered him a little because he was simply designed that way. I don't know, a factory defect or something like that.

Sam closed his eyes. He dreamed of the ocean. A stormy ocean, the sea raging and a person drowning. It was common sense, there was no need to even ask. The guy who was drowning was himself.

A simple nightmare, but one that filled him with anxiety. This almost completely disappeared upon waking. And he was grateful not to have disturbed his sisters in the process. His breathing had become heavy. His face was all red. Some excess sweat. Well, he felt terrible. Although he couldn't even remember what he had dreamed anymore.

The feeling didn't leave him completely. As if there was a heavy pressure on his chest. Gradually preventing him from breathing, very slowly.

Sam closed his eyes again and tried to fall asleep. He had no reason for nightmares to keep him awake. He had killed War. Although that idiot Michael didn't quite agree. He was just being picky. He had the stick shoved up his ass.

He tried to relax and it didn't go too well. Instead, his mind ended up wandering into a lane of stupid thoughts. For example, he wondered how long it had been since he had shared a bed with someone. Not for purposes of having sex, of course. To the contrary, the answer was very obvious. He couldn't remember it. After a long time, he couldn't remember even a single moment.

Inner Voice, Part 2: END