Angel and the Assassin

stay and be my boy. I want to come home
    from a job and find him here, waiting for me, happy to see me. I want to make a man
    of him.

    158
    Fyn Alexander

    Grabbing the bottle, he walked to the couch and threw himself down. He
    poured another whiskey and drank it immediately. I hate feeling like this; it makes
    me feel weak and scared . He put the glass on the coffee table and drank from the
    bottle.
    Angel, I love you. Why have you turned cold on me? What the hell did I do? I’m
    no genius when it comes to feelings and being sensitive, but I know how I feel about
    you. From the moment I saw you, I felt something I’ve never felt before.
    He took a long swig from the bottle, held it up to his eyes, saw there was an
    inch left, and finished it.
    I’m going to tell you how much I love you. I’m going to tell you right now.
    Unsteadily, he rose and walked into the bedroom. It took a lot to make him
    drunk, given his size, but it was eight o‟clock, he had not eaten since lunchtime, and
    he had drunk three-quarters of a bottle of whisky in less than ten minutes. Angel
    lay on the bed, hugging his blanket. Kael sat down heavily beside him, working up
    the courage to speak.
    “Sir, are you drunk?”
    “Not yet, but another bottle should do it.” He laughed.
    Angel raised an eyebrow. “I think you‟re drunk now.”
    “I am not drunk, and don‟t get snotty with me, boy.”
    “Sir, you stink of whisky.”
    Kael stood up, rocking on his feet, his finger extended to give him a telling off.
    “Don‟t fall on me. You could kill me,” Angel said before he could speak.
    “Would you stop accusing me of trying to kill you!” He had gone into the
    bedroom to tell Angel he loved him, and now he wanted to slap his arse. Oh for
    Christ‟s sake! Why couldn‟t the boy just shut up and listen? He wanted to say he
    loved him. Didn‟t he know how hard it was for Kael to say that?
    Why am I getting angry when I’m supposed to be professing my love?
    “I‟m going out to get drunk.”
    “Sir, you‟re already drunk! Maybe you should stay home. You‟ll get into a fight,
    and then someone will end up dead. Though I doubt it will be you.”
    “Don‟t tell me what to do, boy. There‟s only one master in this house, and
    that‟s me.”
    Angel scrambled off the bed and left the room. Furious that the boy had
    walked away from him, Kael went after him. He caught him in the living room
    about to put the TV on, and grabbed him by the arm. “Don‟t walk away from me.”
    Angel looked up at him, his lower lip quivering as though he was about to cry.
    “You don‟t care about me, Sir.”
    “I do. Why do you think I didn‟t kill you!”
    That was a stupid thing to say. What’s wrong with me?

    Angel and the Assassin
    159

    Angel made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and an expression of
    disgust. “That‟s how Kael Saunders shows he cares; he doesn‟t kill you.”
    “You little fuck!” He grabbed Angel and raised his hand to slap him, then
    thought better of it. In the hall he pulled on his jacket and shouted from the front
    door. “Don‟t go anywhere.” He slammed the door behind him.

    * * *
    Frustrated and angry, Angel leaped onto the couch and punched the cushioned

    back relentlessly until his knuckles hurt and he was exhausted. Violent sobs shook
    his body, and he lay down on the couch and cried himself to sleep.
    When he woke up, it was the early hours of the morning, and he went into the
    bedroom to see if Sir was home. The bed had not been slept in, and he crawled
    across the bed to Sir‟s side and opened the drawer to find the money. His mom was
    settled by now with Gregoire. As long as she knew he was only visiting, she would
    probably be happy to see him.
    At the back of the drawer, he found a wad of £50 notes and sat cross-legged on
    the bed counting them. It was plenty to get over to France. He would go to an
    Internet café and e-mail Maria-Jesus to find out where his mom was living.
    Angel stuck his hand into the back of the drawer to see if there was any more
    money and grasped a book. He pulled it out, flipping open the front cover. It was a
    diary, and it belonged to Sir. I grew up poor, but I had two things in my favour —An
    hour later he had read every word.
    Looking inside the drawer again, he found a pen and began to write after the
    last entry.

    Daddy I love you. I never loved anyone like I love you and you can say it’s
    because I have no experience with men and that’s true