"Someday," he murmurs. "Maybe."
As if he's suddenly changed his mind, he picks himself up from the chair. I can still see the faint traces of blood drops on the back of his shirt. I thought he would have healed fully by now, but the extent of my father's beating is now plainly visible. I hurt for Dexter, and yet I have no one to blame for his pain but myself.
"I'm going to do some work," Dex adds.
"What am I supposed to do?"
He looks at me with those nearly black eyes again. "I don't know, Pandora, do what you want to do. Fuck my friends, fuck yourself, fuck anyone you want. Just let me get on with my day. And don't go on the first floor."
He leaves me standing there, feeling utterly inadequate as he sets off for the stairs. With a huff, I collapse on the couch and wonder what I've done to upset him now. Dexter is so unpredictable. His moods shift so fast I can barely keep track - from hating me one moment to wanting to fuck me the next.
But still, the Booth Mansion is my home now, too. I can make myself comfortable, because I have nowhere else to go for the time being. And a sick, small part of me is still eager to get Dexter. To make him all mine, twirl him around my finger like I have done with the other boys. He's the most resilient so far, and it intrigues me.
I busy myself by going through the bookshelves in the Booth dining room. I notice everything is dusty, so I grab some cleaning supplies from the kitchen and get to work on dusting the books.
I've made it halfway down the wall, wiping down book after book and allowing myself a moment to admire them before carefully setting them on the shelf again. Then, I hear a voice behind me.
"What are you doing?"
The question startles me and nearly makes me stumble off the step-ladder I found with the cleaning equipment. But Dex is right there to catch me, his fingers digging into my skin painfully, as if he's eager to hurt me despite saving me from tumbling down.
"I saw they were dusty," I shrug. "And I wanted to look at them."
"How long have you been doing this?"
"Since you went upstairs, I guess."
"Two hours?" He smirks. "Would've thought such a task would be beneath you, toy."
I flush when he uses my pet name. I'd never admit it to Dex, but I secretly love it when he calls me that. "I'm used to this, remember? At home we had chores and we had to do them every week."
"Ah, so you're an experienced dust bunny warrior," he smirks, sitting down on the sofa and motioning for me to keep going. I pick up the cleaning spray again and wipe down the next shelf. "And? What do you think of our book collection?"
"I haven't read many of them," I mutter, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Just some."
"Which ones?" I locate a copy in the shelves and turn to face him with it in my hands. Dex laughs out loud. "Wuthering Heights. So predictable, little toy."
I frown and put it back in its place, picking up another tome I've read before. "What about this one, then?"
"The Stranger?" He quirks an eyebrow. "I'll give you props for that one. You're not as utterly boring as I feared."
"It's my favorite." I put the book back on the shelf, feeling Dex's eyes on me as I sit down on the sofa opposite where he's sitting. "What should we do now?"
He scrutinizes me, his eyes taking in every inch of my appearance. "Maybe you should make yourself useful, toy."
"How?" My stomach flutters in anticipation of his answer.
He shrugs. "Make us something to eat. I'm hungry."
I'm disappointed, but I try not to show it, and I follow him into the kitchen. The fridge and pantry are fully stocked and even though I'm not an expert, I figure I'll be able to make something with the food on hand. As I start gathering the ingredients, Dex leans against the counter and bites into a perfect red apple.
"You'll ruin your appetite like that," I tell him.
"You sound like my mom," he chuckles, but his smile is gone the next second. We've never spoken about his parents, and I can imagine it's a difficult topic for him, but I'm so eager to find out more I have to ask.
"What was she like?"
"Beautiful," he mutters. "Kind. Caring."