Yesterwary
Chapter Seventeen

The thinnest rays of light filtered across the ground, drying the mud into a patterned labyrinth for beetles and ants. It was one of those rare days where the rain had stopped and the clouds had taken a smidgen of pity over Yesterwary. On the patio in the back yard, Demi handed Bastian a bowl of oatmeal, before sitting down across from him at the table. It had once been brown, but decades had withered it to a sickly, muted gray, and it was really more an array of swollen splinters than a proper table.

Too distracted to appreciate the day’s beauty, Demi contemplated into her breakfast for a moment, then finally looked up. “How would one go about renting an apartment? Something nicer than the tenements, I mean.”

Bastian’s eyes widened. “You want to move out?”

“No!” she gasped, surprised that he could have come to such a conclusion. “No. I want to get some people out of the tenements.”

“Who?” he asked, pupils narrowed and brow lowered knowingly.

“My new employees.” Taking an innocent bite of food, she pretended not to notice the allegation in his voice. “I want to help them.”

“Xander?”

“And Jess.”

“Well,” he said, lacing his fingers together beneath his chin. “They’d need enough money for a down-payment on wherever they’d be moving. Usually, the landlord wants proof that they’ll be keeping their jobs. They don’t typically take new tenants who’ve been employed less than a month.”

“What about buying a house? Something like this place?” she asked, replaceing it more difficult to ignore his tone.

“You’re going to buy Xander a house?”

“And Jess. Yeah, maybe.”

“Why?”

“The restaurant is bringing in plenty of money. Far more than you and I need. I want to take care of them.”

“‘Him,’ you mean. You want to take care of him.”

“Why do you keep doing that? This isn’t just about Xander. This is about looking after my friends.”

Bastian shook his head and dropped his fork to his plate with a violent clink. His eyes had a sunken-in, glossy, pinkish look, the one that often accompanies a lack of sleep, and they glinted through his unkempt hair like fractured crystals that had been engulfed by flame.

“You two have been spending a lot of time together,” he said critically.

“We work together,” she said, frustration burning in her throat. “What difference does it make? Am I not allowed to have friends?”

“You can have as many friends as you like. Just not him.”

“Excuse me?” she huffed, leaning back with such ferocity that she nearly fell off her bench.

“I’ve seen the way you act together. The way he looks at you.”

“You can’t be serious,” she mumbled, almost suspecting that he really was joking.

“It makes sense, I guess. You’re both so special.”

“Cut it out.”

“The golden children of Yesterwary,” he said, eyes dark as he stood. “You two could have anything you want.”

“That’s enough!” she cried.

Demi jumped to her feet and tossed her napkin to the table. Picking up her barely-touched food, she took a few steps toward the door. The slivers of light faded as the clouds moved in to fill the gaps in the sky, and heavy drizzle effortlessly corrected the dryness that had crept across the dirt.

“Don’t walk away from me!”

Bastian had meant to throw his empty cup against the house in fury, but exhaustion rendered his aim less than accurate. Demi found herself lying on the quickly-dampening ground, clasping a hand to her head to stop the slow trickle of blood from leaking down her face.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she screamed, glaring up in anger and fear.

But Bastian didn’t answer. His eyes shifted to the fog, brows raised. He looked as if he’d just heard his name called from a busy street. Whatever he’d heard, his expression was enough to silence Demi’s furious shouting.

“Bastian?” she called, unsteadily pushing herself to her feet.

He dropped his forehead into his hands, and pushed his hair away from his eyes. Frightened tears rolled down his cheeks and landed in his oatmeal.

“Is the fog doing this to you?” she asked.

Bastian’s chin wavered as he stared at her in silence. Finally, he lunged across the table, wrapping his arms tightly around her back. Demi jumped in fright, at first, thinking he may have been attacking her. But, at the sound of his sobs, she returned the embrace, and held him as he wept into her shoulder.

“It keeps calling my name. Over and over. I didn’t tell you… I didn’t want to worry you,” he whispered. “But… It won’t stop.”

“It probably would have been less troubling than knocking me in the head with a coffee mug.”

“I’m so sorry,” he cried, tenderly touching the red welt that had begun to swell on her face. “I don’t know what’s happening. I’m so tired. I’m so scared. I feel like I’m going insane.”

“How long has this been going on?” she asked, kissing him softly on the forehead.

“I started hearing it right after you told me he made those cupcakes.” He sounded guilty, almost as if he didn’t want to speak the words.

“I wish you had told me,” she cooed. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. I won’t let Yesterwary break us. Not again.”

A pan crashed to the stove as anger caused Xander to lose control of his grip. “He what?” he breathed.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Demi said, rearranging her hair to cover the patch of dark purple and blue that had crept down from her forehead.

“That sounds like the same excuse every domestic-abuse victim gives when they don’t want to leave their partner,” he said, furiously tossing food into wrinkled, cardboard boxes.

“I’m serious,” she assured. “It’s this place. If you get too happy, Yesterwary fucks with you.”

“But if he’s dangerous—”

“We’ve got it under control,” she said with certainty, loading the boxes into a wheelbarrow, which, even after multiple cleanings, probably shouldn’t have been anywhere near food.

“If you’re sure…”

Demi nodded, but she wasn’t at all sure. She wasn’t sure that Bastian was strong enough to ward off Yesterwary’s trickeries, and she wasn’t sure that she was strong enough to protect herself from him if he couldn’t. But she pretended that she was sure, and hoped that if she pretended long enough it would become true.

Xander sat cross-legged in the front row, staring up at Demi just as intently as the children who surrounded him.

“And then, with the dragon’s teeth only inches from his face, the prince threw forward his sword and sent the evil beast back to its misty cave for good. His princess and his kingdom were safe, at last,” she said, glancing behind herself as one little boy wielded a stick, poking at another little boy who had a blanket draped over his head.

Xander burst out into applause, then quickly silenced himself at the realization that clapping was not traditional at the ending of stories in Yesterwary, but Demi still appreciated it. After the tired ’thanks-you’s from little voices had ended, Demi, Xander, and Michael lingered around the stage.

“Is he your prince?” Michael asked, nodding toward Xander.

Demi laughed, but realized Michael had never met Bastian, nor had she ever spoken of him. “No. He works at the restaurant. He makes food, just like me.”

Michael scrunched up his face in deep contemplation. “You should have a prince.”

“Why is that?”

“To protect you from dragons.”

Demi grinned and hugged Michael close to her.

“Maybe you should be her prince,” Xander said, tousling the boy’s hair.

Michael’s eyes widened and gleamed, and he nodded excitedly. “Can I be your prince, Demi?”

“Absolutely,” she said, helping Michael down from the stage. “If I ever catch sight of a dragon, I’ll come running to you.”

Michael reached back to grab the stick from the stage, and swung it through the air with vigor. “I’ll be ready.”

Xander wrapped his arm around Demi’s shoulders as they followed the boy to the door, and she thought little of it. In the midst of the friendship they’d developed, physical contact didn’t feel odd or inappropriate. She thought of him as an older version of the brother she’d lost so long ago, and she leaned her head into his shoulder gratefully.

Demi had no way of knowing that Bastian would be waiting for her on the rusted swings, a shoddy version of her paper flowers, which he’d rolled himself, in hand. He jumped to his feet, and the paper bouquet floated to the gravel.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” she asked, happy to see him, but unaware that his insides were reeling from the sight of her so close to Xander.

“What is this?” he whispered, voice oozing with suspicion and accusation.

“What?” Demi asked, confused for a moment, then finally realizing he was referring to that lack of distance between herself and her new employee. “It’s nothing, Bastian.”

Xander cautiously removed his arm from Demi’s shoulder, and discreetly stepped in front of her, creating a barrier between her and Bastian, just in case.

“Don’t lie to me,” Bastian hissed, stepping toward them.

Xander defensively raised his palms toward Bastian’s chest. “Calm down, man.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Bastian growled, lunging at Xander’s face with bare fists.

Within moments, Bastian was on his knees, arms waving helplessly above his head. Xander had him in an effortless headlock, and Demi’s hands had withdrawn to her mouth to stifle her gasp.

“I’m not making a move on your woman,” Xander clarified. “Whatever you think is happening between us, you’re wrong.”

“I’m not blind,” Bastian rasped, struggling against Xander’s restraint.

“No, but you might as well be. Yesterwary is messing with your head, you know that.”

“Lying bastard,” Bastian mumbled.

“She’s not my type,” Xander assured, jaw clenched as Bastian thrashed.

“How could you do this to me?” Bastian asked, face dark and scorching as he glowered at Demi.

“He’s gay, Bastian!” she shouted, eyes burning with angry tears.

“What?” Bastian’s body went limp as he examined her face.

“I told you, she’s not my type,” Xander repeated.

Bastian glanced up from his place on the ground, and his suppressor nodded in reassurance.

Demi had intended to storm off, angry at Bastian for being too weak to combat the thoughts Yesterwary had weaseled into his head, even though she knew it wasn’t really his fault. But before she could do so, her vision went blurry, and her mind went spinning, and the last thing she saw before she passed out was the ground racing toward her head.