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It took a while for Stolas to peel himself off the cold steps after Blitzø sped away, tyres screeching down the road as he went. His feet and arms and face felt heavy, the weight of them pulling him downwards, anchoring his deflated body to the spot. The thought of moving felt dangerous somehow, as if he stood atop a raging waterfall and the slightest movement meant he'd be swept away in the thunderous current. Here, sitting on the steps, he could linger in a strange, sad space between shock and denial, avoiding reality completely. Once he moved, he knew the spell would be broken. The threatening misery that loomed over him and the mean niggling thoughts crawling into his mind already would possess him entirely.
Stolas pulled out his phone. Blitzø had seemed so angry and upset. Stolas felt the overwhelming need to reach out, to apologise. But what for, and where to begin? He stared down the blinking text bar, his heart in his throat.
I’m sorry if anything I said or did may have offended you tonight, he wrote, and sent it. He waited, but received no answer. Blitzø was probably still driving.
What an awful night. Already the memory was a blur of awkwardness, humiliation and Blitzø’s palpable hurt.
Inevitably, he eventually dragged himself inside. He couldn’t stay outside until morning and risk Stella coming home and finding him there. Inside the palace, it was quiet and dark. It was late and the majority of the palace staff had retired. Stolas was grateful for it, he didn’t want to deal with anyone fussing over him right now. Each step he took towards his room left him feeling weaker and more burdened. But once safely inside his chambers, he made a beeline for his liquor cabinet. Clutching a bottle of wine, he fell in a crumpled heap against the door.
Stolas grimaced at the memory of the evening. How Blitzø and Stolas both had been targeted and mocked. What terrible luck on their first date. On Stolas’ first ever date with anyone, he supposed. Certainly Stella and he had met before they married, but their meetings were never what anyone would call a 'date'. They were chaperoned, solemn affairs between two unhappy teenagers who were deeply uncomfortable with each other even then.
Stolas drank the bottle of wine like it was water, draining it easily. It wouldn't be enough. With a stretch of his arm he pulled out a bottle of absinthe and popped out the cork with his mouth before taking a deep drink. The absinthe was horrible and burned his throat, but that didn't stop him from taking another hearty glug.
He scoffed to himself. Now that he thought about it, the evening with Blitzø hadn’t actually been a date at all, had it? Apparently Blitzø was only at Ozzie’s to play some kind of prank on his employees. He clearly hadn’t even wanted to talk to Stolas. Had Blitzø only called him because he’d known he’d be the only one with no plans on a Friday night? Stolas felt a hot flush of embarrassment flood through him. He’d been so excited to get Blitzø’s call. He couldn’t wait to spend a night out with him. He’d even dressed up.
“That’s a bit overkill, don’t you think?” Blitzø’s sardonic remark replayed in his head. He must’ve thought Stolas looked absolutely ridiculous.
Stolas cringed so hard at himself that he felt something clench sharply in his chest. He took another drink. After a coughing fit, he sighed. His head was already becoming gloriously cloudy.
Blitzø’s ex. Verosika. Now she hadn't looked ridiculous. Stolas wasn’t really up to date on popular music, but even he’d heard of Verosika Mayday. So, that was Blitzø’s type, then. Womanly, curvacious, gorgeous. Not an ugly, lanky, feathery thing like Stolas. Stolas ran his hands down over his thin body.
“I’m glad one egg fell out of me so I could stop pretending to want to fuck his scrawny, twig arse. What a pathetic fucking man.” He could hear Stella’s cruel insult from their Not Divorced party as if she were right next to him. Harsh as she often was, she was right in this instance. He was a far cry from being the most desirable creature out there. He was certainly no comparison to a Succubus like Verosika who would certainly have her pick of any man. Indeed, nobody had ever wanted him in a passionate manner, until Blitzø. Or so he’d thought.
Stolas took another drink.
“Dont act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to fuck you.” Stolas had seen the anger and hate in Blitzø’s eyes. Stolas almost laughed it hurt so terribly. It wasn’t even a ‘don’t act like this is more than just sex, Stolas’ or 'it’s not that deep, we're just fuckbuddies, ok?'. He could’ve maybe coped with that. At the very least it would’ve implied some kind of mutual sexual attraction and satisfaction. But Blitzø hadn’t said that. He’d said, “dont act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to fuck you.” He might as well have added, 'I don't even want to be near you, you creep! I just do this because I have to'.
Stolas drank. He could feel the full effect of the alcohol now, thankfully blurring his senses.
He was a damn fool. Stolas genuinely believed Blitzø was, at the very least, attracted to him. Stolas was aware that maybe romantically Blitzø didn’t feel the way Stolas felt, but the sex? Stolas had held no qualms over believing it was very mutually enjoyable. The way Blitzø looked at him, the things he did to him, the way he moaned his name, how he let Stolas hold him close, and kissed him slowly after. Stolas had never imagined such passion. Blitzø was almost always in absolute control of their sexual encounters and each time he’d spent hours taking Stolas apart with enthusiasm. They’d even had sex outside of their arrangement. Not often, but it happened. Hell, Blitzø came to his home and seduced him the first time, not the other way around! Stolas had believed it all to be genuine. But as Blitzø’s words replayed in his mind, he was full of doubt. Had all of it been some awful ruse on Blitzø’s part so that Stolas would keep letting him use the Grimoire? Stolas felt dirty all of a sudden, like he was some foolish, privileged pervert who forced a poor, desperate imp into his bed to perform sexual services. Was that how Blitzø saw him? As a sexual chore? Or worse, a predator?
Stolas drank again and heaved, bowing over. He panted through the nausea as tears began to fall unbidden down his face.
Perhaps it was a fair summation. Stolas wasn’t the kind, excitable, fun little boy he’d once been. Once he’d dreamed of friendship, love, pursuing knowledge with unbridled joy, of a life amongst the stars. But the years had taken away his hopes, his dreams, his youth, and everything about him that was sweet and good. Now he was old, tired, trapped, his life lost to performing the role of dutiful Prince and husband, and hopped up on Happy Pills just to get through the day. The only good thing about his life was his wonderful daughter, and he’d even hurt her.
Stolas drank again, sobbing miserably around the bottle.
He’d really fucked up with Octavia. He should’ve treated the situation with Blitzø much more delicately, for her sake. But he couldn’t help himself, he was just so excited to have Blitzø in his life. Blitzø was smart, funny, cool, brave, and so incredibly handsome. Stolas honestly felt a little starstruck around him. He’d brought the sparks back into Stolas’ life that had long since burnt to embers. He’d pulled him back from the brink of despair, whether he knew it or not. Yes, he’d been thoughtless and hasty in his affections, but…Blitzø had made him feel things he’d never felt before. He felt alive again.
Maybe that’s what he should’ve said at the club. When Asmodeus, Verosika and that awful clown imp were mocking Blitzø and telling him how terrible he was. Stolas should’ve stood up and said they were wrong, and that he was lucky and proud to have Blitzø in his life, not ashamed.
But he hadn’t. Instead Asmodeus had gotten the better of him, bringing up his daughter, and Stolas left Blitzø to the wolves like a coward. Stolas knew he should’ve left the club with Blitzø the moment Asmodeus’ presence was announced. Asmodeus loved sticking his nose into tricky situations. Blitzø was pretty tough, but the crowd had really gone for the jugular with them both. He seemed so upset and embarrassed…and Stolas had done nothing.
Asmodeus was right about one thing though. Stolas had destroyed his respectable reputation by cheating on his wife and mother of his child. All anyone could see was a lustful Prince hanging off the arm of a bad-boy imp. A powerful man who flaunted his salacious, saucy affair publicly while happily hurting his innocent family. Of course Asmodeus wasn’t going to let that slide without comment. Nobody knew or cared how Stella humiliated and emasculated him, or that there had never been a scrap of love between them, and they certainly didn’t know about how casually she would strike him when her temper was especially foul. Nobody knew any of it and Stolas wanted to keep it that way. He still had his pride as a man, after all, and a daughter to protect. Octavia had never known about Stella’s abuse and she never would as long as Stolas could help it. There were things a child simply didn’t need to know about their parents. However, now that Asmodeus had opened the doors and made a spectacle of him, Stolas was going to be exposed to constant ridicule and gossip from the masses, regardless of their status. He could take it, probably. But Octavia didn’t deserve that. She’d already gone through so much. He was a terrible, selfish father. What had he been thinking?
The bottle of absinthe was almost empty. His eyes hurt from weeping. He truly was pathetic. Why couldn’t he do anything? Why was he so fragile and frail? Why did he just sit back and let people walk all over him? Why did he always do the wrong thing? Where had his voice gone?
He’d not only failed to protect his darling daughter, but had thrown her into a painful, public, family scandal. He hadn’t stood up for poor Blitzø when he was the only one who could. In fact he’d done much worse and turned away from him. He was so weak he’d never once confronted or stood up to Stella who’d done everything in her power to make him as utterly miserable as possible. He was a coward. A prince with unfathomable power, yet he couldn’t take a single decisive action in his own damn life.
It had to change. He had to change. Enough was enough. While he needed to refocus to protect Octavia, he had almost nothing else left to lose. If he didn’t take charge of his life, speak up and start taking action, the thunderous current of the waterfall would take him, and this time there would be no saving him from it. His life would be forfeit.
“You have no choice,” he said to himself and passed out on the floor.