Burning Desire

06

Tristan had been successfully ignoring Winston for five days since he was brought against his will to the mansion. In fact, he'd successfully ignored everyone who tried to talk to him, but the only other person that attempted to was Paxton to ask how he was, but Tristan stayed quiet.

When he woke up after his traumatic first night, he didn't remember much. It happened a lot when he first ran away from home; he'd have some kind of panic attack and his mind would push everything away, so even if he was awake, he didn't remember or know what was going on. It was almost similar to being blackout drunk.

When Tristan woke up that next morning, he was in the closet where he'd made a bed when he woke up, but he was no longer in an actual bed. He was huddled in the corner in a pile of blankets and pillows, and though he didn't remember exactly what happened, he knew that Winston had brought him a feeling of terror that he hadn't faced for four years since he ran away from his father.

He was currently still hiding in the closet, staring at the wall. The feeling of fear and insecurity he experienced had taken a toll on Tristan and made him shaky and groggy, his sarcastic quips very minimal and only when he felt like talking, which wasn't often over the past five days.

There was a knock at the closet door, and Tristan stayed silent. He didn't want to see anyone, and he didn't need anything.

Winston brought him food a couple of hours ago, so he didn't really need anything.

Tristan had lost his fight and he almost wished someone would piss him off so he could feel normal again. Even if his normal was anger and sarcasm, it was better than feeling weak and worthless.

It was better than his father being right.

"Can I come in?" came Paxton's voice.

Tristan didn't know why someone who wasn't his kidnapper spent his time checking in on him, but he didn't really hate Paxton.

Unlike Winston, Paxton didn't yell at him or try to scare him. He was kind of nice and brought Tristan things to keep him entertained in his tiny closet space, thus leading to his corner of coloring books and novels.

"I'm going to come in if you don't answer," Paxton said, making Tristan sigh.

"Fine," Tristan mumbled, glaring at the door as it opened. "What?"

Paxton held up a frosty from Wendy's. "Winston bought it but he didn't think you'd accept it from him without splashing ice cream all over his face," he explained as Tristan took the treat and retreated to his corner.

"He's wrong," Tristan said, taking a bite of the ice cream. "Wasting ice cream is a sin."

Paxton tilted his head in confusion. "Alastor never told me that," he said, making Tristan sigh.

"Alastor?"

"The lord of Hell."

Tristan slapped his hand to his face. "It's just a saying," he said, taking a bite of the ice cream. "But it should be sin. Does your demon lord guy have, like, a list of the worst sins? Because I think wasting ice cream should go to the top of the list."

Paxton gave him a puzzled look. "Above rape and murder?"

"Well... maybe third in that case," Tristan said, taking another bite of his ice cream. "Also, you're telling me the demon that kidnapped me and has literal fire at his fingertips is too scared to come give me ice cream because he thinks I'll waste it on him?"

"More or less."

Tristan shrugged. "At least this means he might be well on his way to getting the stick out of his ass."