Discomfort

Mr. Weston stared at Thomas and me for a moment. His face gave nothing away. Who was he today? Did he remember us? Did he remember me? Did he remember what happened last night? A smile slowly filled his face.

"Good morning, Thomas. Ms. Walton. I’m happy to see you’re still here. Thomas, what have I missed so far?” 

“Nothing, Sir. You haven’t left us yet, actually,” Thomas replied.

"Really? That’s great!” Mr. Weston turned to look at me. “Well, that being the case, we should probably have breakfast sooner rather than later. I know how hard Thomas works the trainees and you’ll need your energy, Ms. Walton. Let’s eat.”

He gestured vaguely for us to follow him as he left the room. I stood there, dumbstruck. I didn’t know what to do. I had prepared myself for anything, for anyone that might enter, but the one person I wasn't expecting Mr. Weston to be, was Mr. Weston. I looked at Thomas, he smiled at the obvious confusion on my face.

"You’re quite lucky, Ms. Walton. It’s rare for Mr. Weston to be himself two days in a row," he said, chuckling.

"So, he isn't always different?" I asked.

Thomas thought for a moment. "I suppose I'd say you would be lucky to see Mr. Weston as himself twice a week, and seeing him as himself for two days in a row is very unusual. I've only seen it happen a handful of times myself. You must have quite an influence on him. Come, let's not keep him waiting."

I followed Thomas to the dining room, but my mind was racing. I was thoroughly prepared to spend today learning more about Mr. Weston’s condition. After all, Thomas would only be here for so long. The more tips he could give me before he left, the better off I’d be. However, while I was a little disappointed, I couldn’t deny that I was more relieved than anything.

This job scared me. Not because of Mr. Weston specifically, but because I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I wasn’t a caretaker. I’d never worked with someone who was mentally ill before. At least, not to this degree. This was a man with a serious mental illness. Thomas told me himself, Mr. Weston’s health, safety, and happiness were all dependent on me now. That was a lot of pressure. The fact that I’d somehow gotten one more day to ease into all of this was nothing short of a miracle.

As we entered the dining room, I couldn’t help but notice how gorgeous it was. I’d glanced at it briefly yesterday, but I don’t think I really took the time to appreciate it. High ceilings, beautiful paintings on the walls, large, glass windows along the wall giving a beautiful view into the garden. Absolutely gorgeous.

The table, like many other things in the house, was intricately carved hardwood. It was polished until it shone like marble in the dim, morning light. It looked like something that belonged in some renaissance banquet hall. It was nearly half the length of the large dining room and looked as if it could easily fit thirty or so people at it. However, as I saw Mr. Weston sitting at the head of the table, this fact more depressed me than amazed me. 

He sat alone at the head of the table, surrounded by several silver trays the chef had already brought out. Though the atmosphere made it seem as if I should be looking at some kind of Lord or King, the loneliness of the scene made it feel more like I was looking at some kid’s birthday party that no one showed up to. It made me feel guilty I wasn’t already sitting at the table.

That being said, I had no idea what the etiquette was for this situation. I’d never been in a place this fancy before. Was there some sort of system for where I was supposed to sit? Servants usually kept a distance from their employers, right? Would it be rude if I sat too close to him? Would it be ruder if I sat too far away from him? I didn’t know. I decided to split the difference and sit somewhere near the middle. Although, that didn’t last long.

"Ms. Walton, why are you so far away?" Mr. Weston asked. "I'm sure old Thomas has been telling you some horror stories about me, but I promise I don't bite. Come, sit next to me."

I hesitated a moment. Etiquette aside, I was still a little nervous about being near Mr. Weston after last night. Asleep or not, I had no way of knowing how much of that situation he actually remembered. Although, his friendly attitude this morning would imply he either didn’t remember or didn’t care enough for it to bother him. 

Either way, it didn’t matter. This was my job now. I was his caretaker, he made a request, and it was my job to fulfill it.

I stood and walked towards where he was at the head of the table. He smiled and patted a chair next to him. I sat down and returned his smile half-heartedly. Thomas took a seat on the other side of Mr. Weston.

"I'm very pleased that you seem to like Ms. Walton so much, Sir," Thomas commented.

Mr. Weston laughed. "Well, I'm very pleased you found her, Thomas. She's wonderful. I can't remember the last time I slept so well! Of course, they always say you sleep better with someone beside you. Probably even more so when it's a beautiful woman."

I blushed deeply as he said this. I felt the phantom sensations of where his hands had touched me last night. His husky voice echoed in my head. Did he really not know what had happened?

Thomas noticed my discomfort immediately. Luckily, it seemed he assumed my discomfort was from Mr. Weston’s comment. 

"Sir, your manners?" He said, nodding vaguely in my direction. 

Mr. Weston gave Thomas a confused look. He glanced in my direction. His eyes went wide with shock as he noticed how much I was blushing. He looked down at the table awkwardly, a faint red on his cheeks as well.

"Oh! Ms. Walton, forgive me,” he apologized quickly. “I keep forgetting how unusual this situation must be for you. I promise I didn’t mean anything by that comment. The last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable around me.”

Too late for that. I tried my best to push that thought to the back of my mind. Anna, stop it. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t mean to do anything. Hell, he probably didn’t even remember anything. It was all a misunderstanding. An unfortunate, awkward incident. That was all.

"No, no. It's okay, really,” I insisted. “I just need time to adjust. That's all."

"Are you sure?” He asked, unconvinced. “I really want you to feel at home here. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I knew my poor manners were the cause of any discomfort."

I forced a small smile. "I promise. I'm alright, Sir."

I wasn't sure if he believed me or not, but he did seem comforted at least. Guilt flooded my body. I hated that I was worrying him so much. Wasn’t that the exact opposite of what I was supposed to be doing? I needed to keep better control of my emotions.  

What happened between us was an accident. No different than if he’d spilled a drink on me or walked in on me in the shower. Awkward, uncomfortable, but absolutely not intended. If he knew the truth, he’d probably apologize the same way he had a moment ago. Hell, maybe even more than he had a moment ago. It was an accident. Just an accident.

I may as well have been trying to convince a fish to fly. I did believe it was an accident, I really did, but that still didn’t help to make me feel better. I remembered the feeling of his hands against my skin, the warmth they created inside of me, the way my body begged for more. Shame filled me at these memories. That shame scared me. 

Would I ever be able to move past what had happened? Would the time ever come when I could finally look him in the eyes again? And how would I be able to do this job if I couldn’t?