Not Destiny by N. J. Lysk

Author:N. J. Lysk [Lysk, N. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: N.J. Lysk
Published: 2018-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen: Thomas

Uri had woken him up briefly with a soft caress to his neck, but he'd gone right back to sleep, and by the time his alarm had gone off, the other side of the bed was cold.

It was nine and morning practice was at ten, but it was optional, and Thomas hadn't lied, he did miss them when something worthy of the sacrifice came up. Like enjoying a good breakfast while his body still sang with the echoes of the pleasurable activities from the previous night.

He figured out the coffee machine easily enough—it was similar to the one his dad had got for his father's last birthday—and found some cereal he could live with. Just enough to keep him on his feet until he could have a real meal, but that was all he needed. He ate fairly quickly, all too conscious of the subpar nature of his efforts when sitting at the table where Uriel had lain a veritable feast for him the night before. He wondered if Uri had decided on the gefilte fish knowing it was better once it cooled down. Thomas was no fan of cooked fish as a rule, but the sauce, the almost unpronounceable chrain, had changed the game completely.

His eyes caught on the wallet on the bedside table the moment he walked back into the bedroom to retrieve his clothes. He didn't mean to pry, but he was a touchy person—the kind of child who’d needed his hand held at all times in expensive shops—and Uri’s minimalistic flat didn’t have much to touch. Besides, wouldn't Uri need it? It appeared to be made of leather, which seemed odd for someone of Uri’s background. The material was soft on his hands and seemed old enough to be from before the Unnecessary Cruelty Statute had been passed and meat had started being grown in pieces instead of farmed from live animals. Most people either couldn’t afford the animal-made antiques or preferred to avoid wearing anything made of a living being’s skin. Thomas wondered what the story was behind this incongruent piece in the perfect progressive puzzle that was Uriel Alkaim.

He rubbed his thumb against it, half-fascinated, half-repulsed. It brought to mind the feeling of his father’s now priceless leather belt. Unsure, he flipped it open.

He forgot about materials at once because at the very front was Uri’s ID card and the photo on it was terrible. He pulled it out, biting his tongue to keep from laughing. He was seriously tempted to fetch his phone—a newer model Eira and Grace had insisted on—to take a picture for teasing purposes. And then his eyes focused on the writing.

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