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tookhimtomypenthouse · 5 months

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Hate Yourself - Chapter Two

series warnings: female!reader x oliver quick, past/implied felix x oliver, dub-con, stalker behavior, voyeurism, degradation, dacryphilia, bloodplay, gaslighting, manipulation, untagged story elements (the warnings aren't exhaustive!), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT bbgirl

summary: you’re hired as a maid after Oliver comes to own Saltburn, and find your employer to be very invested in your work

minors dni!

Lyuba had left this morning. She hugged you tightly before stepping into her cab, much to your surprise. The normally stern woman was unexpectedly tender with you that morning.

“Take care, zayka,” she whispered as she held you. “Don’t let this house devour you,” she added before pulling away and walking to her cab.

You shiver at the thought, her words chilling. You try to ignore the eeriness of her warning as you dust the study. Dusting was gentle work and a welcome reprieve from scrubbing and scouring the other rooms. Plumes of dust kicked up by your duster shimmer in the late afternoon sunbeams, and you catch yourself watching them float around. The study is full of dusty spots – tall bookshelves, busts of important men, and an overstuffed upholstered chair. Your focus is on the chair when you look up to see one of the many hanging frames of art.

Unlike most art decorating Saltburn, the frame doesn’t hold a stuffy oil painting of a king or lord. Instead, a sketch of a handsome young man looks back. His soft eyes and nonchalant pose invite you in. His clothes seem modern, his messy hair unfussy and tousled. The strokes of charcoal are loose and messy, giving the impression the subject wasn’t as buttoned-up as the rest. Who might he be? In the corner was the artist’s signature, a delicate cursive EC. You search around the perimeter of the sketch for a name, but there’s nothing else. Only the kind, mysterious face.

“Keep your secret, then,” you fake pout to the sketch. You’re pulled out of your examination by clicking footsteps from the hallway. You keep at your dusting, but you hear someone come into the study and rifle through the stack of papers on the desk. Turning your head, you see Oliver sit down and shuffle through a few documents, concentrating deeply on his task. Plucking up some unknown courage, you decided to soothe your burning curiosity.

“Pardon me, sir,” you start, faltering a bit as his eyes connect with yours, “but do you know who this is?”

Oliver pauses as his attention moves to the frame. A sad smile ghosts over his mouth. “Ah,” he says gently. “That would be Felix Catton.” He returns to his task at the desk, but he seems distracted.

“D-do you know him?” You ask, curiosity piquing at his visible reaction.

“I did,” he starts, stepping back from the desk and approaching the picture. “We were…mates.” He’s close now, close enough that your shoulders touch. “Met at Oxford.”

You feel your brows furrow. He’s not giving enough detail for your tastes. “How did he get a picture on the wall if he’s just a mate? There must be more to it than that.” You try and meet his eye, but he is fixated on the image.

“His family owned this place. He invited me to stay for a summer back when we were in university and died at the birthday party they threw for me here. In the maze.” He angles his head back to you, an unreadable expression on his features.

“Oh,” you mumble, “I’m so sorry.” An uncomfortable silence envelops you for a moment. You remember Lyuba’s clipped warning in the bathroom, and you aren’t sure how to react.

“The rest of his family followed,” he finally offers, “so his mother left me Saltburn when she passed.” The revelation surprises you, but it makes sense. You had never seen his surname in the numerous journals, paintings, or statues that graced the halls. It seems odd that an Oxford pal came to own this massive estate. Then again, you’re just a maid. Rich people do crazy things like give away houses to friends, right? Maybe people like Lyuba and you could never understand. The few precious things you own you guard fiercely, but finery probably doesn’t seem as precious when you’re constantly surrounded by it. You can understand the grief on his face, though. His prolonged, desperate look at the drawing makes your chest twinge with sadness.

“Wow,” you whisper. “You must miss him terribly.” The weight of his gaze rests squarely on you. His presence feels suffocatingly close, especially because everyone else has so far made themselves scarce. You haven’t had someone so near to you since Lyuba left. You fight the urge to lean in even closer.

“Sometimes,” he admits. He lingers next to you for a moment longer before stepping back to the desk and grabbing a sheet of paper. You shake your head quickly and return to dusting, hearing his footsteps move out the door and down the hallway. You give the picture of Felix one last glance before busying yourself with the rest of the room.

Hands on your hips, you survey the pristine room. You feel a sense of satisfaction, having made it through your to-do list earlier than anticipated. Making your way back to your room, you decide to reward yourself with a soak in the bathtub. A hot bath. The thought alone is enough to bring a dreamy smile to your lips. The days of work haven’t been too exhausting, but your muscles are sore from adjusting to the workload.

Reaching your room, you rifle through your drawers. Grabbing out your pajamas and socks, you move on to the underwear drawer.

That’s…strange.

You rifle through the contents frantically. Where did they all go? You know you brought more than this. Only a few pairs are left. You shake your head, trying to be rational. They’re just in another drawer, you tell yourself. Hands shaking slightly, you paw through all the drawers in your dresser. By the final one, your breathing comes in raggedly, and your vision blurs with tears.

“What the fuck?” You feel sick to your stomach. Who had been in your room? Suddenly, you feel very vulnerable, too exposed. You rush to the door and try to lock it. The handle jiggles uselessly. A sob breaks from your throat as you sink to the ground. Everything feels like too much.

You miss home, your shoebox room with the ugly brown shag carpet and the tiny window to nowhere. You miss your mother, the twins, your friends. It’s so lonely here. Everyone keeps their distance, and now the one sanctuary you have to yourself feels tainted. Unsafe. If you could go back home, you would.

But you couldn’t. Well, wouldn’t. The private school the twins attend has steep fees, and Mum’s cashier job isn’t cutting it. You think she has enough to worry about as tears flow down your face freely.

“Pull it together,” you choke out to yourself. It was probably a cruel prank, hazing the new girl. You won’t let them send you back home with your tail between your legs. You’d give your siblings a shot at a life beyond the dreary little town you grew up in. They wouldn’t have to clean other people’s houses if you had any say. Peeling yourself off the ground, you resolved to take your bath. Fuck it, you weren’t going to give up so easily. You could take the silent treatment and other nonsense if it meant a future for them.

Clutching your things, you walk to the bathtub and run the water. You can’t help but feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up, but ignore the feeling. I’m just overthinking, it’s fine. You slip out of your work dress and slide into the steamy bath. You bring your head underneath the water, heat soothing your puffy and tearstained face. You weren’t going to let this place break you.

It’s too bad the person peering through the bathroom keyhole would disagree.

You sleep terribly.

The broken lock and missing panties have rattled you despite your best efforts. You spend your nights watching the door, muscles twitching in anticipation of a confrontation that never comes. Each morning, an increasingly wan face stares back at you in the mirror.

You decide to do something about it. Your distant coworkers have offered you nothing but wary glances and clipped responses the whole time you’ve been here, so you feel certain it had to be one of them. A good boss would want his employees to feel comfortable here, so you make it your mission to bring it up with Oliver once you finish your tasks for the day.

You wander the house looking for him, nervously popping your head into every room. You don’t think he has business outside the house today, so you get increasingly worked up with each empty room. When you end up back in the foyer with no sign of him, you stomp out into the garden. It’s dark and chilly out, but you can’t even care. You just want somewhere private to scream. The maze beckons you. You’ve never had a chance to go inside, so you trudge right inside it.

The twists and turns are dark and disorienting. You feel your anger ebb away into fear as you make your way deeper. The cold nips at you, but you press on. How much time has even passed here? You’re tempted to turn around and try and find the exit when you see a clearing. You press onward, unsure of what lies ahead. You notice a huge statue, its form monstrous but somewhat amorphous to you in the darkness of the night. It looms menacingly over the space, filling you with dread.

You hear rustling and nearly jump out of your skin when you realize you aren’t alone.

“W-who is it?” You call out, voice trembling. You cast your eyes around and see a man’s form in the corner.

“It’s just me,” comes the response, and you almost sigh with relief at the sound of Oliver’s voice. You sheepishly walk to him, relaxing at the edge of the clearing. “Are you alright, love?” He peers up at you with concern.

You try to clear your throat and give a nonchalant response, but your voice comes out brittle and pinched. “Of course,” you rasp out, faltering. You don’t even realize the tears are coming out until Oliver hops to his feet and gently swipes his thumb over your cheek. The unexpectedly tender gesture has all of your exhaustion and worries pouring out.

“Hey,” he breathes, gently cupping your face.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, crying into his hands. “I haven’t been well. Someone broke my lock, a-and stole my clothes, and-“

“Woah, woah, woah, it’s okay,” he soothes, stepping in close and wiping your face. “Someone stole from you?”

“Y-yeah,” you reply.

“I’ll get the door fixed, yeah? And replace what got taken.”

“Really?” you ask, a spark of hope returning to you.

“Of course, I hate to see such a pretty girl upset,” he answers, stroking your hair. He gives you a gentle smile, and you can’t help but give him a teary smile in response. “Now, run along inside. It’s cold out here.”

“Okay,” you mumble, sniffing and drying off the last of your tears. You turn back to the entrance and walk slowly, mulling over his words. Maybe somebody does care about you here.

“Get some rest, please,” he calls after you. “I can’t have my best girl so sad.”

You stifle a giggle as you trace your way back out of the maze, slightly delirious from the attention and unexpected tears. Maybe you really will get some sleep tonight.

#saltburn #saltburn 2023 #oliver quick #barry keoghan #fanfiction #fanfic #hate yourself

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