Everyone’s asleep which is why I waited until after midnight to come home. I’m surprised my father isn’t waiting up to give me some sort of speech about how I blew off family dinner. Like that’s how I wanted to spend my New Year.
It was a relief to be alone in the dorms. No one to bother me, no one to scrutinize the way I act, and no having to try to decode people’s expressions or their various emotions.
Something that’s so fucking easy for the average person is exhausting for me.
I can’t explain why I drove home. Can’t even explain why I’m standing in the doorway of Merci’s room, leaning one shoulder against the frame while watching as his chest rises and falls in the dim glow given off by the night light in the corner.
He’s curled on his side, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other dangling off the edge of the bed. He looks . . . harmless like this. Peaceful. Which is ironic,considering the chaos he leaves in his wake every time he’s conscious.
I turn and look at the opposite side of the frame. Who the fuck removes their bedroom door? It's not rational. If anything, it makes him more vulnerable.
Especially to me.
But it’s been like this from the time he first moved in. My father had taken the door down. Always figured he was just scared of the dark. It explains the nightlight too. Figured he’d grown out of it by now.
Guess not.
I don’t understand him. I never have.
Looking back at Merci, my fingers flex at my side. This isn’t the first time I’ve watched him sleep. Used to do it when he first moved in.
My stepbrother would scream and cry in his sleep, his body thrashing under the covers like he was fighting off demons only he could see. I’d stand here until he settled, until the room fell silent again.
Why?
Again, it’s a question I still have no answer to.
It wasn’t logical, didn’t stop his nightmares. So, the action was pointless.
Yet, something about him tethered me here, night after night, hiding in the shadows. Just until he stopped crying. Just to make sure . . . I don’t know.
Now I want to smother him with his own pillow.
Or climb into bed with him and steal that strange sense of peace that seems to cling to his slight frame.
The past three days have been a special kind of hell. After I walked out, Mrs. Novotny and Coach Harper ambushed me at the dorms. Granted, Viktor gave me the heads up. I was told in no uncertain terms not to harm Merci.
Mrs. Novotny’s a lady I won’t fuck with, not after she made it crystal clear what would happen to me if I did. And fucking Harper reinforced what she said, even threatening to take away my ice time.
My jaw clenches, molars grinding.
No one seems to give a fuck what happened to me.
Except for my friends.
Hockey is my life. It’s the one place I can breathe. I don’t have to worry about understanding emotions, I just need to concentrate on plays. The game utilizes the parts of my brain that actually work. And I’m good at it.
I flex my left hand, the familiar numbness making my heart beat faster. If hockey gets taken away, I truly, wholeheartedly have no idea what I’ll do with my life. If there even is anything I can do.
So, Harper’s fucking threat is worse than Mrs. Novotny’s.
Why the hell did I come home again?
Should’ve just gone back to Club Labyrinth like I did last night. Nothing like spending New Year’s Eve at a sex club. And it helped—somewhat. I needed to feel in control, and while I don't bottom, I let Marcus, one of the resident sadists, cane me.
It wasn't sexual.
Just . . . necessary.
