October 16, Saturday
Shiloh
Igroaned, stretching out my legs, pushing the heavy as shit blanket off my body. A yelp escaped me, and I ripped my eyes open as my hand wrapped around a warm arm. Nox gasped, sitting up, his arm lingering on my hip as he looked down at me frantically.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice deep and thick with sleep. “You gonna be sick?”
“Fine,” I muttered, looking around the unfamiliar room as I began to relax my body back into the mattress. Nox dropped back to his pillow with a sigh.
“Good morning,” he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and brushing his messy chestnut waves out of his face.
Nox tucked his hand back under my hip as he held onto me, and I stared up at the ceiling replaying the events of last night in my mind. My stomach twisted with disgust and hatred.
The drugs made it difficult to remember every single detail unlike the night Peter and Kush raped me, but that made it worse. All I could remember was the intense pleasure I felt while skin rubbed against mine. How I willingly took more drugs just to feel it all over again when the high started to wear off. The only way I knew it must’ve been rough was from the burning I felt inside and how fucking sore my entire body felt. I didn’t really want to know if I was bleeding because of what they did to me or because I was having the longest period of my life. I was just thankful that there was period supplies underneath the bathroom sink when I showered last night.
“Can I ask you something?”
I blinked up at the ceiling, clearing my mind before turning my head to meet Nox’s gaze. “Sure. But I can’t guarantee an answer you’ll like.”
I was expecting him to ask me about last night, possibly if I had gotten high, the symptoms glaringly obvious.
“What’s your tattoo?” He asked with a soft smile, his brown eyes flicking to my arm that was resting on my stomach next to his.
I pulled the sleeve of his shirt up just past my elbow and twisted my arm for him to see.
Nox’s fingers brushed over the black ink making my stomach flutter.
“That’s a bit on the nose,” he chuckled, his chest shaking against my side.
I rolled my eyes, a smile curling my lips upwards involuntarily.
“I got a matching tattoo with my brother.”
I ran my eyes across the cursive lettering that spelled ‘pain’ as I savored the memory from nearly two years ago.
“My brother was really into mental strength and discipline. His favorite quote said, ‘pain is inevitable, suffering is a choice.’And he—” My stomach dropped, reluctantly realizing for the first time that everything Carlos had told me about my brother might have been true.
My God, why hadn’t I seen it sooner? Was he a sadist? A psychopath?
“He what?” Nox prompted.
“Um, he tried to live by that. He taught me, well as best as he could, he…”Fuck, pull yourself together, Shiloh.“He taught me to endure the pain that life brings, to withstand it. It’s all a mind game. Pain, I mean. If you tell yourself you can’t handle it, then you won’t. But if you remind yourself that it’s temporary and fight through it, you’ll come out on the other side stronger than before.”
“Wow,” Nox sighed. “That’s deep. You and your brother, you must’ve been close to get matching tattoos.”
I shrugged, trying to swallow the ache in my throat wanting to be released into a sob.Were we though?
“Where’s he now?”
My brows furrowed as I searched his face in confusion.
“You talk about him in past tense. Like you guys aren’t close anymore,” Nox added.
My chest tightened. I hadn’t even realized. Yet my mind had already decided there was a before he was dead and an after he was dead, and that felt so…final. There was no more denying or avoiding the moment it happened. And now I was living in the after on the timeline of his existence.
Nox continued to stare at me with patience, and I didn’t know what to say. If anyone actually bothered to look, they could probably find his death certificate somewhere.So, do I tell him he’s dead?
I figured it would cause the least problems if I just told him now rather than having to continue to lie. I tried to swallow the metal taste in my mouth as I spoke the half-truth, the one I’msure Carlos made easy for the police to make official. Because that’s what he did, turned people into real ghosts once they turned on him. If only I had realized sooner what was at stake, maybe he’d still be alive.
