I was about to remove his sunglasses next when he acted hastily, setting me down on the edge of the bathtub and lurched back quick enough to escape my hand coming for his sunglasses.
“Why do you wear sunglasses?” I asked.
No answer.
“Can you undress me?” I asked. “My arm hurts.”
He fingered the hem of the black t-shirt I wore and tugged it up and over me. I stayed looking at his sunglasses, searching the black glass for the shape of his eyes.
“Is there something different with your eyes?” I asked.
He bent and pulled off my underwear.
“All eyes are beautiful. You don’t have to hide them. Oh! Are you blind? Is that why you wear sunglasses? You don’t want people to think you’re blind? Do you use smell and sound to see? You’re blind, aren’t you? How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Thirteen.”
“Ha! It was four!”
I got into the bathtub, snuggling into the warm water, sighing from the relief of it. Steam licked against my cheeks, and I rested my head at the edge of the tub, blanketed in thick bubbles.
Dig sat on the tiled floor alongside the bathtub facing me. He bunched up the sleeve on his jumper and rested his forearm on the lip of the tub, his fingers tapped soundlessly on the porcelain as he stared at me through his sunglasses.
“Is this what you do during the Execution Battle?” I asked him. “Murder. Dinner. Murder. Hot bath. Murder. Good night’s sleep?”
“Before I sleep, I fuck my hand while thinking about you.”
I looked him over. “You can touch me if you want.”
He dipped his hand into the water, his fingers teased against my leg. They did not search for a sexual purpose, at least I did not think so, as they remained there, brushing over my leg.
The lush filtration of his fingers had my inner thighs burning.
His black hair slipped over his forehead as he leaned his head to better view me. “How often do you touch yourself while thinking about me?”
An uncountable number of times. “Never.”
“Lie.”
My face tattooed on his naked bicep looked back at me. I was certain every inch of this man was chiselled. I looked further down, finding an impressive bulge in his grey sweatpants. “Do I make you hard?”
“You make everything difficult, yes.”
The bubbles tickled just under my chin. “You like wearing those sunglasses.”
“You like me wearing these sunglasses.”
I popped a bubble with a laugh. “You know the past few years my brother has built a growing sunglasses collection, though, nothing silly like yours.”
I realised after I had spoken the words I had not yet grieved the discovery of my brother. A stinging pain shot through my bones. I should not care about Magnus, nor tie any happy memory to him. My brother did not love me. My brother betrayed me. I was yet to let this sink in, yet to mourn it. A hollow sadness wrapped its fingers over my heart.
“I’m going to kill your brother,” Dig said casually, scooping up a bubble, playing with it. “I dream about that shit every night. Helps me sleep. It’s a God damn good bedtime story.”
I leaned my head back on the edge of the bathtub, watching him and his bubble. “How would you do it?”
“Keep him alive for as long as possible and then…” He squashed the bubble in his hand. “I don’t know. Probably burn him alive. I’ve heard it’s the fuckiest way to die.”
I fingered my arm where my brother’s betrayal had lived for too many years.
