Air filters into my lungs, warmth filling my chest, because soon—unless the invitation in my bag turns out to be somethingdemeaning or violent—I won’t have to worry about the electricity bill.
I’ll live in my own home, will be able to leave the kitchen light on, like Dad used to, so we could find our way there at night.
I could?—
“Elly!”
That nickname, I hate it. He started calling me that after the accident, only to accuse me of something I didn’t do.
“Be right there.” Sing-songing often appeases him, so that’s how I go about it while I yank open the fridge.
Water bottle. The turkey sandwich I prepared earlier this week.
I grip both tightly and go up the stairs.
A sour smell oozes through the hall, as if ten teenagers have crashed out here for the night. There’s no one here, though. No one other than my broken brother, whose pain makes him sweat despite the chill filtering into the house.
“Finally,” he barks, scowling in my direction. “Took you forever.”
Like I thought, sweat beads on his forehead, making the strands of his ashy blond hair stick to his temples. His sheets are soaked too. I’ll have to change them later. Right now, he’s going to demand his meds. I hope he eats his sandwich before he passes out. He needs it, even though his appetite is nowhere near what it used to be.
“Sorry.” Forcing my lips into a smile is a hardship.
I’m tired. Scared. In desperate need of a shower. But I try for him. Judging by the pale complexion of his skin, Barclay has it worse than whatever I’m going through.
“Got my painkillers?” His blue eyes latch onto my uniform’s pocket, knowing the bottle will be there.
“Yes, they’re right here.” After placing the water and sandwich on his nightstand, I reach into my pocket and pull the bottle out. “In a few seconds, I’ll?—”
I don’t get to finish the sentence. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s the invitation. Maybe it’s Barclay hissing, “Come on, comeon.”
Whatever it is, my thumb slips over the cap.
Dozens of pills tumble out.
“What the fuck!” His eyes widen, mouth gaping at the scattered pills on the floor. “Elly, you stupid bitch.”
Tears well in my eyes, my knees scraping the floor before I can even think.
“Please, stop.” Picking everything up, I wipe each pill on my skirt before putting them back in the bottle. “I don’t like it when you talk to me like that.”
“Like what? Like the stupid bitch who dropped my meds?” He snarls, pushing his hand down where I can see it. “Give me two. Givethem.”
“You’re being mean, Barclay.” Angrily, I stuff two clean ones into his palm. “It’s not like I did it on purpose.”
“You weren’t being careful either.” The pills are gone in his mouth in a split second. His teeth grind them to dust before he swallows. “Sometimes I think you don’t care about me at all.”
“How can you say that?” My chin quivers. My chest twists. “My whole life revolves around you.”
“No,mywhole life revolves. Around.You.” He leans forward, flinching from the pain, but only slightly. The drugs are kicking in. “Who picked up the pieces when douchebag Duncan left? Who managed the business after Dad died?”
Who told me that crying was for weak assholes? That I shouldn’t even think about contacting Duncan because I’d be making a fool of myself?
Who tore apart our business to pay his gambling debts?
I don’t say any of those things, though I absolutely should.
“Or maybe you forgot who saved your ass?” His voice drops lower, mocking. “Who killed the man who was in your room, about to attack you?”
