A splitting headache is rapidly forming, making it that much harder to riddle through his ranting. “What job?!” My voice rises to match his, my patience and composure crumbling.
“Protecting him!” The next hit leaves me reeling, and the first bit of light I’ve seen all night is the spots taking over my vision. They’re gone just as quickly, leaving me blind once more, and my ears ring.
“Who?”
A searing pain comes in lieu of an answer, a knife jammed into my shoulder. It burns, more so as he starts slowly twisting it in the wound. Only after I’m panting and covered in a fresh sheen of sweat does he finally deign to elaborate.
“Maddox. All you had to do was keep him safe, but you as good as killed him.” He jerks the blade out, tearing a line of flesh apart with it.
My chest is heaving, trying to suck down air. “What does my brother have to do with anything?”
The blade is pressed into my throat in the next instant, still slick with my blood. He increases the pressure, his free hand fisting my hair to shake me. And all the while Cambria’s pained cries are a background symphony, keeping me from feeling utterly alone in this Hell. I hate it as much as I love her, but her silence has the power to truly destroy me. At least now, I can cling to the knowledge she’s still alive.
He digs the knife in deeper, my throat stinging. “You don’t deserve to call him brother.”
Running my tongue over my teeth, it finally clicks. “He was yours, wasn’t he? But wh-“ He jerks my head back even further, but at least it lessens the pressure of the knife.
“Dad was convinced the baby wasn’t his,” he whispers and I have to strain to hear him. “So she had no choice but to run.” His voice turns hard. “She didn’t have time to take me with her; she had to save him before Dad killed them both.”
It’s a lie that I’m sure he’s told himself countless times over the course of his life, the only way he could cope with being left behind. But as Cambria’s screams start to fade and I have a sudden lurch of panic, I can’t find anything even close to resembling pity for the man in front of me.
A tragic backstory doesn’t write you a blank check. You want a clean slate, you scrub the hell out of it. But don’t sit there and use it as a fucking excuse.
I don’t interrupt, not needing to see the faraway look in his eyes to know he’s trapped in the past, one that’s held him captive for longer than anyone’s known. At least I’m finally getting some answers, but it doesn’t give me the relief I was hoping for.
His is the sort of suffering that only revenge will slake. I know firsthand that all-consuming grief and rage, used it as the driving force to kill Atlas’ father so many years ago. I’d like to say it taught me that revenge solves nothing, that it won’t bring anyone back. And it won’t, I know that.
But it sure felt like justice.
If nothing else, it helped me put my pain in a place I could live beside for the rest of my life. And that’s exactly why I know I won’t be walking away from here, none of us will. He wants me to suffer like he does, to experience the same loss. So he’ll kill them all, one by one, until I’m broken beyond repair and begging for death. With as twisted as he is, I doubt it will come any time soon, either. He’ll want me to live with their loss, drown in my grief, and drag it out as long as possible.
The three of them will die, but I won’t; not unless Cambria’s murder drags me down with her. Death would be a mercy, and the last thing Victor is, is merciful.
“So when I found a scribbled address without a name, I knew,” he continues. “I memorized it, and then burned it to give them a shot. And still, he found her. Beat her to death, but there was no baby with her. She took that secret to her grave, and it wasn’t until years later that I tracked him down.” He swallows, the sound loud so close to my face.
“I watched the both of you for years. Envied you, really. But I could at least sleep at night knowing my brother was safe and my monster of a father would never find him.”
The air charges with tension, and I brace myself for the anger I know I’m about to be assaulted with. “But then I find out he’s dead, and I can’t even pay my respects, because you decided he wasn’t worth a funeral.”
“He didn’t want one.” It might be stupid to argue, but at this point I’ve accepted there’s no bargaining our way out of here. “We discussed it when Dad died and he made his disdain clear at the prospect of being chucked in a cold hole to be forgotten. He wanted his ashes scattered on the ocean.” Swallowing, I whisper, “So he could explore the world even in death.”
When the next hit comes, I welcome it. The memories are painful to dredge up, of everything the two of us wanted out of life but couldn’t have because of needing to keep our father in check. There were good moments, don’t get me wrong, but too few of them. And Ifeelso much more than I’m used to.
It hurt then, but it’s agonizing now.
“You were supposed to keep him safe!” he screams, raining blow after blow on me, years of pent up aggression finally having an outlet. And each I take like it’s my due without a word of protest, because he isn’t wrong.
He was my little brother, and I couldn’t save him. Just like I can’t protect Atlas, Dorian, or Cambria. Being loved by me is a death sentence. I’m toxic, but I just can’t seem to stop.
Maybe I could blame it on growing up emotionally stunted, like Atlas phrased it. But then I wouldn’t be any better than the man in front of me. No, it’s just me. I’m a plague, and I damn anyone I care about to a fate of nothing but misery. My fault, always my fault.
But accepting the blame doesn’t make anything better. Self-revelations don’t make any magical solutions form. My prison of silence is replaced with anguished screams and enough blood to baptize a sinner. And still, the regrets refuse to be washed away.
When the knife sinks into my stomach, a shuddering sigh of relief rushes out of me upon impact. There’s so much agony being hurled at me from every direction, but at least now there’s an end in sight.
I choke on my own blood, coughing and instinctively trying to hunch over, but my bindings prevent it. He realizes his slip in control too late, ripping the knife out and cursing.
“God damn it!” His screams bounce around the room, but he doesn’t try to stop the bleeding.
