29. Back to Back
29
BACK TO BACK
RIOT
I loathe him for making me try so hard to hold everything in. The pressure building inside my chest and head is too much for my injuries to bear. With my legs hanging over the side of Death Mark’s roof, I listen to Soren play his emotions through four strings while I break all over again, weak from so much healing. Afraid because of his music and what it means. Proud of him without wanting to admit it. Feeling everything he feels as it slips into the rain and reverberates in my chest.
Krypt doesn’t comment or touch me, but when Remi joins his brother in the middle of Death Row, he becomes stoic and full, just like I am. We used to play piano together, too, but in the years since I joined Vile House, and him shortly after, we forgot how to express ourselves and turned only to violence instead. Violence and power and manipulations. For so long, I’ve forgotten that there’s another way.
“Are you going to tell me about it?” Krypt asks, staring at the Sauder brothers as Selena joins them.
My new teeth implants hurt enough to use as an excuse not to speak, so I don’t. I don’t know what to tell him. Everyone knows Ghost and I have issues with each other, but we’re doing a shit job of hiding how drastically they’ve changed. Krypt thinks he knows something, but how can he know when we don’t even know? How is it possible to explain a shift in dynamic that isn’t yet properly defined?
If I had to tell him anything, it’d be the truth. That somewhere along the way, I stopped manipulating Soren and started letting him lead. That I don’t know how to manipulate him anymore because he doesn’t make sense to me. When he was chasing a curse, I got it. That made sense because a thrill-seeker respects another thrill-seeker. But he’s not chasing it anymore. He’s chasing me, just as I planned. Now that he is, I don’t have to manipulate his actions anymore, so I don’t know what else to fucking do.
I look down at my healing hands, a few fingernails gone. When I shrug, the burned parts of my back scream in pain, but Krypt never looks at me. He doesn’t have to. Because I think he gets it. He never meant to feel anything for Remi either.
My eyes stay locked on Soren and how his instrument becomes a part of him, listening to the way he sends me a message without knowing I’m hearing it. I hear it, sweetheart, and I wish I knew how to say it back.
When Menace climbs up to sit with us, he doesn’t speak until the Sauders stop playing, each of them heading their own way. “I can fix it,” he says to me. “When the burns are healed. We can make something work.”
The Vile House tat is still there. Still obvious but warped, and I’m not ashamed of it. I am ashamed of ruining it, like I didn’t do it justice—didn’t protect it. Instead, I say, “I want a king cobra.” My mouth aches.
He laughs but doesn’t ask why. “Alright.”
I met a kid on a plane, and she saved my mind when it wasn’t mine. I’ve never really been grateful to anyone before, but I am to her. I’ll never get to tell her, so I’ll honour her on my skin.
It takes a lot of energy that I don’t have to push myself up to stand, the rain feeling nice on my overheated skin.
“Leave him,” Krypt warns me. “He’s never pleasant after he plays.”
I don’t care how unpleasant he is, but I nod to take his advice. I don’t have the energy to deal with Soren’s emotions anyway. Mostly because I don’t know how to convey mine.
* * *
It makes me uncomfortable that his presence is calming. I haven’t even limped my way out of the bathroom yet, but I know he’s in my room. He used to be able to sneak up on me, but ever since I sucked his cock after hanging him at the music shop, I’m sensing him more and more.
Wrapped in a towel, I leave the ensuite bathroom and enter my dimly lit room. I love Vile House, but I’ve been in this bed for too long, and I’m itching to get out. To get back to Vile business and put that goddamn Reaper City job in the past.
I poisoned their city… they’re going to retaliate, and I need to be ready. Especially because they know my identity now. Krypt and Ransom were masked, but Soren wasn’t, and with our faces known, I’m certain we’ll be targeted.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I say to the dark corner as I drop my towel and step into a pair of white boxer-briefs. There’s a small part of me that is insecure about all my wounds and scarring, but I’m not going to let him see that. At least I have a full mouth of teeth again, even if they hurt like a motherfucker. “Couldn’t keep avoiding me?”
Sitting on the edge of my bed to work up the strength to complete the monumental task of pants, I hold my sweats in my hand and blink away my fatigue. How the hell am I still so tired when all I’ve been doing is sleeping?
Before I work up the energy to put my pants on, something cold presses against my fist. I open my hand to grab it, the coldness of a plastic cup feeling nice against my stiff fingers. “What’s this?”
“Smoothie.”
I grin. “Aw.”
“Fuck you.”
I laugh, wrapping my lips around the straw. “Aren’t you sweet.” Creamy, tropical and coconut coolness fills my mouth, easing the pain in my teeth and coating my throat in a soothing sensation. I drop my pants and inch backwards to sit comfortably, legs dangling. “You gonna stand there like a creep or…?”
He heads for the door without a word.
“Soren.”
“Ghost,” he snaps at me.
Guess we’re both feeling vulnerable again. “Stay.”
“Why?”
“Because you brought me a fucking smoothie.”
He huffs. “Doesn’t mean shit.”
“Okay.”
He sits on the other side of my bed, facing the opposite direction. It’s strange to be calm around him without requesting the ninety seconds. I sense him, but other than vulnerability and a bit of irritation, there’s nothing dire or dangerous about him. His energy has shifted, and maybe that means mine has, too.
“Are you?—”
“Don’t turn around,” he demands.
I stay where I am and face my bedroom door, sipping the smoothie for long moments of silence. Back-to-back with Soren Sauder.
“You scared me.”
“I’m—”
“Don’t talk.”
My insides tingle, knowing something rare is coming.
“Don’t ever do that again. Don’t fucking… sacrifice yourself for me.”
I ignore his rule. “It wasn’t for you. It was for the job.”
“Liar.”
I am a liar. Clearly, I don’t give many fucks about jobs. I killed Brady that night when the job was undoubtedly to bring him back alive, and I didn’t even feel sorry for it.
“You fucked me over so hard,” he goes on. “You gave yourself away when we could have gotten out. You made my job harder, kept me away from Moros for longer, and put me in more danger than you would have if we’d just fought our way out of there. So fuck you for doing that, and if you ever do it again, I’ll fucking… just don’t.”
I take a long drink to buy myself time. I don’t know if he’s expecting a reply or not, but I feel obligated to give him one. Because he’s lying, too. He doesn’t give a fuck about being put in danger. Hell, the guy chases it for a thrill. He’s pissed off because it scared him in a way he’s not been scared before.
“I never expected you to come back.”
I feel the bed jostle, but it doesn’t seem like he’s moved. “No? Are you fucking stupid? You think I could be friends with Krypt after letting you die? You think I could live with the fact that you played the hero… for me? Fuck you, Kill. Fuck you for putting me in that situation, and fuck you for scaring me.” He sighs, the sound coming out heavy and drained. “You scared me.”
He’s never called me Kill so emotionally before, and he’s never shown me this level of timid exposure. I’m someone whose natural instinct is to poke at it and use it against him, but… I can’t. “I needed you to get out.”
“Why?”
“Because it scared me too, okay? Fuck.” I hang my head, fiddling with the straw. “I pictured you getting…”
“Talk faster.”
“Bit fucking hard right now, asshole.” I wince as my mouth flares in pain, but my surge of anger helps ease it. “I just needed you to get out. And next time, don’t fucking come back for me.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“What are you, eight? Jesus.” I shake my head.
“Killian,” he snarls, and I sense him turning around. He touches my shoulder, pulls his hand back quickly, and then sighs. “I brought you things,” he snaps at me like it’s my fault he did something nice.
“What things?”
“Soup, pudding, Jello, soft food. I brought fucking ice packs and heat packs and salve, and all this medical bullshit because you fucking scared me! ”
I twist to look at him, seeing his blue eyes lit up with the reflection of the bathroom light. He’s scared, even now, for admitting that he did all this because he doesn’t know what it means. He’s so insistent that it means nothing, but it does, and we both know it. Because I, a selfish fucking sociopath, gave up my life for his, and it scared him enough to bring me a care package. Neither of us has ever been the giving type, and here we are, caught in a strange situation that wants to go somewhere, but neither of us will step on the gas.
“Turn around!” he shouts. “Would have been easier if that poison killed you.”
Prick. Back-to-back so we don’t have to face our feeble declarations head-on, I try to get comfortable in a role that is so out of character for me—submission. It’s real and horrifying and kind of weak, but I don’t feel unsafe being… me.
“Are… are your fingers still fucked?”
I try to see them in the dark, but it’s hard to tell. They hurt, but my nail beds are bandaged and only one finger is broken, so I shake my head. “They’re fine.”
“You, uh, we had a deal.”
It takes me a second, but when I realize what he’s saying, my smile is entirely genuine. It’s not a smirk, a grin, or a charming mask across my lips. It’s happiness and shyness because Soren wants me to hold his hand.
“That girl really fucked you up, eh?”
“Fuck this. I’m leaving. This was a mistake.”
When he moves, I grab his fingers and pull him back down. “Just sit with me. My god.” We start back-to-back, our shoulders twisted so our fingers can wind together in the middle of the bed. Back-to-back feels safe, but slowly, my body turns, and so does his. We don’t look at each other, but we slide to the headboard to sit side by side. One hand on my smoothie and the other in his, sweating because I’m nervous, I ease my bandaged back against the smooth wood, trying not to lean too hard on any of the burns.
“You’re in my head, Sauder.”
He snorts like that’s an understatement. “But why?”
I take a sip and offer him the cup. He denies me and then takes it, so I say, “We’re just all twisted together when we shouldn’t be.”
“Why not?”
“You’re apparently a narcissist and I’ve apparently got ASPD. You think our mental situations are gonna be anything but destructive together? We can’t even manage friendship, let alone whatever the fuck this is.” I laugh because, even though it’s true, it doesn’t seem so daunting. “So, what is it?”
“Sex and curses.”
“Doesn’t sound half bad when you put it that way.”
He hands the cup back. Soren’s palm presses against mine, and then he lifts our hands, playing with my fingers while he watches them together. He makes sure all my bandages stay on, entranced by the way we look touching each other.
“Psych tells me that our kinds of diagnoses aren’t exact,” he says.
Yeah, she tells me that, too, but… why is he saying it? “And?”
“I don’t know.” He sighs, like he wants to justify that we’re allowed to feel new things for each other despite what our medical records say.
“You know what’s messed up? I’ve fucked and fought a lot of people, but you touch me in two ways I’ve never been touched before, and it’s all weird in my head because they’re opposite ways.” He stares at our hands while I watch his side profile. “At first, you touched me like you knew I could handle it. You’re probably the only person who’s ever given me all their strength and not doubted if I’d live through it. But you’re also the first person to touch me like this.” He links our fingers. “Like… it means something, but nothing malicious.”
“Wow.”
“Don’t fucking make fun of me.”
“I’m not.” I chuckle. “I thought that too when that kid touched my hand. But this is different. She was innocent, but you’re…”
“What?”
I want to say mine , but our bubble is too thin to risk breaking it yet. “Intentional.” I hold his hand harder. “You know, this is the first conversation we’ve ever had that hasn’t had a death threat in it.”
“Pretty sure I threatened to kill you if you ever sacrificed yourself for me again.”
He didn’t, but maybe he thought it. Chatting isn’t easy between us, and I don’t overly want to talk anymore, but I also don’t want him to leave. It’s the middle of the night, and I have no idea who he conned into making me a smoothie, but despite how tired I am, I’m content to spend the rest of the night sitting just like this.
“What kind of soup?”
“I don’t know. Just soup.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
“Fuck you.” He bends, resting his temple on my shoulder. We both stiffen, even though we want it, and it takes a second or two to remember to be comfortable with it. “Terrorize me, Killian, but not like that.”
I lean my head against his and close my eyes. “Okay.”