Chapter 10
AREK
The instant rage that fills me when I see Harold kiss Kylen has the dormant murderer inside me rearing to life.
The only reason I remain standing where I am and not lunging for him is that I’m so shocked that this man has the audacity to kiss my man.
I’m standing right here. Surely he knows that he’s about to fucking die.
I’m guessing that Nolan recognizes the crazy in my eyes because he pulls me to the seat farthest away from Harold that I can possibly get. Which isn’t going to work for me. I can’t see them easily.
I can’t remember the last time this itch under my skin awoke. It’s been a while. Been a long time since I’ve killed someone.
My twin brother and I are just like our father, Loren, but unlike Loren, we’re psychopaths instead of sociopaths.
I remember being a kid with Grandpa Jalon and Uncles Myro and Voss sitting on the floor with my siblings and me while we were playing whatever it is little kids play.
The conversation, though I didn’t understand it at the time, is something I’ve dreamed about often.
Which I always found weird. As a kid, when I dreamt it, I thought it was a strange dream.
When I eventually told my dads about it, they said it might have been a dream, but it’s a memory that must have somehow imprinted on me.
“The twins are just like Loren was as a kid,” Myro had said. “They have the same slightly unhinged gameplay. The same blank stare. The same fearlessness that’s just a little off kilter, to where a neurotypical child’s fearlessness is. Have you talked to Doc Molly?”
Grandpa Jalon was nodding thoughtfully as he watched us. When I looked up and met his eye, he smiled. I didn’t return it. Not because I didn’t like my grandpa. He was a lot of fun usually, but because smiling felt… strange. The unnecessary movements of my face felt strange.
I turned back to the cars and shoved the one in my hand at the tower my sister and brothers were making. The tower came toppling down. Orev yanked Adem out of the way, and he face planted into the rug as the bulk of the tower fell where he’d been sitting moments ago. Rosalie glared at me.
That girl has always had a glare for me. Even as young children.
“This isn’t the same environment I grew up in,” Dad Loren said. “They shouldn’t be like me at all.”
“Antisocial disorders are genetic. Our family hasn’t been keen on getting official diagnoses for anything that would label us less than perfect, but there are very obvious instances of the disorder moving through each generation.
You were genetically predisposed. Your environment created the person you are, which is the case for everyone.
For you, having the genetics inside you already flipped and ready, it meant you grew into a sociopath in answer to the way you and your brothers were treated,” Grandpa said.
“What do we do?” Dad Oakley asked.
“We train them young to manage their urges,” Uncle Voss had answered as he placed a hand on Orev’s head. Orev looked up, eyes hooding as if he knew they were saying our brains were fucked up and dark. “We give them outlets before something triggers violence, like it did in Loren.”
A buzzer sounds loudly around me, pulling me from the memory that I haven’t dreamed or thought about in quite some time. That day, all those years ago, when I shouldn’t have had such vivid memories, I learned that I’m not like everyone else.
Usually, the brunt of my anger and violence surrounds our sister, Adalaide.
Our sister, who had been trapped in a boy’s body for too long.
The world is very loud and ugly to people like Adalaide, which meant Orev and I had endless targets to take out our anger on.
Every time she came home upset or crying, the world around me lost its bright colors.
The people moving around me became jerky with echoes of where their bodies had been as they moved around us.
Orev and I have always said our version of love is possessively protective of our siblings. Our family in general, but especially our sisters and each other. Dad protects himself. He protects Dad Oakley, too. My brother and I protect our sisters like rabid animals, losing their shit.
Noises around me continue trying to pull me from my thoughts, and I find that I’ve moved seats at some point. No longer am I sitting at the far end of the aisle, away from Kylen. I’m sitting behind him, watching him.
The itch under my skin to kill the man sitting beside him is fucking strong. You don’t touch what’s mine. Not without my permission, and since I’m not good at sharing my things with anyone outside of my siblings, you’ll never be granted permission to touch my things.
The anger that Harold awoke inside me is further fueled by the fact that all the beautiful bruises and bites I left on Kylen’s skin are long gone. It’s been more than two weeks since he’s been back to Hush Anonymous. It’s been more than two weeks since I marked his sexy body with my touch.
I don’t see much of the game. Actually, I don’t see any of the game.
I’m not sure who wins by the time we get out of our seats, and I can’t be bothered to look up to find out.
My attention is fully on Kylen and Harold.
At least Harold has some sense of self-preservation since he doesn’t touch Kylen again.
He rarely leans in to talk to him throughout the game, proving that he’s not stupid.
You don’t need to be close to talk to someone.
Nolan, Orion, and Skye remain behind to wait for Coach Tavis—Nolan’s boyfriend and Orion and Skye’s father.
Kole links her arm through Kylen’s and gives me a smirk that I don’t like.
She’s up to something. I can see it in her eyes.
The wicked glint that catches the lights of the arena and turns them red as they reflect back.
Kole is a lot like Uncle Ellory, I think.
My family has always said that he has an undiagnosed antisocial disorder.
I’m not entirely sure that’s true. Antisocial disorders are very clear with a complete disregard for human life, a skewed sense of right and wrong, and the inability to experience emotions like a neurotypical person, among other very obvious symptoms.
Uncle Ellory is none of those things. If anything, he’s unhinged, yes. Something that my uncles say often. Most of the time with fondness in their voices. But Uncle Ellory’s personality doesn’t line up with an antisocial disorder. He’s nothing like Orev and I. He’s nothing like our dad, Loren.
I’ve never met another person like him until meeting Kole Whitaker.
She is exactly like Uncle Ellory. The parallels are clear.
When I first met her as she moved her shit into the DIK frat house once her twin made it through initiation, I was admittedly fascinated.
There were a lot of calls between my siblings and me because there was someone else in the world exactly like Uncle Ellory, and more than anything, I wanted to dissect her to see what makes her the way she is.
I know what makes me a psychopath. Grandpa Jalon made sure we understood everything about our diagnosis growing up.
Education about what afflicts us is the most important step to learning how to control it, not hide or change it.
He has always been a very loud advocate since Dad Loren was a child that we are to live authentically as ourselves.
But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t control some aspects of it. Such as our violent urges.
I follow the Whitaker twins as we follow the crowd out of the arena. Harold’s shoulders are still tense, and there’s a good two feet between him and Kylen.
“We go this way,” Kole says as we pause at the sidewalk. “Where do you live?”
“East,” Harold says, looking in the direction of the dorms and tilting his chin down the road.
“That’s practically on the other side of campus,” Kole says, laughing.
He nods and shrugs. “Yep. I love the new dorms after spending a year each in Padua and Assisi. They’re such an incredible step up. But yeah, they’re far away. I feel like I need a scooter to get there in a decent amount of time.”
Kole looks up at the sky. The sun has been down for a couple hours now, since we’re well into November, and the days are getting shorter and shorter. It’s a clear night with bright stars watching us from an inky dark sky. “Doesn’t look like it’s going to rain, at least.”
Harold smiles. He turns to Kylen. “Thanks for inviting me. See you tomorrow?”
Kylen nods, smiling shyly. The blush on his cheeks flames hotly under the many streetlamps surrounding campus. “Thanks for coming.” He glances in my direction, and I get the impression that he wants to apologize for my behavior. People do that a lot, which I always find amusing.
He doesn’t, though. Instead, he nods again. “See you in class.”
There’s a moment when the two guys shift awkwardly, and I have a feeling that Harold would kiss Kylen again—maybe on the lips this time—if I weren’t here.
Watching. Daring. My hands clench, and I cross my arms. Harold glances in my direction and looks away quickly.
He gives Kylen an awkward wave before turning to walk in the opposite direction.
Kole looks incredibly pleased with herself.
I fall into step beside Kylen as we walk back to the frat house together.
Kole talks about Harold, asking Kylen questions to which he mumbles answers.
I follow them inside silently. Up the stairs.
They turn away when we reach the second floor, but I continue to the third, where my room is.
However, I don’t stop in my room. I continue down the hall and take the back stairs down to the first floor and out the back door. Then I’m jogging to catch up to Harold. Since he still wanted to kiss Kylen instead of running away at the end there, I think we need to have a conversation.
As soon as I stepped foot on the campus, I had my cousin, Emerson, who works in Uncle Voss’ tech department, break into the security feeds of Longwood U.
I needed to know which areas were covered by cameras and which weren’t.
A killer always knows how to blend into the shadows, which means you need to know where the shadows are.
I know that the most direct route to the new East and West dorms is through an elevated path in the woods.
I know that there aren’t any cameras in the woods.
Avoiding the cameras on the way to the path entrance is easy enough since they primarily cover the buildings and major thoroughfares of traffic.
Which actually means there should be cameras in the woods.
The path is lit, but not well. Honestly, this is an accident waiting to happen.
One that I’m going to facilitate. I’m silent as I stalk steadily closer to my target.
He’s alone. There are people on the path, but not close.
He’s hugging the left side and glancing over his shoulder every dozen steps.
Because I’m in the trees, he doesn’t see me. He doesn’t think to look in the trees.
I come up beside him when he’s looking over his opposite shoulder and shove him off the path.
He yelps and goes tumbling down the side of the embankment.
Loudly. I hear the snap of branches and the crunching of leaves as he tumbles down the hill.
Though I can’t see him once the darkness swallows him, I remain where I am and listen to his fall.
When the noise stops, I follow him down. Far more gracefully than he… fell. Standing over him, I can barely make out the scratches and smudges of dirt on his face. His right eye is already swollen, and I’m curious to know what he ran into, eye first.
Harold whimpers when I grip him under his arm and haul him to his feet. He’s not steady, but I keep him upright. “Need some help, Harold?” I grit.
He shakes his head and instinctively leans away.
“That’s a bad fall you took. Good thing I was close by to help you out of the ravine. Isn’t it?”
His whimpering isn’t cute. I force him up the hill, which is me pulling him along more than him actually climbing. When we’re at the top again, I let him lean against the tree, and he looks at me with one squinting eye—the other now swollen shut.
“Stay away from him,” I say conversationally. “I might not be here to help you out of karma’s reach next time.”
He visibly shakes as I turn back the way I came. Back to the frat house, where no one realized I was missing. No one except the two guys sitting in my room, curled up on the recliner together.
“I should revoke your permissions,” I mutter as I step into my room.
My cousins Daxton and Okello watch me with amusement from where they’re cuddled up.
“Where were you?” Okello asks.
“Hockey game.” I don’t offer any further explanation, but we grew up together, so I’m positive they knew that I might have made a pit stop elsewhere.
“We have something for you,” Okello says and tosses a shirt at me. “To add to your collection.”
I catch it while kicking off my shoes. Gripping the sleeve, I let it fall open to see the front. It reads, ‘No baby on board. I pull out.’
I snort, meeting their eyes. “Cute, though inaccurate. I don’t pull out.”
Okello grins hugely. “Neither does Dax.” Mischief sparks in their eyes.
Dax sighs, a smile remaining on his lips, even as he shakes his head. “Why do you always have to do that?”
Okello doesn’t answer as he snuggles in closer. Dax runs his fingers through Okello’s hair, causing more strands to fall out of their braid.
“What’re you doing on campus still?” I ask.
“We had dinner at the café,” Okello answers. “Couldn’t find Juno, and Emric is wearing something that is going to scar me for life, so we decided to drop in on you. Want to watch a movie?”
“Depends. Clothes must stay on and hands above clothes.”
Dax laughs, but Okello pouts. “Oh, come on. It’s not unheard of that cousins jerk off together! I suggested it one time, and you will never let me live it down.”
“Yeah. That’s why I feel the need to remind you,” I deadpan.
Okello looks at Daxton with an unimpressed expression. “Why aren’t you defending me?”
“Arek isn’t wrong, Kell,” he answers.
Okello’s lips twitch as they fight a smile. Mischief flickers in their eyes.