25. Love is Obsession
25
LOVE IS OBSESSION
KRYPT
I don’t enjoy being here while Remiel is waiting in my bed.
Does it make me a bad person that I tied him naked to my bedposts and then ordered his sister to guard my door as part of her initiation tasks? She doesn't know her naked and hard brother lies beyond, delusional with the need to be ravaged, but I like the symbolism of it. Selena needs to learn her place. Her loyalty lies with Vile House, not her family, and if she wants to make it through initiation, she’ll learn that pretty fucking quickly.
Director casts his tablet screen to the white wall of the theatre room. He’s standing right where Remiel drove a blade into Reeven Matterson’s heart, and the memory of it has my dick so hard Menace notices. He grins but doesn’t comment.
“It worked,” Director says, looking right at me. “We tapped into your chip.”
Remiel doesn’t know what’s coming, and I don’t plan on telling him. He’s only just starting to get better from his suicide attempt, and when he wakes up tomorrow morning to find me gone, he’s going to need to learn to live without me for a bit.
Hopefully not forever.
While he was healing during his seventy-two-hour hold at the asylum, I was calming down by setting up my tools and working a job for Director—Axel Graves.
After Ghost and I hung the nurse who dealt Remiel a suicide pill, we cut off his hands and strung them around his neck. His cock went next, shoved down his throat. He died slowly, choking on his own flesh, and then we hung him outside Misfit Hall, The Misfits home base, to pin it on them. From there, we walked to Ghost’s mom’s house and stayed there until we got information. She muttered a lot about Dr. Graves, and eventually, she said something about a trailer, pop-up style clinic for depression and mental health treatments. It moves around, peddling therapy appointments for those struggling mentally, and once we figured out where it was, I went in.
And got chipped.
Dr. Axel Fucking Graves hypnotized me, implanted a chip up my nose with a tiny wire device, brought me out of the hypnosis, and sent me on my way. My mind is a vault, so the hypnotism didn’t work, but I played along until I got the chip. Glitch has been studying it when I’m not with Remiel, and it turns out the chip is simply a tracking device. And now Director has a link to my whereabouts, so it’s time for me to complete the next phase of this job.
But if Axel Graves knows anything concrete about the layout of Moros, which, according to Director, he does, he’ll mark my tracking dot inside the asylum and Vile House. I played my part well enough, and he believes I’m unaware of the chip.
The only problem is that when the chip is pulled out by force, it releases an electrical shock that pulses through the brain and kills it. So, Glitch better fucking find a way to get this thing out of me, or I’ll drag Remiel to an early death with me.
“Feeling anything from it?” Director asks me.
I shake my head.
“Here’s what we know. Graves is offering a service, hypnotizing the people who seek it out, and implanting the tracking chip. It gives him a tie to where they are at all times, which means he can track them and access them easily. From what we can ascertain, it appears he’s tracking them, catching them while they’re alone, and then implementing some sort of brainwashing. The chip isn’t doing the brainwashing. It’s Graves doing it.”
Kyd smiles so big it’s goddamn blinding. “He’s so fucking smart. He’s doing it in increments. Chip, find, subtle brainwashing, release, repeat.”
We all glare at him for finding this attractive, but really, who are we to judge?
“It’s the why we don’t know yet,” Director says. “That’s where you come in, Krypt.”
“Send me!” Kyd shoots to his feet with his arm raised. “Puh-lease! Send me in, coach. I can do this.” He does a high kick like a cheerleader for who fucking knows what reason.
He can do it, but because of his fondness for Axel Graves, Director won’t send him. He’s too warped, and even though I’m also warped, I got my name for a reason, and Director is going to exploit it.
Glitch tugs on the back of Kyd’s bright purple hoodie and yanks him to his seat. “Down, boy. You’ll get your shot.”
“Tomorrow is the plan. We just need Graves to take the bait. You know where to be to appear secluded and approachable, Krypt.”
I nod, already knowing the plan.
While Director explains the rest of it and assigns roles to the others, I let my thoughts drift to Remiel’s bargain. Matterson and his cult are dealt with. Gregory Malone will be dealt with tonight. I just have to figure out if Remiel has changed his mind about his brother, the third name on his list. Does he still want him captured and consumed by someone so he can’t get enough wiggle room to turn suicidal?
Ghost hasn’t made any attempts on his life, but I’ve noticed things about him over the past few months. He’s irrational and ballsy, which isn’t new, but he used to do it for the thrill. Now he does it because he likes tempting death, and sometimes, the glaze in his eyes makes me think he is the one tempted by death. He’s got a job to do with The Misfits, but he’s even getting brazen about that.
My brother must track my thoughts because he looks over at me and nods. If Remiel still wants Soren contained, I’ve already made an agreement with Riot to do it. It’ll be dangerous, but I don’t trust anyone as much as I trust my brother when it comes to this. And who knows how long I’ll be under Axel Graves’ control. If I even make it out alive…
“There have been at least twelve more reports of strange behaviour in residents,” Director goes on. “Monster and Ransom are tracking them, but we still need our man on the inside so we can track your whereabouts and find his lab.” His eyes come back to me. “You ready?”
Not until I say my goodbyes to Remiel and finish his bargain. This is the worst possible time for me to go on a job that could end my life, and as much as I don’t want to do it, I have to. Because I belong to Vile House. They’re my family, my life, and my motivation, and I’ve let them down before. I won’t let them down again. I have to trust that my new marks on Remiel’s body are going to be enough to make him hesitate if things get dire.
“Tomorrow.”
“Go.” Director nods at the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
The rest stay to work out the details, and I light a joint on my way out back. I need to be calm when I face Remiel. He can’t know that anything other than Gregory Malone’s end is coming.
I step outside, the patio wet and misty. I don’t usually get nervous about jobs, but I’m nervous now. Because I have something to lose. A person to give up. If I don’t free him from our bargain, and it turns out I don’t survive this, he’ll never be free of his curse. I’ve never known possession and obsession like I do with Remiel, so the thought of freeing him doesn’t sit well, but what else am I supposed to do? Ghost will take over his bargain if I don’t make it back. He’ll watch out for him… so long as he doesn’t fall prey to the family curse.
The weed tells my mind to calm, and when I’m blanketed in something that feels settled, I head to my room to find Selena Sauder still standing there. She nods and walks away, but I call her back.
“If I don’t make it back from this job…”
“What job?”
I can’t tell her. She’s not at that security level yet. “I need you to watch out for them.”
“Who?”
“Your brothers. Both of them.”
Confusion lines her face, but relief sags her shoulders. “I am. I do.” She steps closer to me, eyeing my door. “Which is how I know you’ve ruined him.”
My fists clench, and the blanket of calm evaporates.
“Remi isn’t meant for all this.”
“Then you don’t know him.”
Selena nods to agree with that. “No one knows him. Not Cain, not even himself. I think…” she pauses, gritting her teeth, “I think you forced him to get to know himself, and as much as it ruined who he was, it strengthened him.”
“I don’t need the speech. Just watch over him when I’m gone.” I grab the doorknob.
“He won’t survive without you,” she tells me, making me stop. “You made him dependent on you.” When I look back at her, she doesn’t look angry. “So fucking come back,” she finishes and walks away.
So fucking come back.
I know she’s unhappy about her brother’s best friend suddenly owning her other brother, but fuck her. She sees that Remiel is gaining strength, and I don’t need her blessing. But she’s right. I did make him dependent on me, and he’s going to have to survive me being gone. If anything happens to him while I’m away…
I squeeze the doorknob harder. No point in dwelling on the guilt I’ll wither under. I enter my room, but Remiel isn’t tied to my bed anymore. Did she free him, or did he get out on his own? If she so much as touched him… sister or not, she’s losing a finger. He’s sitting at the little desk in the corner of my room, fixing Seven’s guitar. Restringing it and tuning it as he goes. I’ll never understand how he can recognize notes from each instrument. The piano is the only one I know and understand, and that’s because it sat alone in the corner of my bedroom growing up, becoming my only companion.
He looks showered and clean, and a glance into the bathroom shows me the drips sliding down the glass doors. A part of me likes that he’s made himself comfortable here, but a predatory part of me, which is stronger, doesn’t like that he defied my bounds, either by breaking free or being set free. I also won’t appreciate it if he’s re-bandaged his own wounds. Those are my marks to cater to.
When I close the door, he looks at me.
It washes away my frustration and softens me to his needs. He’s sore, suffering from healing wounds, and I had the fucking audacity to tether him in an uncomfortable position. He didn’t even complain about it, but I see the fatigue in his eyes and the discomfort in his body.
I walk to my bed, forcing myself not to crowd him. His eyes track my movement, and his shoulders sag when I sit down. “How is it coming?” I nod at the guitar.
He looks at it like he forgot he was working on it. “Um, good. Almost done, just tuning it.” He fiddles with the tuning keys and then sets it on the floor to lean against the desk. “What’s… is everything okay?” His brow creases in concern.
“Why are you asking?”
“You’re… over there.”
I almost grin.
I lie back against the headboard and close my eyes, more tired than I thought. “Then come be over here with me.” I kick my boots off and listen to them thunk to the floor. I pat the bed beside me. “Let me look at your wrists, Remiel.”
Silently, he sits cross-legged beside me, holding his bandaged wrists out. The t-shirt is mine, and I like that he’s wearing it, but I like it even more that it shows off his arms. Toned with defined muscle and skilled at playing cello. Veiny and pronounced, but covered by white gauze. I peel it off, unwrapping it slowly so it doesn’t rip his healing skin away. They’ll need to air out for a few hours.
“I thought you don’t do gentle,” he says, watching my nimble fingers.
“I said I don’t respond to soft,” I correct him. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be soft.”
“Can you?” he asks, a hint of a smile on his face.
I look down at his arm, my smile also trying to appear. Not sure why. “First time for everything.”
Glistening blisters that barely leak, mottled red flesh in the shape of my name, and peeling skin make up the underside of his arms. I’m not sorry. I know it hurts because the one on my chest hurts like a bitch, but they’re safeguards. Watchdogs. A line of defence that will make him hesitate, even for a few seconds. I can save him with a few extra seconds. I won’t let him attempt it again, but if he gets the idea in his head, I feel better knowing my marks will cause even the slightest hint of second-guessing.
The burns are still oozing a little clear liquid, but the cream I’ve been putting on them is working wonders. “Do you need anything for the pain?”
“Like a pill?”
I look up at him. “Don’t joke.”
His eyes fall for a second. “Do you…”
“Do I what, Remiel?”
“Do you really give a shit about me, or is it all about ownership and possession?”
“Do you expect more from me?”
He sighs, buying time to plan an answer. “I don’t know. Can you feel more than that?”
“Are you asking if I’m a psychopath?”
His lips pinch, but he owns it. “Yes.”
I grin and start unwrapping his other wrist. “I’ve gotten the diagnosis in the past, but no. I’m not. I can feel a full range of emotions. I just confuse them and can’t properly label them all the time.”
“Give me an example,” he says.
“I’m frustrated because you aren’t where I left you, so I’m mad, I guess. But I don’t know if I’m mad at you or at myself for putting you there while you were so sore. And since I don’t know, there’s a gnawing feeling inside me that’s probably something like regret or the need to apologize, but instead, it just makes me feel hungry. Or horny. Agitated.” I look at him again. “Which is actually another source of frustration because, until you walked into Vile House, I didn’t really get horny.”
“So, it sounds like you can label the feelings and the reasons, they just all blend together into a circular pattern. That’s not uncommon.”
“No?”
He shakes his head. “Give me another example.”
I get the gauze off his wrists and let both of them rest on his knees, palms up. “Do you expect me to love you?” I ask instead.
He squints at me, blue eyes curious. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because we’re attached now, aren’t we? We’re… us. A kouple… with a K. Wherever the fuck the future goes, we’re going together. Most people call that a relationship, and relationships come with love.”
“You forced us together,” he amends.
“You walked in here.”
“What’s love to you?” Remiel asks.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Obsession.”
“Tell me what else you’re obsessed with. Any other people?”
“No.”
“A thing? A place? A hobby?” he asks.
“Not really.” I look around my room. “I feel safe in here, but I’m not obsessed with it. I guess I’m kind of attached to the others, but not obsessed with them. I fixate on things, but eventually, those drop off and become nothing again.”
“Is that my path? You’re fixated on me now, but it’ll drop off?”
“You don’t feel like a fixation,” I tell him. “You feel like an obsession. But I can’t tell what that means. Is love an obsession, or am I too volatile for that?”
Remiel tosses the used gauze to the end of the bed and reaches out to touch me. He hesitates, hand outstretched, eyes on mine for permission. I take his fingers and look at them in my hand. Admiring. Understanding. Feeling.
“I don’t think your love will ever be romantic,” he tells me. “Romance doesn’t do what you did to me. But it’s not all one-sided. I did terrible things, too, and they aren’t romantic. I think your love is more like consumption. It’s fierce and territorial and irrational. Maybe that’s not love. Maybe it’s just possession.”
“Is there a difference?”
He swallows and lets me play with his fingers. “Are we talking about me and you here?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, well, do you want to own me and take away my free will?”
“For a while,” I admit. “Until you start making better choices.”
He laughs, and my eyes snap to his face because… because that’s the first real laugh he’s given me. God, it’s better than his cello. “That’s fair. I bargained my life away, so that’s our foundation.”
“But?”
“But,” he says. “I kind of hope we… if there is a we , I hope it becomes more of a partnership. It doesn’t have to be equal. You give what I need and I give what you need, even if it’s unhealthy. Love, to me, is caring enough about someone to know what they need and wanting to give it to them. It doesn’t have to be romance and kindness and compassion. It can be rough and unhinged and aggressive if that’s the language we speak it in.” He looks up at me. “I barely know you, Krypt. I don’t know what you need because you’ve spent this whole time bringing me back to life. So I can’t love you, and you can’t love me because our relationship hasn’t been about each other. It’s been about a curse. It’s been a deal. It’s been about fear.”
I don’t like that. “So far,” I say, and I’ve never felt more vulnerable than from those two words.
“So far,” he echoes with a small smile. “I don’t expect anything,” he answers my original question. “I just know that I want you. I know you don’t want to acknowledge that, but I do. I don’t want to hurt all the time.” He holds up his wrists. “But I get why you did this. It healed some fear inside me, and I think… I think you gave me what I needed because you care about my life.”
“About owning it,” I insist.
His fingers twitch in mine. “This is the first real conversation we’ve had. One without threats and dares and challenges.”
“So?”
“Why now?” he asks, more astute than I gave him credit for.
Because I’m being soft, like I told him. I hadn’t planned to be, but I saw him sore and cared about it. Because I know what’s coming tomorrow, and maybe I craved something sentimental to take with me on this job. Because tonight is going to be dark, and maybe I want a moment of light with him.
Because my concept of love is obsession, and it’s morphing into something that comes with feelings and regrets. I don’t want to go to Axel Graves and live out my final six minutes regretting not speaking to Remiel like he’s a real person instead of an object of my possession. I want him to feel important and hopeful so that, if I’m gone for too long, he won’t kill himself because of it. He’ll be hoping for my return.
But feeling isn’t my strong suit. It confuses me, and confusion makes me unstable. It overwhelms me, and when I get overwhelmed, I need an outlet. I’m trying not to make Remiel my outlet.
“What of your bargain?” I ask instead. “Has it changed at all?”
“No. I still want to end Gregory Malone.”
“You know that’s not the name I’m asking about, Remiel.”
He sighs. When he shifts his body, wincing at some of his wounds, to lean against the headboard beside me, I go still. Two men, in bed together, not fucking or sleeping. Not bleeding or crying. It’s new for me, and it feels so good that I close my eyes again to appreciate it.
“I’m not naked, so I’m going to say his name,” Remiel warns me. “Cain thinks that the curse on my family isn’t real. That it just gets in our heads, and Moros makes it believable. We succumb to it just because the knowledge of it is there, putting pressure on us from our very first breath.”
I hate to say it, but I agree with his tattooed friend. It’s a mental state, and the Sauder men allow themselves to get swept up in it. Suicide is real, but a curse that dooms a bloodline seems more like brainwashing.
“Maybe he’s right,” Remiel goes on. “Maybe it is all about pressure and the stories we’ve been told. Maybe all that is mixed in with mental health issues and a hereditary inclination to be dark-minded. Maybe the curse is nothing more than a placebo effect. We’re told we’re going to kill ourselves, so we do. It makes me wonder what would happen if we were never told about our family history. If the story changed. If our upbringing was different.”
“If you lived somewhere other than Moros,” I add.
“Yeah,” he agrees. His hand drops between our bodies, and his fingers brush mine. Before I can react to it, his knee bends, resting against my thigh. “But it doesn’t change the fact that every Sauder man has died by suicide.”
“You have the same genetic makeup as your sister, and she’s not at risk. Neither are your aunts or female cousins.”
“Maybe it’s like heart disease or gout. More common in men.” He huffs a small laugh. “I don’t know what it is, Krypt, but I’m still scared of it. For me. For Soren. It’s real to us.”
Which brings us around to my original question. “So, what do you want to do with him? Because your plan to entice me into killing you failed, so you need to rethink what your goal is here.”
He takes a long time to think about it. All the while, I fixate my attention on where his leg touches mine. A simple touch. Comfortable. I’m not a man who enjoys being touched in such a way. My hands cause harm and my body is a weapon, but with Remiel’s leg against mine, I don’t feel so dangerous. I feel at ease. So much so that the monsters inside me slumber.
“He’s always been dangerous, but it’s getting bolder. Have you noticed?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Then I still want him… uh, owned? Watched? Under the influence of someone else.”
“Okay,” I agree.
“Okay?” he asks, knee moving. I reach down and hook my hand under his leg, bringing it back to rest on mine. “Do you have someone in mind?”
“Ghost is a Vile Boy, so he’ll be on jobs a lot. Since you want him watched all the time, and we can’t bring outsiders into Vile business, it’ll have to be another Vile. I’ve already made a deal with one of them to be his shadow.”
“Who?”
“Do you really wanna know?”
He pauses, then says, “Yes.”
“You won’t like it.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Riot.”
Remiel groans. “I don’t trust that. Your brother hates my brother, and it’s obvious to everyone. I don’t trust him to keep Soren alive.”
“He will.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked him to.” I turn on my side, the burn on my chest cracking with the motion. Remiel looks at me, and I look at him, and whatever else he wants to say falls away into the abyss. This feels like getting my affairs in order, prepping for a future I’m not returning to. I don’t like it, and Remiel can tell. Before he can ask, I cut off his chance. “Ready to end Gregory Malone?”