18. Cat & Mouse
Cat & Mouse
Zade
T here! I move my mouse around, sliding the scroller button higher, increment by increment. My eyes strain, staring at the screen. It’s blurry, but there’s just the outline of a license plate.
I pull up a program?—
“They’re laughing at you.”
“He’s trying to take her.”
Darkness greets me as I close my eyes, jaw clenching.
Maybe Siri was disappointed, or maybe it was my imagination, but I’d insisted on having dinner in my borrowed room.
I can eat and work at the same time. Each moment that passes is a moment longer that she’s in danger.
I need to find this fucking guy so we can end him.
But they insist Zephyr’s trying to seduce her in my absence. Raised voices had carried up to my room while I’d blindly ate. Tito must’ve arrived but hadn’t deigned to step in to greet me.
“They’re plotting behind your back.”
Deep breath, Zade. Don’t feed the delusions. Ignore the voices. You found the license plate of Siri’s stalker, not Zephyr. I nod, my chest easing with each affirmation.
“Zade.” I jump out of my seat, whirling and—Oh, fuck! That can’t be real. I blink several times, tracking the journey of feminine hands, gliding down a flat stomach and aiming toward a triangle of dark curls.
Siri’s in my bed. Naked. How didn’t I hear—Breathing suddenly becomes hard, realization slamming into me.
That isn’t Siri. I jerk my eyes toward the closed bedroom door.
No. No. No. I shake my head, trembling hands gripping the desk hard enough for it to cut into my palms.
“Go the fuck away,” I want to scream, a wounded noise caught in the back of my throat.
“Siri,” I mouth, turning away from the apparition in my bed.
A knock, knuckles on wood, and I rush toward the door like a dying man, hands outstretched for my lifeline. I yank it open and recoil. Siri flinches, stepping back into the hall.
I mimic her, glancing from her to—It’s gone.
“Zade? What’s wrong?” the hopefully real Siri asks from the safety of the hallway. Am I frightening her? Dammit. Get it together, Zade!
I’m okay. I thought I saw something.
Heat blooms in my cheeks at the admission. If only she knew. But maybe she does, stepping forward and invading my personal space. Chocolate eyes peer up at me, soft pink lips parted.
Fuck it.
I reach for her, hauling her into the room and slamming my mouth down. I need this to be real. I need it like I need my next fucking breath. Someone kill me now if it isn’t.
I am so fucking tired .
Hands push at my chest, and I let her go, panting, and fighting the surge of male pride at her red, kiss-swollen lips.
“Zade, talk to me. You said you didn’t want the—” She looks behind her, steps back, and closes the door.
“You,” she points at me, whirling back around, “said you didn’t want him to taint our first time.
Well, right back at you. Don’t use me as a tool to hide or lessen whatever is happening to you.
I want sex to be natural between us because we both want it.
Talk to me. Let me in. Let me be here for you. ”
I heave out a breath, nodding because she’s right. To forever entwine sex with my hallucinations sounds like a recipe for disaster. She deserves better than that. I can be better than that.
I thought I saw you. In here. In my bed.
Each word is a nail into a coffin, hammering me into a deep grave. But she asked.
For several moments, she doesn’t speak. Her eyelids flicker a lot, clearly processing my confession.
“Okay,” she says, forcing her shoulders down. “First. Did you take your meds today?” My hands curl, and I tell myself to fight the instinctive defensiveness that rouses from that question.
Yes. They lessen episodes but rarely completely eliminate them. Even Dad still gets them, and he’s been medicated longer than I have.
I know my hands move quickly and robotically. It’s funny how you can put some emotion into ASL. And right now, that fucking question makes my hackles rise.
She raises both of her hands in a placating gesture, sincerity shining in her brown pools.
“I’m not implying you’re going off script. It’s a legit question. I’m sorry I’m not Mom and don’t automatically know this stuff.” The last sentence comes out in a venomous sneer, her eyes flicking away from me.
So, she’s jealous of my relationship with Mom? I shake my head, fighting a chuckle. Her and Zephyr.
That question is just a hot button. I don’t need you to be Mom.
I step closer, smiling as her pupils expand.
For starters, I wouldn’t have put my finger in Mom’s pussy. Or my tongue. Or a knife handle ? —
She laughs, her hands still held in the air, but this time in mock surrender.
“I get it, I get it. Ha ha. I wasn’t implying anything. You two are just close.” She shrugs, but I don’t miss the pout. My little brat.
She may not want me to use sex as a distraction, but everything about her makes me come alive, like awakening from a deep sleep, swatting away the mist and cobwebs.
I am close with my mother. She’s more than just a nurturer. She’s a nurse, a caretaker, and she has twenty years of living with Dad. She’s practically trained to spot an episode a mile away.
My finger slides along Siri’s cheek, tracing the flush traveling down into her neckline. She’d have to spend the next twenty years dealing with my mental health to become half as competent as Mom. But, I don’t want to fuck my mother.
No, I want my cock inside Siri, inside my sister.
Soriah
Zade’s fingers trail from my cheek, thumb brushing my plump bottom lip. Closing my eyes, my body lists forward instinctively, sucked into his gravitational pull.
What had I been saying? Oh, right. Sex and distractions. I leap back, nearly tripping in my haste. When he told me he planned to eat alone, pain flared bright and hot, singeing my insides. His computer gleams in my periphery.
Maybe he’d truly been busy, but I’d missed him at dinner. Now, everyone’s gathered in the living room, joking around and catching up. His absence felt palpable, a sore twinging with phantom pains.
“Come downstairs with me. Tell everyone what you’ve been up to,” I beseech, throwing a hand out to grip one of his. Warmth swamps my hand. His fingers tighten, like he’s reassuring himself I’m real. God, I felt like an idiot asking such a clinically cold question. Of course, he’s taking his meds.
But it was the only thing that came to my mind when he told me about his hallucination. I may live with two people who have schizophrenia, but admittedly, I know very little about the mental disorder outside of what’s circulating in mainstream media. I need to change that.
Zade isn’t crazy or a killer. He’s my brother first and—I blush—my lover second, who happens to suffer from a mental illness.
I’ve been inside Mom’s bedroom and bathroom.
I’ve seen the bottles of sleeping aids she takes occasionally.
She has several bottles because she doesn’t need them as often as she used to, but it goes to show me that even my mother suffers from some form of mental illness.
The mind is a beautiful and complex thing that’s capable of holding an infinite amount of suffering.
I want to be Zade’s peace, his safe harbor from the terrors of his mind. Like Mom is for Dad. I attempt a smile, wincing when it feels tremulous. I’m so out of my element, but for Zade, I’d do nearly anything.
His chest rises visibly, sucking in a deep inhale of air before releasing it. He nods, giving my hand another squeeze.
This is love , I think. Give and take. Fighting another blush, I pull him after me. I don’t know how we’re going to navigate a sexual relationship when our parents return and everything comes to light. But—I squeeze his hand back—as long as we’re together, we can face it.
With Zade at my back, lending me his quiet strength and comfort, I can do any damn thing.
I hope I don’t end up eating those words.
Zade
Voices trickle past the white wood-paneled door of the living room hanging ajar. One of them holds a slight accent and two others share a hint of the same, peeking through every other word that reaches my ears. I can’t help the smile sliding onto my face.
I recognize Tito’s and Bella’s voices but not the third one. It’s masculine and young. Maybe younger than Bella. Siri’s face tilts toward me, capturing my sidelong gaze. The corners of her alluring mouth curl upward.
“You ready?” she quips, winking and pulling me along. My eyes dip to the lift and fall of her ass cheeks in the cotton shorts she hasn’t changed out of yet. Damn. It’s a nice ass , I decide, mesmerized. I want to bite it.
Laughter breaks the spell, jerking my eyes off of my sister’s delectable backside. Zephyr’s lounging form calls to my attention first. He sits slightly separate from everyone else, long legs clad in distressed jeans, stretched out in front of him with one arm slung along the back of a cream sofa.
Zeke’s large frame folds inward on a separate cushion, elbows resting on his knees and grin firmly in place as he listens to whatever Tito’s in the middle of saying. Bella’s angelic, oval face shines with happiness, and an unknown dark-haired man sits on the other side of her.
Before I can sign or Siri opens her mouth, several pairs of eyes drift toward us, halting the conversation and jovial atmosphere. Tension and anticipation stalks into the room, ballooning out and pressing on everyone gathered.
This is why we’re all here. To protect Siri. This is what families are for .
Without thinking or launching into a superfluous greeting, I sign my discovery.
I think I’ve found him.
I don’t need to specify who he is.
I’ve got a blurry image of a license plate and ? —
“Oh, look! The kids are playing at Scooby Doo,” Zac drawls, voice scraping across my skin.
“If you sew his mouth shut, he can’t talk.”
“Maybe stitch his eyes closed, too.”
“Siri doesn’t want you.”
The voices overlap, a cacophony of whispers without direction, pouring into my brain and stretching the finite space.
The meds are working , I reassure myself, inhaling deeply and letting it rest in my lungs for several seconds.
“The brain can survive three minutes without oxygen. Hold it in!”
I don’t know where that voice came from.
Fuck! A full day—no, a full week—of peace would literally be fucking heaven. But antipsychotics don’t promise heaven. They tempt you with daydreams of normalcy. I haven’t had a normal day in who knows how long.
The temptation to run and hide behind my monitors is strong.
I’m not intimately close with my cousins, reveling in the armor of lacking a voice and my schizophrenia diagnosis, so I can avoid many family gatherings. But I can’t hide forever. Siri demands my protection, my readiness, and my sanity.
I turn around, coming face to face with Uncle Zac, a mocking tilt to his lips and one dimple popping in one cheek.
“He’s a prick.”
That voice might actually be mine.
I think I’ve found the license plate of Siri’s stalker. I’ll need to run a program to scan it and piece it together for a search since the image is blurry on the cameras.
Zac watches my hands with apt attention.
I slow them purposefully, remembering he doesn’t see me often enough to pick up on it quickly like my parents and siblings.
For several moments after I’ve quit signing, he remains staring at the last position my hands were in, brows furrowed in concentration.
He nods, then claps his hands together, smile returning to his lips.
My eyes itch with the desire to roll, pinpointing exactly where Zeke inherited that trait.
Who the fuck knows, maybe smiling is all part of their masking act.
You’d need to know them a little better to peer beyond their smiling veneer.
He strides past me and Siri to address the collective of cousins.
“Alright, looks like we’re going hunting,” he says, head swinging from Zephyr to the other side of the sofa. He stills, facing the unknown man.
“You’re staying, and you, and you as well,” he points out, sliding a finger from one cousin to the other. Stranger, Bella, and Tito. The latter rises, and my uncle’s hand slashes through the air.
“It’s not up for debate, and since I outrank all of you as the oldest one in this room and, oh, right, an actual parent and guardian, what I say goes. Zeke, Zephyr,” his finger makes a reappearance, singling them out, “you’re with me and Deaton once computer whiz has a location for us.”
He places his hands on his hips. Since the back of his blond head faces me, I’m spared the sight of the smile no doubt gracing his mouth once more.
I just know it’s fucking smug and shit-eating. He’s likely needling Tito, wanting to get a rise out of him. Adopted at six, he’s the eldest cousin. I suspect that makes him feel superior at times. Until now.
“Can I trust you boys to look after the women? One of whom is my wife and your aunt?” My facial muscles twitch, and I fight a surprised expression. That wasn’t what I’d expected him to say, I expected more taunting and jeering.
Then again, Uncle Zac prefers being unpredictable.
“He’s a damn maniac.”
I agree. I’ve got a madman or two for uncles.
“Of course, Uncle Zac. You can count on us to keep the house secured and protect our family within,” Tito says.
Zephyr’s minute micro-expression snags my gaze, and I watch his eyes roll. I duck my head to hide my own mild amusement. Maybe that’s how Tito got on the Castille's good side. Ass kissing.
Zac turns to face me, eyes narrowing on the hint of a smirk I can’t wipe off fast enough. He snorts.
“Go upstairs and get me a location. I’ll call Deaton.
Everyone else, make sure all the windows and doors are locked.
I don’t want to come back to a massacre.
” His tone holds a hint of excitement, contradicting his words.
He’d probably only care if his wife got hurt more than anything else.
But he’d never made a secret out of the fact that everyone comes second in his eyes. My dad probably feels the same.
There’s something about the men in this family , I think to myself, risking a fleeting glance at Siri’s profile. We love with all of our heart, leaving very little room for anyone else. But that doesn’t mean we wouldn’t kill to protect what’s ours, even if they take up less space.
It’s why Uncle Zac’s jumping into this with minimal questions asked. We’re family.