‘Oh!’ said the engine driver,
‘I don’t care!’
I collapsed back, my painted hand landing over my mouth. It felt wrong to laugh at, but it was just so … perfect. I recognised the stick figure now. It was Danny; with his lip piercing and his explosives. I peered at the face inside the window of the train, a loud laugh finally tumbling out of my lips. I had no idea who the driver was supposed to be, but they had been painted with a massive smile.
I sat down against the cabinet, staring at the painting, and then I pulled my phone out of my pocket, clicking on Tariq’s contact.
I love you, I typed, hitting send.
Someone knocked on the door, and I moved to answer it, not at all surprised to find my two pairs standing outside.
“Thought we’d find you like this,” Cabe said, stepping past me with a grin. “We passed Tariq before.”
“You ruined the floor,” Noah added dryly. “Silas spent all day on that.”
“It looks better this way.” Miro dismissed the floor, flicking his eyes over me. “But you need a bath.”
I swallowed, dreading what Silas was going to say, because he really had spent all day ripping up floorboards and replacing them. He stopped in front of me, his hand rising to my face. I felt his thumb slide over my temple before coming away with paint on it. The paint was blue, but for just a moment, I was transported to another time. Another life. A blurry memory where Silas had done the exact same thing, except his thumb had been green.
Floppy sneakers, paint-splattered clothes, and Silas … I remembered that he had laughed.
And I had fallen.
“Don’t worry about the floor,” he told me, moving away. “I’m a forgiving kind of guy.”
I had been worried before … but now I was terrified.
“So, how did last night go?” I asked casually, walking over to the counter and laying out some newspaper so that I could pull myself up without getting half-dried paint everywhere.
I let my legs dangle, turning my eyes to the window. I was positive they could see right thought my nonchalant act, but it was worth a try anyway. A week ago, Noah had met with Amber, hoping to get some information out of her. Apparently the meeting had lasted barely a minute before she had received a phone call—one of Danny’s men telling her that Silas and Cabe had followed Noah to the hotel. She left quickly, but not before Noah managed to slip his phone into her bag. Silas had been able to remotely wipe it, destroying any sensitive information remaining on the device—all while using the GPS tracker to identify one of Danny’s hideouts.
They had been tracking Noah’s phone since then, trying to figure out if Amber knew about it and was therefore trying to draw us out—or if she really hadn’t checked her handbag in days. Eventually, the signal was cut off, indicating that Amber had discovered the phone. Silas had been alerted immediately, and they had moved out in the middle of the night.
Miro had been the one to tell me all of this when I woke up in the morning—since they had left him behind to watch over me.
“It didn’t exactly go according to plan,” Noah admitted.
“Is that why you were all gone for so long?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
I peered at him, trying to figure out what it was they weren’t saying. “Well? How didn’t it go according to plan?” I should have phrased the question a little bit nicer, but I was still upset that they had put themselves at risk, leaving before I had a chance to stop them.
It was the sort of thing I did all the time, though, so I couldn’t really make a fuss about it.
For some reason, they all turned to look at Silas. I looked at him too, and then it hit me. I groaned, my throat working to form an accusation that refused to leave my lips.
What have you done? I wanted to ask him.
He seemed to read it on my face, because he shrugged in answer. I didn’t do anything wrong, was his wordless reply, but even in that response, I was able to read between the lines. ‘Wrong’ in Silas’s opinion, was ‘really wrong’ in everyone else’s opinion. So ‘acceptable’ in his opinion, was just plain ‘wrong’ in everyone else’s opinion.
I realised that we were doing the bond thing, then. The silent communication that I had seen Jack and the Sophies do. I pulled up, surprised, and opened my mouth to actually voice my thoughts.
“What did you do?”
“He burned down Danny’s hideout,” Cabe told me. “We didn’t catch many people, because they had a tunnel to escape out of, but Silas ran into Takeo. He’s in the hospital. A few more people joined them.”
“A few?”
“Like fifteen or so,” he clarified.
“Fifteen? Danny has that many people helping him?”
“See?” cut in Silas, sounding bored. “She doesn’t mind.”
I kind of did mind, and he knew it, but I chose not to get into that.
“A lot of them were hackers; random humans who he found online—we got that much out of one of them before Silas, um, interrupted. Danny was paying them all a lot of money.”
“So …” I frowned, mulling the information over. “He’s at least a little bit crippled right now. We actually managed to make a difference—or you guys did. I didn’t do anything. But it worked; you hit him where it would hurt. He can’t have eyes everywhere if his hacker crew starts to spread the word that he isn’t a safe person to work for.”
Miro smirked, looking back at Silas. “Wow. You’re a genius.”
“I really thought it through.” He drawled, lying outright as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
I bit back my chuckle. I really didn’t want to be seen laughing at the fact that Silas had put more than fifteen people in the hospital. I was actually pretty happy about it, though. I didn’t have to worry about him exploding again for a little while now.
“Did you find Alice?” I asked.
“Brought her back with us,” Cabe confirmed. “She’s with Adie now.”
“What about Amber?” I avoided looking at Noah as I asked the question.
“We got her.” Once again, Cabe was the one to answer. “We were thinking of holding her hostage so that Danny has some incentive not to attack anyone connected to us, but it turns out … he really didn’t give a shit about her. We made her call him and ask for help, and he laughed at her.”
I flinched. “So, where is she now?”
“Checked into a mental institution,” Noah informed me lightly. “She needed the help.”
I was about to laugh at another person’s misfortune—again—so I slipped off the counter to distract myself. “We should go and have dinner.”
We usually ate at the main house, but Miro shook his head this time, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call the kitchens and get them to bring food down. I can’t spend any more time in that place.” He walked out, and we all watched the door fall shut behind him.
“He’s working too hard,” I noted.
“He’s got a hard job,” Cabe returned. “You should know that—you were smart enough to turn it down.”
“Who did this?” Silas asked. He had moved over to the painted wall, his arms folded over his chest.
I turned, walking up beside him. “It was a joint effort.”
“Not the painting,” he corrected, pointing to the bottom left corner. “That.”
“Tariq.”
“I don’t give that kid anywhere near enough credit.”
“Don’t even think about it. You’re not allowed to turn my little brother into your evil apprentice.”
He spun, his eyes glittering down at me. “You offering to take his place, angel?”
“Please don’t join the dark side,” Cabe pleaded, his tone laced in sarcasm. “We need to keep the balance of the universe.”
“I’ll think about it,” I told Silas, managing to make my expression as blank as his.
He grinned. “You do that.”
Miro walked back in, joining us at the wall. He ran his eyes over it, pausing
on the little batman tree, and Tariq’s nursery rhyme, and then he glanced to the side, at the pantry cupboard.
“Can I do the rest of your kitchen?” he asked, sounding a little dazed.
In answer, I bent down to grab one of the paintbrushes, handing it off to him. It was actually a makeup brush, but we hadn’t had any smaller brushes to use for our scene, so Clarin had sacrificed some of his ‘emergency kit’. I had no idea why he even had an emergency kit of makeup when he didn’t actually wear makeup.
I would have given Miro anything that he asked for; anything to lesson his burden, to make things easier for him. If defiling one of my cupboards was what eased his mind, then he could defile all the cupboards in my cottage. We all watched him for a moment, as he grabbed some of the newspaper that we had brought with the paints, laying a sheet of it on the ground and using it as a palate to mix colours. He seemed to be completely absorbed in his task, or his thoughts.
The knock on the door finally broke us out of our trance, and Silas moved to answer it as the rest of us left Miro alone, spreading out on the paint-splattered living room floor. Silas took the food from whoever had been sent to bring it down to us—probably one of the few human or Zev servants under the watchful employ of Yas, who had taken over much of the practical needs of Le Chateau while Jack dove into a counter-war with Danny. I watched as Silas spread everything out into the middle of our small circle, and then I dove in, only realising in that moment that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast time.
When we were done, I quickly packed everything up before one of them could do it for me, and then I hung the bag over the door handle so that we would remember to take it back up to the main house. Miro hadn’t stopped painting to eat, so I glanced over at him on my way back to the living area, taking in the seascape that he was gradually spreading out over the surface of the cupboard. It was beautiful, but I was starting to get really worried about him.
“Let’s go,” Silas declared, standing up suddenly.
I startled, turning around to find him watching me. For a second, I thought he had been talking to me, but he eventually turned his eyes on Noah and Cabe. “You two, let’s go,” he repeated.
They were clearly taken aback, but they stood, watching Miro for a moment. He didn’t even seem to be aware of us anymore.
“Do your thing,” Cabe whispered on his way past, grabbing the back of my head and pressing his lips to the top of my head.
Noah walked past without a word, but then turned at the doorway, glancing back at me. He didn’t really speak or alter his expression, but I still felt the smile that he wasn’t showing. It momentarily warmed our bond. They both disappeared out the front door, and Silas was suddenly in front of me, catching my chin, pulling my head up.
“Don’t forget,” he whispered, his eyes pinning me to the floor with the weight of the meaning in those two simple words.
Twice over.
His threat still hung over me, but I was starting to get uneasy about it, because he hadn’t done anything. Not that either of us would have had any spare time to open that Pandora’s box. I was perfectly capable of pretending that everything was fine with my friends and my brother, but I wouldn’t have been able to pretend with my pairs. When we were together, the reality of our situation was constantly hanging over us, and my mind refused to stop spinning … and did I really need to be thinking about that now? Silas was watching carefully, measuring my thoughts as they flitted over my face. I nodded, barely, and he inched closer.
“Good,” he grunted, his eyes dropping to my lips before he released me, striding for the door.
I turned to watch Miro’s back again, wondering what exactly I was supposed to be doing with him. He was still completely absorbed in his task. I got up onto the kitchen counter again, folding my legs and leaning back on my arms. We stayed like that for a long time; him slowly covering the entire surface while I watched, my arms gradually turning numb. When he finished, he washed up his brush in the new sink that Noah had installed, and then he washed up all of Clarin’s other brushes, too. He wiped his wet hands on his shirt and moved past the living area to the stairs. I followed silently as he stepped over the yellow splashes of paint to the lower level, moving across the new carpet and slumping onto his back with an exhausted groan.
It was darker down there, with only the moonlight spilling across the short balcony to penetrate the glass walls and the light from upstairs creeping down the stairs. I had to let my eyes adjust before I walked over to him—even though the room was still completely empty. I crouched down beside him, gently pressing against his arm.
He made a grunting sort of sound that I was pretty sure was meant to ask what do you want?
I nudged him again. “Roll over.”
With another grunt, he rolled himself to his stomach. I reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up to the top of his back. He stiffened, but I nudged him again, and he eventually pulled up his torso enough for me to draw the shirt fully away. It took too long for me to fold it up, because both of our heartbeats were suddenly acting up. His was trying to force its way into my chest, and mine was thudding nervously in response. I closed my eyes, glad that his face was turned away, and counted slowly to ten, before setting the folded shirt aside and pulling myself up to my knees. My hands landed on his back, and he jerked. I left them there for a moment, waiting for him to stop tensing up, but he didn’t, so I gave up waiting and moved my hands to his shoulders.
I dug my fingers into the tense muscles lining his shoulders, leading toward the back of his neck. I didn’t really know how to massage a person, but it wasn’t that hard, surely. My mother—Maryanne—used to give me massages when I was younger, and I still remembered the way her hands followed the line of my spine while she hummed beneath her breath.
Miro released a deep breath, saying something that I didn’t catch, because it had been muffled against the carpet.
“Huh?” I leaned over him, my hands stilling.
“Oh hell no, you’re not stopping,” he grumbled in reply.
I laughed a little bit, settling back on my knees, my hands moving down one of his arms. It felt really wrong to be squeezing the bicep of my ex-teacher. It also felt pretty good—but that made it feel even weirder. I moved down to his forearm, simply kneading his skin or tracing my fingers lightly over him. I was probably doing a terrible job compared to a professional, but a professional wasn’t his Atmá. I was positive that my touch would have been soothing him as much as it was soothing me. That was obviously why the others had left. He wouldn’t have touched me in front of them, even if he had needed it. I moved to his hand, scratching my nails down his palm, and he groaned into the carpet.
I leaned over him, giving the same treatment to his other arm, and then I went back to work on his back, letting my hands glide over the ridges and valleys in whichever way felt the most natural. When I ran out of space to work with, I moved up to the back of his head, threading my fingers through his hair to scratch against his skull. He pulled his arm up suddenly, hooking it around my waist as he shifted. My back hit the floor and he loomed over me, flashing me familiar dark eyes before he hid his face from me, burying it into the crook of my neck.
“It’ll work if we stop there,” he whispered against my skin.
He was heavy, his breath tickling my skin, but I couldn’t bear to push him off. Not when his weight felt so solid and warm. Not when his hand settling into my waist made me feel more grounded than I had felt in a long time.
Instead, I only whispered goodnight, and smiled when I felt his answering grunt.
I unlocked her door with the spare key that none of them knew about, nudging it open with my boot. I didn’t have to worry about whether I was interrupting anything or not, because I could feel her, and she felt heavy, her emotions dulled. She was sleeping. I strode over to the staircase, leaving the door open behind me. The wind brushed against it, blowing it outward another two inches, but it didn’t make a sound. I took the stairs two at a t
ime, my footfalls light until I landed on the carpet of the middle floor. My twin was lying on top of the girl I loved, and I briefly struggled with my reaction, my legs refusing to carry me the rest of the way over to them. I wanted to rip him away and smash his skull into the wall, but I was also strangely … proud.
There was some part of me that wanted him to claim her, because if she was his … she would also be mine.
And theirs.
The other two dickheads.
“Ah, fuck this,” I muttered beneath my breath, taking the final few steps and anchoring my boot against his shoulder.
I heaved him off her in a way that didn’t put any more pressure on her. As soon as the weight was gone, she turned on her side, pulling her legs up and looping an arm around her knees. Miro sat up, swiping his hair back so that it didn’t fall over his eyes, and we both turned to her. Watching. Waiting. When she didn’t stir any further, I reached out to him and he took my hand. I pulled him up to his feet and we both moved back to the stairs and out through the open front door. Cabe was leaning against the outside wall beside one of the front windows, right where I had left him. He grinned at Miro, seeing the look on my face, but no words were spoken. We barely needed words anymore. Our Atmá had changed our dynamic, merging us into a single unit and separating us from the rest of the world. We knew things about each other with a single look now, sometimes less. Sometimes it was just a feeling.
Miro closed the door behind him and we walked back up to the parking gallery, both of us sliding into my car. It wasn’t until I turned on the engine that he let out a tired sigh.
“Where are we going?”
“Back to the institution.” I pulled out of the gallery, keeping the lights off and allowing the car to roll down the mountain in neutral, not wanting to wake anyone up with the sound of the engine. “I need answers and the nerds I sent to the hospital aren’t in the right condition to give them to me. That leaves one person. Amber Kingsling.”
“Nerds?” Miro smirked, sinking further into his seat and pushing the back down so that he was almost vertical, laying one of his arms over his eyes. “You say that like you’re not one of them.”
A Portrait of Pain Page 7