Page 6 of Rot

It could be the rot in me, but I wanted to have some fun with Elias before mother and I had to leave.

Chapter Two

I slept well that night, even though it was an unfamiliar bed in a new room in a different place. I didn’t dream—that wasn’t out of the norm for me, though. No matter what I did, I never dreamed.

Aunt Maggie got my mother situated in the basement; I’d gone down there to check on her after Elias had tried to intimidate me. I didn’t tell her about it. No, the animosity between my cousin and I would be our little secret. If my mother knew, she’d undoubtedly say we had to leave as soon as possible, and then where would we go?

We didn’t have anywhere else to go, hence why we were here.

My mother had a game room as a room. We’d moved the pool table aside and helped her with the pull-out couch. It was still probably better than whatever she’d slept on at the psychiatric facility all these years.

The next day rolled around, and Aunt Maggie had to go into work. My mother had to get us a few things we didn’t pack—toothpaste, toothbrushes, towels, shampoo, that sort of thing. She didn’t ask if I wanted to go with her. She just left. Didn’t even say goodbye.

Yeah, mommy dearest didn’t love me too much, either. Even now, she must still hate me and where I’d come from. Blame the sins of the father on the daughter. Maybe she could see the rot in me and she was afraid I’d turn out just like him.

Charles Bovine. Not a very rousing last name, but it was one everyone back home knew. His reign of terror hadn’t lasted long; you didn’t get into homes in a rich area and expect there to be no security footage of your face, especially when you didn’t care enough to wear a mask or gloves to hide your fingerprints.

Night after night he went out and did what he did. He worked as a handyman in the city, so he had copies of keys he shouldn’t have had. He’d creep in at night, kill with a large kitchen knife, painting the walls in red with how many times he stabbed his victims.

Why did he stop to rape my mother? I didn’t know. I wished I could’ve asked him before they put him to death a few years back. Hell, I wished I could’ve gone to see him die for myself. Charles Bovine being executed was evidence enough that the rot my grandparents feared was within me could be stomped out for good.

All you had to do was die.

Maybe my mother was pretty. Too pretty for him to just kill. I supposed, years ago, before the terror and trauma had eaten away at her soul, she’d been prettier. Maybe he liked blonds.

I wondered if Elias knew who my father was, if he knew I had the rot in me, if he’d still act like a douchebag. Would he care? Maybe he wouldn’t. Men never did seem to care, even when they were finally caught red-handed. My own father certainly wasn’t sorry for anything he did, and his last words had supposedly been a bold,Fuck you. Fuck all of you.

Elias was busy working out when the house emptied of all adults. I meandered outside, going to the swing set in the back. I sat down on it, taking in the creaking of its wood as I added my weight to it. My legs rocked me back and forth a bit.

I didn’t know how long I sat there, gently swinging, but after a while, I angled my head up and saw Elias watching me out of one of the back windows. His room was right across the hall from mine, so his room overlooked the backyard, too. How long he’d been staring at me, I didn’t know, but even with the distance between us, I could see the hateful expression on his face.

Did he really hate me simply for coming here? Maybe I should ask him.

When I got off the swing, Elias moved away from the window, maybe trying to pretend he hadn’t been watching. I went inside the house and took the stairs up. Elias wasn’t in his room anymore; he was in the bathroom showering, from what it sounded like. It was a Sunday, so he didn’t have school.

Hmm. School. I bet he’d really hate it if I begged my mother to enroll me at his high school…

We’d see how this next conversation went.

Holding my hands behind my back, I ventured into his room. He’d picked up a little since yesterday; there weren’t so many clothes scattered about. I found myself sitting on his bed. Smaller than mine, but just from a quick sit on it, I found it was a softer mattress, and I thought it was more comfortable than the one in my room.

I bounced on it once, the possibilities this place held racing through my mind. I’d hated being dragged here, and yet… it might not be so bad. We could make this work, for as long as we had to, for as long as Aunt Maggie would keep us around—and that meant I had to be extra nice to her. Sweet. The opposite of what I really was.

Show one side to Aunt Maggie, one side to my dear cousin Elias. I’d be so sweet to my aunt that she’d never want me to leave. Just had to make sure my mother steered clear of things that might make her regress. That would be hard enough, but the rest of it? I could do it. I knew I could do it.

I didn’t know how long I sat there, but it must’ve been a while. At least ten minutes… which felt like a long shower, for a guy. I’d never been with a guy before, but I knew what they got up to when they were alone, and I wasn’t totally innocent that I didn’t know what they liked doing in the shower when they were alone.

Hell, I was pretty sure they’d do it anywhere they could. So fascinated with their dicks. They had their dangly bits while I had the rot. We were all fascinated with something.

After a while, I heard the door to the bathroom open, and two seconds later, Elias appeared in the doorway to his room, a glower spreading across his face when he spotted me sitting on his bed. He was still a little damp; his shirt clung to his body in certain places, showing off the muscle on his frame. His black hair hung down over his forehead in a wet mess.

“Get the fuck out of my room,” he growled out, taking one step toward me in what I could only call a predatory way. Like he wanted to physically grab me and throw me out.

Such a grump.

Instead of getting up, I lay back, spreading out on his bed, calm as ever. “Are you always so rude to people, or am I special?”

Elias stopped when he stood beside the bed, his hands flexing into fists. “You’re fucking special all right, but not for the reason you think.” I was pretty sure that was meant to be an insult, but I only smiled up at him.

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