Page 27 of Sick Bargain

SORROWFUL SONGS & BREAKFAST

REMIEL

Krypt isn’tin bed with me, but the sound of my brother’s gloomy violin is. It’s coming from somewhere in the house, and I hate that it hurts my heart. Soren fucking sucks at expressing emotions, and really, he only feels a few because he’s too selfish to feel much else. His range of emotion isn’t vast, but the depth with which he feels them is endless.

He’s angry and uncomfortable right now. I can tell by the deep tune of his music and the slow pace of his rhythm. I close my eyes and listen to the darkness of his early morning sorrow, my lip trembling as I hold back my emotions.

I’m angry, too. I want to add my dark cello to his violin and fill Vile House with devastation. Because the world is a fucked up place, and no matter what I do in life, I can’t get ahead. I can’t beat this curse. I can’t lure a psycho into killing me to save my brother. I couldn’t save my dad, and I couldn’t save my other two brothers. I can’t even keep Cain safe. I’m a failure at everything I do, and even when I try to help make something just a little brighter, I end up shadowing it with my deficiencies.

Krypt is right, I’m not the hero.

I can’t even trust my brother, and now that I know he’s been lying to me for years, I hate him all over again while loving himeven harder. If I know him, and I think I do, at least who he is at his very core, then I understand he’s here because of me. Because of our dead brothers. To save our family. Not for our benefit as much as his own; a narcissist at heart, he’d love to call himself our hero.

When Soren’s tune changes to something even darker, I sit up to avoid my feelings. My ass and crotch are both sticky and crusty, coated in dried cum that does nothing but make me feel ashamed. What the hell is wrong with me?

I orgasmed. While he assaulted me—again. I had no idea it was going to happen. I was scared… and then I was coming, and it scared me even more. I can’t think about it without losing my mind, so I swing my legs over the side of Krypt’s bed and pad to his closet, buck naked. I grab the first set of sweatpants and hoodie I find and carry them into the bathroom. Peeing, scrubbing myself as hard as I can at the sink because I don’t know if I can use the shower, I throw the clothing on as protection and stand there, unsure what to do now.

Am I allowed to leave this room? Will I see other people, or am I confined to this space to keep their secrets intact? I want to find Cain and make sure he survived whoever that lunatic in the blue mask was.

I listen at the bedroom door, hearing only Soren’s music. With my hand on the knob, I hesitate. I’m already overloaded with things to process. Do I have what it takes to go out there and learn more secrets?

The door smacks me in the chest and pushes me back, and I don’t have time to pretend like I wasn’t standing there. Krypt walks in, dressed in sweats and a black t-shirt. No mask. His black eye is turning green and yellow, and the bruise on his cheek isn’t as harsh as it was under the purple glow of the neon light last night.

Krypt, I remind myself. Not Keegan. The Vile Boy who killed a girl for no known reason and threw a dagger at a Krampus last night. Krypt, who has sexually assaulted me twice and burned my house down.

Not Keegan, the weird teen who grew into a weirder adult.

He says nothing to me, but he takes in my outfit and seems to appreciate me in his clothing. Pushing past me, he walks straight into the bathroom, leaves the door open, and undresses. I don’t know what to do, so I stand here and watch. His back tattoo is even more daunting in the daylight. The splashes of purple, vibrant and bright against the darkness of the black ink, consume my focus. His name shouts at me from the bottom of the tattoo, sitting between the dimples in his lower back, reminding me once again that this is Krypt, not Keegan.

His ass muscles flex when he drops his pants, and the heaviness of his cock and balls hangs between his legs when he bends down to pull his socks off. He looks back at me, and I try to look away, but I get stuck staring at the chains rattling within his eyes. What happens if those monsters break free?

“Come,” he commands, stepping into the shower.

A shiver shakes me from head to foot, and outside the bedroom door, Soren’s music stops. Ghost. Not Soren. We’re in Vile House now, and I need to manage my expectations.

“Remiel.”

I walk into the steamy bathroom, fisting the material of his shirt in my hands, uncertain about how this level of fear is affecting me. His demand is obvious, but it still takes me monumental effort to undress. He’s seen me naked, tattooed my body, fucked my face, and come on my ass, but shedding the protective outfit in the daylight still makes me vulnerable. The only thing that puts me at ease is that he’ll be more pliant if I comply with his demands.

I undress, my fear worsening.

I step into the tile shower, noticing for the first time that the bathroom is more modern than the bedroom. The glass wall is fogged, but that’s probably a good thing. I don’t want to see myself in the mirror or the reflection of the glass.

I hover, but Krypt grabs my wrist and pulls me under the too-hot spray, tilting my head back to wet my hair. Wordlessly, he soaps my body and washes the marker from my skin, and when I’m red and the last of it has been cleared away, his eyes calm down and his jaw unclenches. He peels the wrapping off my new tattoo, gently rinsing the damaged skin with a washcloth and soap.

Then he looks at me. His dark hair barely grazes his shoulders, but it plasters to his forehead, framing his face nicely. The tone of his tanned skin and the dark brown of his hair make his eyes pop, and maybe that’s why they always look so intense. Maybe it’s not all monsters.

No… it’s mostly monsters… monsters I have no intention of meeting but am intrigued by anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

My eyes widen, but the shower water warms me comfortably. “For what?” Raping me? Tattooing me? Burning my house down? Killing the girl?

“That you had to find out about your brother like that.”

I snort and immediately regret it when his fingers tighten around my biceps. His nostrils flare. “Are you making fun of me?”

I clear my throat and try to bring back his calm mood. “No. It’s just that, out of everything, I find it odd that you’re apologizing for that. Specifically.”

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