Page 57 of Sick Bargain

Remiel looks as nervous as I am, but I think our nerves are for different things. His blue eyes are big but sketchy, unsure if he should look at me or not, and his palms have not stopped rubbing together. The outfit he’s wearing must be new, because the creases and lines from the rack are still on the crisp fabric. A pair of dark jeans that look perfect on his lean legs and a charcoal grey button-up sweater that is too preppy for him but looks nice anyway. Around his shop, he wears Crocs, mostly with socks, so they’re still on his feet, bumping mine under the table.

He pushes his hand through his dark blond hair, taking a deep breath. “Do you know what you want?”

I look at him instead of the menu before dropping my eyes to it. When the server comes, she looks at him and not me, and I don’t like her eyes on what’s mine. He orders, and I just say ‘same’ to force her away faster.

“What’s wrong?” Remiel asks, voice low. “Are you okay after… uh, everything?”

“His whole cult is dead.”

He nods to acknowledge that but doesn’t focus on it. Which is weird because this is part of the bargain he made with me, and now he doesn’t care? What’s wrong with him right now? “But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Krypt,” he groans.

“Keegan.”

Remiel looks around to make sure no one heard that, and then he does the weirdest fucking thing. He reaches under the table and takes my hand, holding it right there on my leg. The fuck? I stare at him, too afraid to look away and miss thereasoning for this weird act of affection. I like it, but it pisses me off. Does he think I’m weak and in need of comforting?

“Keegan,” he says, fingers moving through mine. “Why’d you walk away from me last night?”

“Why do you care?” I tilt my head.

“Because I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fucking fine. Jesus.” I almost pull my hand away, but fuck… I can’t. To touch him is as grounding as it is infuriating. “You aren’t my hero, Remiel. Stop acting like it.”

“I don’t get you.” He’s the one to remove his hand, and I almost flip the table when he does. “You act like you own me. You won’t let anyone touch me or look at me. But I can’t be the same for you?”

“You’re not being possessive. You’re being soft, and I don’t… respond to soft.”

But maybe I want to. Maybe I can. Maybe I want Remiel to touch my hand again, and maybe I want to touch him back.

A bowl of soup and half a sandwich are placed in front of each of us, glasses of water set in the middle of the small table. The server leaves just as quickly. I don’t pay attention to what kind of soup it is, but I eat it just to shut myself up. Hungry or horny? Or something else?

“Fine,” Remiel snips, picking up his spoon. “We won’t talk about it. We won’t even acknowledge it. We won’t comment on the fact that I said I wanted you, and for whatever reason, you couldn’t handle that.” He looks at the slices on my neck, the ones that started our game of confessions. “And we won’t even think about the knife you made me hold to your throatwhile you fucked me.” He almost shouts the last four words.

The restaurant goes silent, and my fury builds. I never look away from Remiel’s eyes, and he never looks away from mine. He’s drawn to my monsters, and right now, he’s rattling their chains so hard they’re bound to break loose.

“Careful, Remiel. Downtown Moros isn’t where you want me breaking free.”

Finally, a spark of something other than worry and pity lights up his blue eyes. It’s defiance and his craving for a challenge. “You keep threatening that, but I’ve never seen you crack. Starting to think it’s all talk.”

Did I do this to him? Did I manipulate and control him so well that I turned him injurious? I’ve accidentally controlled people before and turned them into something they aren’t, which was how I got the sociopathic diagnosis, but my brother does that better, and Remiel is smarter than that. Why does he willingly goad an insane man?

“I’ve never cracked?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Is this another attempt to get me to kill you, Remiel?” I ask.

“No.”

“Then what the fuck do you mean? What I’ve already done to you isn’t cracking?”

“No,” he scoffs. “That’s just you.”

Just me. “Think back. Think of everything I’ve done to you. Think hard, Remiel, and don’t remember it all with rosy sex glasses. I’ll wait, and when you’re done, you can let me know where your goddamn morals are. Because I don’t get it anymore.”

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