Page 26 of They Call Him Reaper

Dressed, I come out in time to see him stumble, then right himself. His naked body sways a little while he clutches his head. Immediately, I go to him and wrap my arm around his waist.

“What do you need to do, Dante?”

“Just pee,” he rasps as he tries to move independently of me. “I got it.”

“You have a severely cut leg and possibly the flu.”

He snorts at my words, like it’s impossible for him to be sick although he’s just that. “Let go.”

I do as I’m told and step back to watch him shakily make his way to the bathroom. He leans on the doorjamb, taking slow deep breaths, like he’s giving himself a mental pep talk. After a deep sigh, he pushes his way inside to lean on the small vanity. I hate watching people struggle to do something by themselves. I’d want to say he’s being stubborn, but the reality is, he’s all he has. This is normal for him.

He slowly lifts his head, and our eyes meet in the mirror. There are a mix of emotions in his brown eyes, but irritation is the top. I don’t get the feeling like it’s solely aimed at me this time. I don’t feel the spike of fear I’d usually feel when he gives me an evil eye. No, he doesn’t like that I’m seeing him like this.

As if confirming my theory, he limps over to the bathroom door and closes it, leaving me outside. Something crashes, and he groans in pain, and somehow it hurts that he’d rather suffer than allow me to help. I should be amused that he’s suffering but I have a feeling that he’s nevernotsuffering. I choose to do what I can and change the sheets while he does whatever he needs to do.

I hear the shower as I flatten the last wrinkle out of the new sheet. His barely touched oatmeal and the tea stares at me while I sit on the side of the bed, waiting for him. After too much time passes, the silence on the other side starts to worry me. It takes five pep talks to build enough courage to try again. I knock softly and open the door when I’m ignored.

Dante sits on the toilet, using it as a chair, while he rests his head on the sink. The toothbrush dangles from his fingers and toothpaste foam is still present on lips. I take the toothbrush from him and rinse it.

“Did you finish brushing?” I ask and put it back in its place once he nods. I pick up a disposable cup and fill it with water. “Want to rinse?”

He takes the cup and rinses his mouth to spit in the sink. Water drips in fat droplets from his still too wet hair. It’s as if he only had enough energy to shower. I stand in front of him and take the towel from his lap.

“Stop.” His protest is weak and hoarse.

“I’m just helping,” I say gently as I wrap the towel around his head.

He drops his head on my abdomen as I gently massage the water out of his hair. I hear him sniffle before his shoulders shake. It would be jarring if I were anyone else, but as a person who’s spent time as an ER nurse, I know tears are motivated by different things. In his case, I don’t think he’s crying because he’s sick and hurt. I think he’s too sick and hurt tonotcry. He doesn’t have the energy to hold in his feelings like he normally does.

I, on the other hand, have the energy to hold in my tears, so I do just that. Although I’m his hostage for whatever my dad did to him, this moment isn’t about me.

“I changed the sheets,” I tell him so we can both pretend he’s not crying. “Let’s get you comfortable so you can go back to sleep.”

SIXTEEN

Dante

My mindand body are at war. I want to move, but I can’t. The injury and exhaustion made it possible for an illness to consume me more than it ever has. I rarely get sick; I never had time to be ill. The few times I wasn't well, I was still able to take something or power through it. Not this time. My skin hurts every time she touches it, causing me to give myself lectures to not use the little energy I have to stab her.

I know Inaya means well, but her efforts piss me off. Like now, chills shake my body until my teeth clatter, but I clench my jaw to keep it from happening. I just need to warm up, but Inaya has taken the covers from me. She swears I’m too hot. The cold towels she places on me sting my skin, but my burning throat makes it hard to protest.

This is foreign to me. Any helplessness I’ve ever felt was at the hands of someone else. It was never the doing of my own body. I’m not sure if this is just an illness or the beginning of the end.

If I’m dying, I just might have to kill her now so we can die together. The alternative would be prolonged suffering for her. If I die and leave her here, she’ll be fine for a bit until she runsout of food, then she’d eventually starve to death. Her future shouldn’t matter to me, but it would be a fucked-up way to die.

While it is my plan to kill her, it was never about her suffering. It was about torturing her father. Quick and painless was my plan for her.My plan.It must be my altered state, but my goals don’t seem to calculate as well anymore. We don't need the island and maybe she doesn’t need to die for me to get revenge. I'll kill Father either way.

None of it will matter if I cannot get out of this fucking bed. My mind screams when my body doesn't follow its command.

Fuck! This is some bullshit.

"Please, sip," she whispers. "You need something in your system to take your medicine." She sounds so sincere that I almost comply, but I'm still mad and cold. "Please, Dante. You need this to help restore your strength. Just a few sips, meds, and rest." I hear her sniff, and it helps me place the sentiment I haven't heard since childhood. Concern. “Please…take the rest you've never had. Let your body do its job."

I don't like rest; it provides too much space for my brain to relive everything that's happened to me. My dreams are the only part of me that's still scared of Father. He's been my recurring nightmare since we met and while I wouldn't hesitate to kill him in the flesh, I can never accomplish it in my dreams. However, I decide that Inaya is right. My body needs this. I cannot kill him if I'm dead. Pure hatred for Father laced with delicate encouragement from his daughter was the motivation I needed to part my aching lips.

Her sigh of relief makes me open my eyes, just to get a glimpse of her expression.Hopeful.

The smoothie coats my burning throat, and pills seem massive as I swallow. The coldness still consumes me, but it's the kiss to my sweaty forehead that makes me put killing her back on the table.

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