Page 29 of They Call Him Reaper

Dante inhales and exhales deeply as he pumps out his pull up reps. All his muscles contract, showing that it really is a fullbody effort. He stops, allowing himself to hang as he gives me a pointed look. After a few seconds, I roll my eyes and get up to go back inside. I didn’t have to stay hostage on the inside, but I wasn’t exactly going to explore the island. Dante didn’t care where I went as long as I wasn’t staring at him while we worked out.

I pick up the tablet and open the book I started right before his illness got the best of him. It was interesting before his health went to hell. I’m halfway through the chapter, when he passes me, completely nude on the way to the shower. My post period horniness is kicking my ass, and he has the audacity to be mean and naked.

Rolling, I grab the pillow and scream into it as the water runs in the next room. My imagination was one thing, but he has given me the reality of what he can do, just to take it away, leaving me in the real version of our dynamic. I’m his hostage. I shouldn’t lust after my future murderer. Every day, even when he was sick, I’ve tried to think of a way out of this, but there isn’t one.

Sighing, I opt to go back to my story. The tablet shuts off, making me realize I don’t remember where I left the charger. It doesn’t help that he has rearranged almost everything. I walk around, checking the usual spots since it’s not that big of a space. Eventually, I turn toward the cabinet that holds all his passports. I’m happy the charger is the first thing I see on the shelf, all I have to do is grab it, then go back to minding my business.

My hastiness, however, knocks something over and I rush to grab it, so I don’t upset the beast. I inch closer, hoping that it’s as innocent as it looks.

“Please be a simple child’s toy and not an undercover spy gadget or grenade,” I whisper as I pick it up.

It’s a Rubik’s cube, but it’s not the usual blue, green, white, orange, and red combination. Each side is a different shade of purple.

“I had a cube like this,” I say to no one, but as quickly as my smile appeared, it dropped as my brain started to drag out long forgotten memories.

My mom gave me one like it for my birthday; it’s one of the last gifts she gave me before she died. I briefly wonder if he stole it, but as my thumb glides over my initials, I remember exactly what happened to it.

I sat on the edge of my bed, swinging my legs as I twisted the cube in all different directions, not sure what I’m supposed to do with it. My mom folded some of my shirts while she softly hummed a song.

“Mom, why doesn’t my brother like me?

She stopped humming and gave me a puzzled look. “You don’t have a brother, honey.” Placing the shirt in my drawer, she sat down next to me. “Why do you think you have a brother who doesn’t like you?”

“Because kids at school get to play with their siblings. Dante doesn’t talk to me. I heard Dad say he’s getting Dante a special birthday gift, but I wasn’t invited to the party,” I explained while I pouted.

My mom’s big brown eyes tilted in sadness. “Oh, honey. Dante isn’t your brother.”

“He lives here like I do. You’re not his mommy?”

My mom held me close. I don’t know how to name her scent, but I love the way she smells.

“No. I’m just your mommy. Dante is here because he doesn’t have parents.” She sighed hard as she tried to think of a way to explain it to me. “It’s complicated, sweetheart, but he’s not our child or your brother.”

I perked up, no longer feeling rejected. “That’s probably why he doesn’t talk. He’s too sad.”

“I can imagine, baby.” My mom dropped a kiss on my forehead and hugged me tighter.

I held up my toy. “I’ll give him this for his birthday.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I got that custom just for you.”

“I know,” I said with a nod. “That’s why he needs it.”

“Explain,” she asked slowly.

“The love, Mommy! It’s made with love from my mommy. He needs a mommy’s love.”

I stared at my mom as she wiped tears from her eyes. Her sadness seemed so out of place. It was Dante’s birthday; we should have been happy.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?”

She smiled to distract me from her tears. “You’re such a sweetheart. You’re right. He needs love.”

My chest hurts, limiting my ability to breathe. If my memory is correct, the hate he has for my father can only mean terrible things.

“What are you doing?” he asks, pulling my attention to him.

I’ve been zoned out for so long that I didn’t hear the shower end. His chest is bare, but he’s wearing lounge pants as he dries his damp hair.

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