Page 68 of Severance

Mikah doesn’t respond.

“It takes less than ten minutes to take the lives of twenty-four people, but it takes months to get the killer to trial.”

The silence that fills the room is toxic and goes on for a while. Even the crickets decide to take a break.

“The system’s fucked up, Alana.” I hear Mikah behind me as he moves closer and his heat wraps me into a strange, buzzing embrace. He reaches for the window over my shoulder to slide it open and sets a pack of cigarettes and an ashtray on the ledge.

I don’t dare move, because I’m scared if I do, it’ll disturb the fragile balance between us. I revel in his forbidden warmth like a child who’s eaten stolen candy.

Mikah lights up our cigarettes and leans to the side. He rests his elbow against the window frame and slowly blows the smoke into the air outside.

“Do you ever think about doing something to unfuck it up?” I ask, tapping my cigarette lightly against the edge of the ashtray.

“Like what?” He brings his beer to his mouth and takes a swig.

“I don’t know.” I’m wondering if Jess has ever tried to rope him into protesting, but the question never comes up because it doesn’t feel right.

“There’s nothing I can do to make things different.” A sad smile touches Mikah’s lips. “I’m not a fucking magician. I don’t want this hate to consume me. I don’t want anger and rage to rule my life, because I don’t want to waste however much life I have left.”

I let out a deep sigh. My gaze drops to the bottle of beer I’m holding and I realize I’m starting to feel dizzy. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast and all it’s taken for the alcohol to get to me is a couple of sips. The weird thing is that I like this sensation of dullness taking over my body. There’s no worry anymore. It’s temporary, but it’s still nice.

I finish my cigarette and light another one. Mikah does the same. After we’re done with the first round, he gets us two more beers from the fridge. Talking seems useless at this point, so there’s very little of it. No matter what we say, things are still messed up and we’re still hurting.

Instead, I just watch Mikah. I study the lines of his face and length of his hair, the curves of his arms, and the ink scattered over his olive skin. Looking at him does funny things to my insides, but I blame it mostly on the alcohol.

“Did he ever tell you how I fucked up his hair when he was seven?” Mikah asks out of the blue and my heart stills. This is the first time he’s brought up Dakota, and I hang on every word.

“Yes. He did.” I nod, tightening my grip around the beer bottle.

“Did he ever tell you about the Legos?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t think so.”

“He caught pneumonia once when he was five…” Mikah’s voice falters. “He stayed in the hospital for several days and my parents bought him a bunch of toys. After he got discharged, they didn’t bring any of them home. They left everything at the hospital.”

“Why?”

“My mother said it was a nice thing to do for the other kids. She didn’t believe we needed more toys.” His gaze lingers on me for a second and then jumps back to the dark sky. “I was pissed at her and at him.” A pause. “So…a few months later, our grandmother gave him a huge Lego set for his sixth birthday. You know what I did?”

An odd flutter fills my stomach. “No. What did you do?”

“I stole it from him and I buried it in the backyard. I was a vengeful motherfucker with a grudge.”

“Did he ever find the Legos?”

“My parents found the box later that fall.”

“Were you always a mean brother?” Emotions begin to jam my chest. The image of a young Dakota crying over his missing Legos burns bright in my mind.

“We were mean to each other sometimes,” Mikah confirms, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “When our mother favored him, I attacked. We fought a lot. We were always competing, but I never let anyone else make fun of him. I attacked other kids when they called him out. Except for the hair incident. I got mad because our mother chose to go see his school play instead of taking us to the fair like she’d promised. It felt like all our plans always revolved around his schedule and I wanted to hurt him for it. It was only that once, and I felt like shit after doing it, but I never told anyone. Not until now.”

I swallow hard and set my bottle on the ledge because my head is spinning.

“When you’re a kid, everything is simple. One minute you hate and the next you love. There’s no middle ground.” Mikah chuckles softly, sipping on his beer. “I felt both of those things toward my parents. You know what I never felt?”

“What?”

“I never felt like I belonged… But I did with my brother. I felt like I belonged with him when we made music.” Mikah runs his palm over his cheek and I realize he’s crying. My restless heart jolts into a sprint. Seeing him defeated makes me want to take all the pain from him, but I have no idea how.

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