Page 5 of Covenant

Not that he contributes anything, for obvious reasons. With my savings nothing more than dust, we’re more months behind in rent than I’ll ever admit to Jackson.

An older woman exits the building, and I step inside the corridor. It smells musty in here, like mold and tobacco. I hold my breath as I take the stairs two at a time, making my way up to the fifth floor. A tragic level to live on, especially when the elevator doesn’t work most days and my brother can’t move on his own.

My hand shoves into my pocket and I hastily pull out the silver key, slotting it in the hole and twisting, hearing the creak of the door as it’s pushed open. It’s musty in here as well, the cough coming from the bed indicative of something infesting the walls. Probably the floor too.

It doesn’t help that Jackson lost his leg, but he’s losing the ability to breathe as well.

Not that I can afford an inhaler or even a doctor’s appointment.

Everything is fucked.

Rubbing at my eyes, I flick the lock and toe off my remaining shoe before walking toward the single bedroom—the one Jackson occupies. I sleep on the couch, a certain spring in the cushion my mortal enemy every night. But I don’t think about that as I step into the room and see Jackson sitting up in bed, an old gaming controller in his hand. An echo from the past, when I could afford things, when I had money in the bank.

“Hey,” he says with a small smile, his face pale. “I didn’t know you’d be home so late.”

“Yeah, I got busy with job searches.”

“Oh, how did that go?” He sets the controller down and folds his arms across his thin chest. He didn’t used to be this gangly, but with each passing week, more and more of who he used to be disappears.

The same with me.

I have nothing now. Everything was at my fingertips and within days, it was gone.

All of it.

Evaporating into the air around me.

“Good,” I lie. “Really good. Have some prospects.”

“Anything as good as your old job?” he asks, a brow rising.

“Yeah. Even better.”

He cocks his head and stares at me, and I know he knows I’m lying. It’s a game we play. Sad and depressing, but we do it nonetheless.

It’s the only thing that keeps us sane, I think.

“Right, okay. Well, that’s good, I guess.”

His fingers touch the controller gingerly and I hear his stomach grumbling.

“I’ll make you dinner.”

“You don’t need to. I don’t need to eat.”

He goes ignored as I step back out into the kitchen area. My hands pull open the cabinets and I stare at the dusty insides.

Soup it is, I think as I pull out a can and grab a dented pan. I place it on the stove and empty the contents inside, waiting for it to boil before grabbing some ramen and making a bag for myself. It’s what I’ve been living on recently. Ramen, rice, and beans.

And still, the stress of this is making me wither away.

I rub at my chest and feel the way my ribs protrude. To think, a year ago I had a six-pack and now here I am, skeletal. Withering away just like my brother.

Hopefully not for much longer.

That’s if The Firm even grants my request.

They have to, right? I’m sure they don’t give a fuck what they give away, so long as they get their pound of flesh in return.

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