Page 12 of The Ecstasy of Sin
We’re bloody, bruised and sweating, but we’re both alive—and that’s what fucking matters.
His eyes narrow on me. A few seconds pass, then his forehead smashes into mine.
Pain detonates behind my brow as my head snaps back, my body falling away from Torin. I land on my back with a thud. As I gaze up at the bright lights above me, red fills my vision. Lifting my hand, I touch it to my eyebrow, and it comes away soaked in blood.
I close the affected eye and sigh, laying there while I catch my breath, until Torin’s bloodied face fills my vision. There’s the faintest smile on his lips. It’s barely there, but it’s enough. He extends a hand toward me.
Relief finally breaks through the haze of pain and bone-deep fatigue, and I reach up and grab his hand. I let him do all the work, hauling my heavy ass off the mat.
Once we are both on our feet, my eyes land on Ghost and Ryker, who are leaning against the wall near the stairs. Both of them have joints between their lips, smoke curling around their faces like mist.
Without a word, Torin walks past them. Ghost holds out his joint, and Torin takes it, inhaling so deeply I think he might be trying to replace the oxygen in his body with the calming drug. I watch as he climbs the stairs in silence.
I don’t follow him right away, because Hunter will be waiting at the top of the stairs to greet him. Hunter knows how to love a broken person, how to help stitch their shattered pieces back together… and that perfect dog of mine will do the work tonight—for my brother, and for me.
“We almost lost him. I’m scared one of these times we’ll fail to save him,” Ryker says quietly as I approach. The immense guilt that haunts him is still there in his eyes, a poison with nowhere to go but inside of him.
Ghost lights another joint, holding it out to me. I shake my head, and he brings it to his lips.
Ghost exhales a thick plume of smoke and drags a hand down his face. He looks as exhausted as I feel. “There’s no other fucking option,” he points out, reminding Ryker of the promise we made to each other all those years ago when we were children. Starving, and huddled together in the darkness of our rotting foster home.
“If he dies, we die with him,” I say flatly, grabbing a towel off a nearby shelf and pressing it to my split brow.
They both nod in agreement. We move as one, and return upstairs.
My modest house is blanketed in the darkness of night, but the glow of the television illuminates Torin and Hunter where they sit on my large sectional couch.
Torin is watching hockey, a replay from tonight’s game, with Hunter’s large head in his lap. With one hand, he’s gently stroking Hunter’s furry neck, while the other holds a bag of frozen vegetables to his swollen jaw.
There’s a bloodied towel beside him where he wiped the blood off his face and neck.
Ryker and Ghost drop down beside him, Ryker stretching out like he owns the whole couch, taking up more space than necessary, as usual. He pulls a chocolate bar out of his pocket, ripping it open and taking a bite. “I swear to fuck, the Leafs are playing better this season than they have in years.”
Torin snorts. Within seconds, they’re arguing about the Maple Leafs’ recent record like blood was never spilled, and like no one was about to die on my basement floor. It’s back to business as usual.
Ghost watches me closely as I pull my phone out of the side pocket of my cargo pants. I quickly type out a text to Dr. Denton to let him know I’m coming in.
The shady doctor runs a twenty-four hour clinic downtown, and he will take any client for the right price; catering mostly to criminals.
Torin tries to steal Ryker’s chocolate bar, earning himself a middle finger as Ryker rolls off the couch with a grunt. Chuckling, Torin returns to stroking Hunter’s back while Ryker hauls himself up again, muttering a promise of murder if our brother ever pulls that shit again.
“You want me to stitch that up?” Ghost asks as I wander into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge, taking a leisurely stroll through the house like I’m not bleeding out of my face.
“Nah. I’m going to grab a quick shower and let the good doctor make me pretty again.” I head in the direction of thebathroom, leaving my brothers to crash in my living room for the night.
What’s the harm in a little vanity? I’ll add it to the long list of my sins, none of which I will bother repenting for.
Heaven wouldn’t want me, anyway.
CHAPTER 4
Wren
Myagonyhasaheartbeat—and it’s the brutal, rhythmic pounding on the right side of my skull. Every step I take is erratic, and my trembling fingers drag along the surface of the cool, concrete wall of the nearest storefront, seeking a break in the structure. I need an alley, somewhere I can disappear.
No matter how many years I’ve lived with this illness, it never stops humiliating me. I know how I must look; stumbling around, my eyes red and watering from the pain, while I quiver like I’m strung out.
People must think I’m drunk, or that I'm just another fucked-up girl rotting in the city streets, chasing my next high.
