Page 27 of Dukes of Peril

I jolt out of the memory, slamming off the tap, which is when I see them. The orange bottles are lined up in a nice little row. One, two, three.

See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

It’s been a week since I took my meds–for ‘see no evil’, maybe more. I look at them, their presence as unavoidable as a heartbeat, and then look back up at my reflection. The first real memory I recall having at Saint Mary’s was being convinced that I’d died. I didn’t know why at the time. Back then, the memory of jumping into the river was still a red riddle inside my memories. But I knew something happened. Something enormous. Something unsurvivable.

Something horrifically yellow.

The feeling never really went away. That much I do remember. It’s always been there in the back of my mind, this possibility that everything happening around me isn’t…life. Just synapses firing off inside my brain on the moment of impact. An infinite loop of days meant to provide me with the physical chemicals that made dying a bearable thing.

It’s not something I tell Sy about, because it isn’t all the time. Sometimes, like right now, everything feelstooreal. The smoothness of the pedestal sink. The buzz of the overhead light. The drip of the showerhead. The scent of Nick’s body wash. The dampness of the mat beneath my bare feet.

I haven’t had that feeling in days.

Not since I jumped with Vinny.

Reaching out, I begin opening the bottles, ignoring the orangeness of them, and dump one of each pill into my palm. They go down harshly, scraping at the back of my raw throat, but something inside me strengthens with resolve afterward.

I keep my shower quick, washing my hair one-handed. After, I consider shaving the five days of growth from my face, but doing that one-handed just seems fucking stupid, so I brush my teeth instead. Can’t be having all those pills on an empty, upset stomach, so after getting dressed, I stop by the kitchen for a bagel and one of Sy’s protein shakes.

By the time I step into my boots, the thought of my bed is feeling pretty tempting. My shoulder hurts like a bitch, but there’s nothing anyone can do about it anyway. What’s the point? Sleep is healing. I could do that for two more hours. Or, like, thirty.

You’re just cycling,comes Sy’s voice.Crashing from the mania.

Oh.

Right.

Even knowing that’s probably true, it still tears something within me to pass my bedroom. To reach for my coat, wallet, and keys. To make all the motions of stepping through the door. To leave the hope of crawling into a hole behind.

Nick is waiting in the party room.

I pause at the bottom step, only halfway into my jacket because I refuse to consider how much it’d suck to thread my arm through its sleeve.

He looks me up and down with blank, assessing eyes, and then nods. “Good.”

If I had the energy, I’d be glaring back. “Stellar.”

The walk down the stairs is excruciating. Every step makes the protein shake slosh around in my belly, and even if it didn’t, my legs consider mutiny halfway through. Nick stays quiet ahead of me, but keeps my slow pace, glancing over his shoulder at me, each flight.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” I finally snap, but even that takes too much energy, so I end up slumping on one of the steps.

Nick turns, lifting an eyebrow. “You could have taken the elevator.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself,” he says, watching as I sprawl out. His eyes are annoyingly alert, scanning the stairwell before he lowers himself to one of the steps below me. “We can rest for a second.”

Bitterly, I mutter, “Go ahead.” He twists, giving me a questioning look, and I huff. “Tell me how this is all my fault, and I’m a pussy-ass bitch who should have pledged to the Princes, yadda fucking yadda.”

Nick rolls his eyes, turning his gaze forward, forearms resting on his knees. “Well, it’s no fun if you do it yourself.” I cradle my shoulder, hissing at the tug, wishing for a bottle of whisky and the sweet, sweet release of oblivion. Nick’s quiet, pensive voice breaks the silence. “When I looked at the tracker and saw her in the river, I knew you were with her, and I–” I can’t see his face, but I can hear the distress in his tone. “I can’t lose you, Remy. If I’m a dick to you, it’s only because I love you. And because I know you can be better.” Turning just enough to show me the cut of his jaw, he adds, “And also because I can’t punch you in the face when you already look so pathetic.”

Snorting, I just shake my head. “Take your shot, Nicky. Fair is fair.”

He twists to meet my gaze, and I know he’s remembering that day in the Pit at the Hideaway. I wanted so badly to beat his ass for handing Vinny over to the snakes. And he let me–would have let me do a hell of a lot worse.

Nick gives me a wry, knowing smirk. “Like I said, it’s no fun if you do it yourself.”

I kind of wish he’d beat my ass, too. One of the best things about Nick is how willing he is to call me on my shit. “I want to ask you something,” I start, throat already tightening. “And I need you to be up-fucking-front with me, okay? No bullshit.”

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