Page 51 of Alamort

Finally, once I’m in the house, I want a shower to clean off the memories that are ghosting my skin. No one tells youthat trauma will always find a way to haunt you. It’s one of those things that goes unsaid and can only be understood once it’s happening. At least I’m not like Malice. That guy destroys everything he touches. On another note, I think Saint is still a virgin. Anytime the topic comes up, he changes the subject. When I get bored enough, I’ll look into it. Deflect.

Heading up the stairs to the bedrooms, I follow the smell of fresh laundry and asshole, straight to Crew’s bedroom. The room looks like a guest bedroom, with only a bed, nightstands, and our four chairs. Oh, and that little area where he keeps his alcohol. Other than that, I wouldn’t assume someone lived in here. It’s lonely.

Sadness weighs me down as my steps become slower into my brother's room. A thick syrup runs in my veins instead of blood. Does he really have nothing sentimental enough to have in here? There are no pictures of our family, even Ty. None of his accomplishments in his life. There is nothing. Not even dirty clothes are on the floor. An idea chases away the sadness. I’ll get him a custom shirt or blanket with my face on it. That way, he’s never alone and when he misses me, because everyone does, he’ll still have me.

With that in mind, I bust open the bathroom door. Thick clouds from the shower pour out of the doorway, filling his room in a misty atmosphere. I leave the door open so I can breathe properly. I tiptoe over to the foggy shower glass, to not disturb the silence. The shower hides his features, leaving only an outline, which means he might see mine if he pays attention. I’d like to think of myself as a ghost, invisible and barely making noise.

I bring my finger up to the glass and draw a big heart before using my entire hand to wipe away the center and place my face there for Crew to see.

Putting on my cheesiest smile and batting my eyelashes, I ask, “Can I join you?”

Instead of scaring him and making him jump, he freezes, still as a statue. He’s almost a replica of myself. Sudsy bubbles cling to his mocha- colored skin from his soap. Except scars line his body from his time with Steve. His back is the worst of it, though. It looks like he was whipped. Raised scars crisscross on his back, a constant reminder of the trauma he endured. Crew always talked about getting it covered with tattoos like Malice did for Saint, but I think a part of him is afraid.

It’s better to ignore it, then to bring it up. The other night was a once in a lifetime opportunity to hear about it. I wasn’t going to miss that.

I wonder if he washes his hair with laundry detergent since he always smells like clean linen. So, I ask him, just making naked conversation on the other side of the glass with my ‘big’ brother.

“Or here’s a thought. I wash my fucking clothes, dirtball. Get the fuck out of here.” He resumes washing himself, rinsing the bubbles away before starting on his hair. My lips purse, giving him a look that says “Really?”.

“Dude, we have the same equipment. Don’t get all shy on me now. Your body is a temple or what?”

His body heaves as he lets out a long sigh. “I’m not in the mood to put up with your shit today, Ben.”

It’s possible Amber was right about what she heard. Before I can ask, my phone dings in my pocket, a text from Saint.

“Dear brother, we are being summoned.” I say in a posh British voice, mocking Malice. He grunts a response.

“Is that a ‘yes’, ‘no’, or an ‘okay’?” If I can press his buttons, I will. Bad day or not, who else will give these guys a laugh? They’re not funny. I’m the life of the party.

“I need a new phone.” He mumbles, shutting the shower off by pressing a button on the wall. The steam has mostly cleared out, so I can see my hand in front of my face. The only thing that’s changed about him is the vein in his throat throbbing, and that only happens when he’s livid. He’s still the same old grumpy guy we know and love.

I wait for him to elaborate on the phone situation.

“She threw it.”

Unable to hold back my laughter, I die. Tears are coming out of my eyes, and I struggle to breathe as my chest tightens. Why the hell would she do that? Does she have a death wish? Oh my God but imagine his face when she took it from his hands and threw it. I bet it was good.

My eyes connect with his dark honey-colored ones, and I laugh harder. His scowling expression is so intense that it looks like he has a unibrow, while his arms remain tightly crossed against his chest, clearly not finding this situation as hilarious as I do. Wiping the tears from my face and take a much-needed breath. “Oh, fuck.” I say, while sighing. “I needed that, thank you.”

“Are you done?” He replies, short and snippy.

“Huh? Yeah.” This time I’m able to swallow the laughter that threatens to come up. Clapping him on his wet shoulder, I make sure it hurts a little.

“Let’s go see what Saint is up to.”

He follows me out of the room, towel and all. We can hear Saint talking to Malice before we reach the door. The harsh hushed whispers seem like they're in a disagreement about something, which is extremely unusual. I gauge Crew’s reaction to see he’s slightly alarmed at this development. Stepping on a creaky floorboard outside his door, the talking stops. Crew opens the door and walks in like he owns the place. Drama queen, I swear. Everyone thinks it’s me but get a load of this guy.

Saint is laying on his messy bed, head hanging off the end with his squishy blue stress ball in hand. Pillows are strewn around on the floor, giving the room a messy appearance. The other half of the room looks like Crew came in here and tidied up. How long has it been since he’s left the room? It smells a little stale in here, like sweaty balls. At least he has actual clothes on, jeans and a white T-shirt. The bags that were under his eyes a couple of days ago are long gone. He looks much better, refreshed even. Since my brother always takes the chair closest to the door, I have no choice but to sit in the computer chair.

Saint jumps to stand on the bed, “I found something!” His excitement reminds me of a puppy excited to see its owner. Crew’s eyebrows raise at Saint’s eagerness. Me? I’m foaming at the mouth to see what our little techie found.

“Okay, remember when I said I had a theory I was working on?” We both nod.

“Okay, okay, well. If you look up the articles for the fire that was set in the school library, you’ll find hardly anything on it. Remember how dad didn’t want Ty’s death in the paper? What if the Carter’s didn’t want theirs in the paper either? The messages stopped coming on the same day of the fire. There was no public funeral.”

I’m unable to keep up with Saint. He’s talking a million miles a minute. He lost me after the first sentence. Casually, I glance at Crew from the side of my eye. He appears as confused as I do. I don’t want to bring Saint down from whatever high he’s on, so I leave it to the party pooper.

Crew holds his hand up, effectively stopping Saint. “Now let’s try again, in English this time. Take a deep breath.”

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