Page 84 of The Revenge

Aside from the background thrum of the heat, the house is silent. I walk down the hallway to the opposite side of the apartment where the two guest bedrooms are. I doubt Royal and Gemini are asleep yet, but I’m not in the mood for their company. Royal will just question what my father’s doing, and Gemini…

Gemini—and Royal—are my best friends. We grew up together, and I do trust them with my life. Gemini has always been… off… My mother thinks he’s a mental deviant. Considering she doesn’t know a single percent of the things Gemini does, she’s not entirely wrong.

He’s too smart for his own good and gets bored easily. Blurting out the first thing he thinks is done as much to get a reaction as it is because he’s not willing to learn social cues. Veryfew people know how to handle him, which helps, with who we are.

When he remembers to take them, his meds calm him. They seem to put a filter over his mouth. As spacey as he can get, when it comes to it, he will know what he needs to do, and he’ll get it done.

Right now, he’s going to be doing a hopscotch back and forth over a line, seeing how far he can push Royal.

It’s a distraction.

He’s trying to distract himself as much as he is Royal. And he’ll do the same with me.

It’s the last thing I want right now.

I enter the other guest bedroom. What’s left of my tuxedo gets thrown over a chair, and then I head into the bathroom. Mother ensures there are supplies in here for every guest, and like the place has been turned down by a hotel maid service, miniature toiletries and fresh towels are already there.

Inside the shower, I reach to turn on the water, but my hand hovers over the lever as I stare at the stark white bandage. Given the chance, I would have beaten Preston until my hand was nothing but bone.

Royal and Gemini pulled me off him too soon.

The blood Tori cleaned away was mostly his. While my knuckles were cut, they didn’t need the dressing.

But I do my best not to soak the bandages anyway as I shower.

Once I’m finished, I wrap myself in a towel and investigate the closet. Like with the bathroom, my mother ensures a portion of the closet contains some essentials should a guest need them. I’m not sure why she bothers because who the hell stays somewhere without bringing their belongings with them?

Except tonight, both Royal and Gemini’s stay was unplanned. And all of my things are in my room.

Too tired to care, I pull on a pair of pajamas and then get into bed.

Only, I can’t sleep.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m walking back down the hallway.

There are six bedrooms on this floor; three on either side. Unless we have guests, my parents sleep in rooms on opposite sides of the apartment. It’s been like that for as long as I can remember.

My mother had the interior designers in six months later, and what little I remember from when I used to play in these hallways with JP has completely disappeared. It’s all changed again since I’ve been in college, including my own room.

Warm air is blowing out of the vents, but there’s a chill that’s settled over me. Instead of heading to the guest room, my feet seem to take me to the room I visited last night: JP’s bedroom.

After walking into my room, I’d been so distracted that I didn’t recognize anything. The custom-built vivarium for Basil was removed and replaced with a TV unit. While I was in China over the summer, I had him moved to my room at JKU where Moran had looked after him.

Later, it occurred to me that if my mother could wipe the existence of my pet away, then what had she done to JP’s room? Last night, I went to his room to make sure she hadn’t destroyed everything in there too. Now, I’m back in here again.

Everything is the same. And yet, it isn’t.

The walls were still JP’s favorite color, but the red is deep, like every wall has been coated with a fresh layer of paint. The bedding held no wrinkles until I laid on it last night. After all this time, I know it’s impossible for the fabric to smell of him, but there wasn’t a hint of him.

When I thought I was losing my mind, I started seeking out all the damages JP and I caused when we were young. The curtains no longer had a small burn from when JP stole one of Father’s cigars one Christmas Eve when I was eleven, yet the curtains hanging from the pole were identical to the ones that had always been there.

The inside of the closet door didn’t have the lines drawn up the side from where seven-year-old me tried to convince JP I was catching up with him in height. He laughed before spending the next two years marking our heights before I sulked and stopped. My growth spurt had hit the year after, and we stayed the same height. As far as I know, me and JP were the only ones who knew about this, but now, that story has been painted over.

Around the room, the collection of memories I’ve had with JP have all been erased. And yet, his photographs are still on the wall, his trophies and accomplishments on the shelves, and all his clothes still hang in the walk-in closet.

I walk over to his desk, but as I pass his bookshelf, the digital photograph cycles onto the next picture.

It’s a picture of JP and Preston, both in their hunting gear. Between them is a large, dead boar.

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