Page 37 of Thorns from the Fall

The moonlight leaks out from his room onto the hallway floor. I don’t know how he manages to sleep with it so bright, but there are no blinds or curtains, probably another precaution Gwyn has taken to keep him from hurting himself. I’d done the same thing to an extent when he was living in the compound. Slowly, he had been detoxing from living off of demon blood,and he’d still been haunted by his girlfriend’s death. But he’d been able to get through it then.

I can help him through it again.

There’s a small desk with rounded corners just inside his bedroom. The chair is one of those special rocking ones they keep at psychiatric hospitals that don’t tip no matter how you stand on it.

Truthfully, I don’t know why they bothered to go to this extent. Without silver or demon blood, any suicide attempts locked inside this apartment would do nothing but cause him pain. And as far as I know, suicide is usually about ending the pain, not making it worse. Still though, when I notice strange blankets on top of his sleeping form, I realize they’re probably the anti-tear kind. He can’t make a noose out of a blanket that is too thick to roll up.

It tells me more about Gwyn than I’d like to think about. Though Margot had done plenty of snooping, everything they’d released into the world had been carefully curated to distract and feed me a narrative about who she was. They’d left out any psychiatric hospital stays, but when Remy rolls over, and I see a smock made of the same material as the blanket, I think she must have found herself in one at some point in her life.

Her expertise is noticeable.

I fucking hate her for making me think about her in this goddamn moment.

Margot’s footsteps move back toward the living room, likely wanting to give me privacy for this moment with my brother.

But I don’t know what to even say to him or how to act. It’s been so long, and I’m so tired, and everything has gone to hell. I wanted him back and missed him so badly, but now that I have him, I don’t know what to fucking do with myself. Every emotion threatens to spill over, and as I sit down on the bed beside him, my fists clench in my lap against my will.

Slowly, I open my hand. I uncurl each finger, inhaling and exhaling with each new digit. Getting him back was my original goal, and I can’t allow myself to dwell on how we got here.

I place my hand on his leg, allowing the weight of it to rouse him.

During the height of his detox, he had been easily startled. Now though, he wakes up like he did as a kid, slow and confused. It’s strange to see him with a beard since he’s always been clean shaven. Unlike vampires born to human parents, the Ascension doesn’t ‘lock in’ our appearance. We’ll still age until we settle on the body Ansi’s blessing wants for us. I think I’m done with it myself, but seeing how Remy’s face has thinned out since I’d seen him last, I suspect he’s a few years behind me.

He looks the same but so different.

His beard is unkempt, and it’s strange to witness. Based on all her other precautions, I see why Gwyn didn’t leave him a blade. His hair is long, though not as long as mine, and when he sits up, it curls against his shoulders. My brother looks like me—but his features are more refined and delicate, like my mother’s.

When he finishes yawning, and his eyes finally focus, it takes him a moment to understand what’s happening.

“Ro?” he says, voice breaking. He rubs his eyes as if he thinks it might be a dream, but I nod, and he launches himself at me.

“Hey, little bro,” I say, wrapping my own arms around him. He’s sobbing against my shoulder, and my throat goes thick with emotion. I don’t have words, just a deep gratitude that I am able to see him again. To touch him, to talk to him, to laugh with him.

He’s all I have left.

“I’m sorry,” he says into my chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Remy. C’est bon, petit frère,” I say, rubbing my hand down his back. He’s four years old again, and I’m protecting him from the sight of our decapitated mother’s body. The image of her head rolling away from us and the scent of herblood had lingered, and I can imagine the sight plainly now. I’ve always been there, ready to defend him, but I hadn’t been able to protect him from that. I haven’t been able to protect him from his mental illnesses either.

My hand clenches again, fingernails digging into my palm once more, when I think of all the ways I’ve failed my brother. My free hand rubs over his back, not allowing him to see my emotions. This is the way of things. I take care of him, and he keeps my humanity intact. Without him, I’d kidnapped someone who destroyed everything.

I won’t take this for granted.

“How are you here? How did you find me?” he asks. “Are they dead? Did you kill Sasha?” He holds my shoulders at arm’s length, searching my face for the answer. Genuine fear furrows his brows, and he bites his lip.

I wonder if Sasha has managed to burrow beneath his skin like her parasite of a sister did to me.

“Gwyn gave you up,” I say, not able to tell him about our uncle. In blood, I’ve added one more sin to my list. After inscribing the words ‘kin killer,’ I don’t know if there’s any point in keeping track of all that I’ve done. Not anymore.

I don’t want Remy to know yet.

“She just…gave me up? What do you mean?” he asks, and all I can do is stare at him. My baby brother is alive. Every haunting nightmare I had that involved his blood being drained from him shouldn’t matter anymore, but the stain those imaginings have left on my soul lingers.

“She did,” I nod, and suddenly I need to know every single thing that occurred up to this point. I should console him, and just live in this moment, but I want to know what the fuck she did to him.

I need to know exactly what Gwyn’s role is in all of this. Each word, each action, each punishment she has doled out—will be paid back in kind to her before I’m finished.

“What happened?” I ask. “How did you get mixed up with Susan?”

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