Page 30 of Seven+Four

“This is your bedroom,” I exclaim, remaining on the threshold.

“Our bedroom,” he counters, cool as a cucumber.

“Our…bedroom?” I repeat like a parrot. I look at his unfazed expression, confused.

He sits at the foot of the bed and starts to take off his boots and socks. “We used to sleep together.”

“When we were kids,” I remind him.

“Is there another bedroom downstairs?” Or was I mistaken once again, and my staying here is evidently temporary.

“We always sleep together when under the same roof.”

That hasn’t happened in months, though. “I know, but…”

“But what?” He looks annoyed now. Almost on a warpath.

“Nothing. Okay,” I yield. I know there’s no point in arguing with him.

“Unpack while I take a shower.” He disappears behind the bathroom door, leaving me utterly speechless. I’d love to know what’s going on in his mystifying mind, but I’m also afraid of all the darkness existing there.

He’s dominating my every thought again, and I’m living with him. Am I crazy? I must be because I haven’t even taken into consideration to stay with another brother. He was the first and only option for me.

I turn around and go back to the walk-in closet to empty my bags and put my clothes away. Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen Uri’s body bare—not since he was around seventeen. I know he’s not a prude, because he did some modeling before that—I still have all the magazines and catalogs featuring him. He suddenly stopped, though, and started stock trading. He has the body and the brains, and he’s so confident and unapologetic—my complete opposite. I really don’t know why he wastes his time protecting me.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m on the first floor in the kitchen making myself a green tea. I’m still in a daze because of what I found inside the closets and drawers upstairs—so many clothes andaccessories they made my head spin—when he comes in wearing a pair of gray sweats and a long-sleeve, black cotton shirt.

I don’t ask him if he wants one. He hates tea, more of a black coffee guy. So I pour a fresh one and place it on the round table. The kitchen—just like the rest of the house—is fantastic. Lemon chiffon cabinets and drawers, and stainless steel counters, appliances, and stove. Unfortunately I don’t cook, and neither does Uri.

He sits on the chair next to mine and slides the coffee mug toward his chest.

“What’s this?” I ask him when he leaves a black bracelet near my tea cup.

“Rami made it.” He takes a sip from his mug before putting it down and grabbing my wrist. He moves my sweater sleeve up, brushing my skin with his fingers. Then he wraps the bracelet around my wrist. I feel the black band tighten and then a click.

“It monitors your vital signs. It notices sudden rises in your pulse rate, body temperature, and breathing.”

Joy, another controlling device to track my every move. It’s like a shackle, the feel of it on my skin reminds me how weak and defenseless my brothers think of me. They are really impossible at times.

“I don’t need it. I already have the tracker behind my ear and in my phone. Take it off.” I huff pulling at it, but the bracelet doesn’t move. “Where’s the clasp?” I don’t see it.

“There’s a key to open it and I have it. Only me.”

“And you have no intention of taking it off.”

“No. You need it.”

“No I don’t. But you see me as the weakest in need of extra monitoring,” I clip, still trying to take the contraption off.

“No, Sully is the weakest,” he calmly replies, stopping my hand by curling his around it and then placing our laced fingers on the table. The hold soothes me, but I don’t know if he’s patronizing me or using his sociopathic condition as a dumb card—wouldn’t be the first time. I don’t like either possibility.

“Give me the key!” I snap.

“No.”

I snatch the tea mug from the table and take a big sip, forgetting for a moment how hot it is.

“Mmm!” I moan, feeling the blazing beverage burn my tongue and inner mouth before it goes down my throat like searing lava.

---