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I tap at Nate’s arm, anger simmering to the surface at how he’s being with Daemon. “Nate, leave him alone.”
Daemon’s eyes come to me, and then back to Nate. “No. You do not, though I am not sure she likes your hands either.”
“I’m tired. Just, let’s go to bed.”
“Abel stays up here,” Brantley murmurs, pointing to the sofa. “You’ll be sitting in during our meet tonight. Better you start learning now.”
Abel drops back onto the sofa.
“Here, I’ll take them down. You sit with Abel and talk him through shit,” Brantley orders Nate, who is watching him with careful eyes. Something passes between the two of them and I’m not sure we catch it.
Nate switches with Brantley. I have a feeling that whatever it is that passes between the two of them, it has nothing to do with me.
Brantley pushes past me, and my eyes find Nate once more, but he’s already talking with Abel. We make our way down the dark hallway. It’s furnished with old portrait paintings that cling to the ancient walls. Nate has been even more complicated since being in Perdita and leaving. He’s like a stitch, trying to seal all the splits that have happened with him, but his evil is too dark and strong, spilling between the seams. I want to help him, but I also want to punish him. Punishing him only encourages him and turns him on, so I need to go the opposite way of both love and hate.
I need to go numb with him.
Brantley was right, there are a few bedrooms downstairs. It’s a weird level, giving me creepy vibes. The walls are all dark burgundy, and there’s just one stretch of hallway that’s so small it has my fear of small spaces acting up. There are three doors, all of which open up into a bedroom. In those rooms is one single bed and a small bathroom.
Brantley is leaning on the door frame when I lower myself onto the mattress.
“Are you locking my door?”
“No,” Brantley says. “But I will be locking the main door up the hallway.”
I sigh, leaning forward. “Why do I still feel like a prisoner?”
“Because you are.” He turns to leave, tilting his head over his shoulder slightly. “I’ve left both yours and Daemon’s doors unlocked. Try talking with him, Tillie. See where his head is at.”
“Brantley?” I call out just as he’s about to leave. “Where’s Nate’s dad?”
Brantley chuckles. “All in good time.”
“B?” I whisper and I see from the corner of my eye his footsteps falter. My focus remains on a rough patch on the wall, isolated. So fucking isolated. “Tell me he will be okay. That this up and down bipolar thing isn’t going to be forever.”
Brantley turns around, and I finally bring my eyes up to his. My throat swells with emotion, but I choke down any tears. They cannot see any of my weaknesses, and Nate is my biggest.
“You’ll come to learn, or are already learning, that there are two sides to Nate. This is just him. This is how he is. How he reacts to different circumstances is always erratic, we can never be sure which side we’re going to land on. There’s the jokester side, then there’s his Malum side. He battles with the two personalities a lot, I know this, but one thing you should always remember is that both of those sides have one thing in common.”
I tilt my head, snuffling my nose. “And what’s that?”
He stares at me blankly. “You.”
Tillie
You can’t explain why people do the things they do or why they can be so vastly different. I’ve tried. Being surrounded by somewhat off-balance individuals for the better part of my life has been the biggest teacher of all when it comes to this.
So why is it that when it comes to Daemon, I can feel so strongly for him while really knowing nothing much about him. Connection? Sure. Love? A little bit. But mystery? Danger? Definitely. Daemon is the calm before the storm. You know it could be deadly, but it’s also controlled. I used to think the same about Nate and Bishop, but lately, their decisions have been driven by something far more powerful.
Love and Hate.
“How’s your head?” I ask, taking a seat on his bed beside him. This room is much like mine. They’re identical. “This place gives me the creeps.”
Daemon shuffles closer to me, his feet dangling off the bed. I turn to face him, for the first time with it just being him and I and a long stretch of silence.
“I’ve missed you.”
I lick my lips and turn to face him, my hands coming to his. He looks so different with short hair. It gives his very pretty face a rougher edge. I miss his hair. My hand comes up to his head and I stretch my fingers out over his scalp, feeling the spikes brush against the palm of my hand.
