Page 18 of Watched

He takes a step closer, pressing his forehead to the gun. “Do it, you fucking coward.”

My hand trembles. “Fuck you.”

“DO IT!”

Slivers of moonlight seep through the cracks in the balcony curtains, and I know he can see the war waging inside me.

I know he needs me, but, goddamnit, when do I finally get to start living for me?

Lowering the weapon, I click on the safety, and his smile morphs into a dark grin. I swing my arm, the gun colliding with his head with a resounding thud. His smile only widens as dark liquid pours down his face, and he barrels toward me, knocking the air from my lungs and launching me back onto the marble floor. My skull whacks against it, and I groan through the pain before landing another hard hit across his cheek with the gun as he straddles me. Our arms are a tangled web as he fights to disarm me.

His fist collides with my jaw, sending pain ripping through it and throwing my head sideways. Copper fills my mouth as he rips the gun from my hands and launches it across the room. The slick blood on his cheek lessens the impact of my next punch, and a calloused hand wraps around my throat, pinning me down. I let my bloodied teeth shine with a snarl as I drive my knee into his back, causing him to fall forward. My fist collides with his ribs, and his blunt nails dig into my neck.

“Surrender,” he clips in a panted breath.

My lungs burn as I claw at his wrist, blood spilling from my mouth to trail across my cheek. “Y-you,” I choke, “w-won’t kill m-me.” He stares. I smile. “I’m the only o-one on your s-side. You can’t g-get back to her without my h-help.”

His enraged breaths mix with my gargled chokes, and just when white stars dot my vision, he releases me. Throwing another punch across my aching cheek, he rolls off me, and I roll to the side.

Once I’ve successfully coughed up a bloodied lung, I roll onto my back, panting. Blade sits against the wall beside the door, elbows to his knees, head hanging.

No matter how many times we’ve fought like this and threatened death upon one another, neither of us can ever follow through. Instead, we leave each other bruised and bloody to get our threat across.

“You didn’t do it,” I breathe out. “If you really wanted him dead, he wouldn’t have seen you coming.”

“I need you,” he whispers.

“I’m right here, but if you ever go near him again, I won’t help you get back to her.”

He lifts his head. “It’s been almost five years, and you haven’t helped me at all.”

I spit out more blood and lift to my elbows. “Are you giving up hope, brother?”

“As far as she’s concerned, I’ll never give up.”

The admittance settles me a little, because part of me is always scared I’ll lose my brother to his own gun. Blade’s a fighter, but everyone has their limit.

He pushes up to stand and step over me.

“Promise me you won’t go after him again,” I plead.

“I’m a manipulative, lying cunt,” he throws my words, used to describe him eight years ago, back in my face. “I could promise you that, but it wouldn’t be true.”

Swiping my gun off the floor, he unclips the magazine to flick the bullets out one by one. Not because I’ll use them against him, but because pissing me off is enjoyable for him. Once it’s empty, he drops the weapon to the floor and turns to stalk down the hall, slamming his bedroom door shut.

I stumble to my feet, blinking hard to rid the pain throbbing in my head, and wipe the blood from my split lip with the back of my hand.

Blade was always my constant person too, but I’ve finally found someone else I don’t want to let go of.

“RAIN!” Blade’s voice booms through my closed door, startling me awake. Throwing back the comforter, I round my bed and swing my door open, ready to run directly into his room across the hall. I stop, catching him stumbling through the stairwell door in my periphery.

The more distance I eat between us, the tighter my stomach twists. Blood pours from his back, staining his black sweatpants and leaving a crimson trail behind. He groans and loses his footing. I catch his sweaty shoulders, but his weight knocks me down. I grunt when my still-sore back hits the floor, and my eyes widen, watching the blood pour from the deep gash cut from the end of his right collarbone to the middle of his spine.

“People,” he breathes out raggedly, “ambushed me in the stairwell. I tried to fight, but—”

“Save your breath,” I croak.

He growls behind his teeth as I slide out from under him and race to the hall closet to fetch towels, then to my room to get my phone. Dialling 999, I put it to my ear, holding it with my shoulder.