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light in. It illuminated his twin’s self-proclaimed deathbed.
Bound
107
Cian lay on his side. His hair was lackluster, and he’d lost weight.
In the light of day, his skin looked pasty. Though he probably hadn’t
been out of bed much for the better part of two months, he looked
tired and haggard. Beck tried to summon some sympathy.
“Get out of bed, ya bastard.” Beck kicked the bed. The frame
shook, but Cian stubbornly stayed prone.
“No.” Cian replied with far more bite than a dying man should
have. He pulled the quilt up to his neck and pointedly closed his eyes.
“I’m done, Beck. It ain’t worth it. I can’t think anymore. My mind
won’t work.”
“You think you’re the only one having trouble?” Beck was tired
of listening to his brother’s whining. Sometimes Cian forgot he
wasn’t the only one hurting. “I wanted to kill everything in my path
for a while there. I had to stop myself from going into a rage and
killing innocent people. You just can’t focus.”
Cian’s gray eyes opened suddenly and burned with resentment.
“You can’t understand. I can’t even read a book anymore. My mind
drifts. Sometimes I don’t remember where I am. Do you know what
it’s like to have everything that made you who you are taken away?”
Beck rolled his eyes. “I bloody well do. You’re not the only one
who’s in trouble here.”
Cian shook his head and dramatically turned away. It apparently
took all his energy. “I don’t want to fight anymore. There’s no point
to it. I haven’t the energy. Can’t we just get along? It won’t be long
before I’m gone. I feel it, Beck. I feel death coming for me.”
“You sound like a bad play, Ci,” Beck said with an affectionate
laugh. Cian had always been overly dramatic. Goddess, it would be
