The only response I get is an eye twitch.
I leave the room and go to the bathroom, where I find some alcohol, a rag, some gauze, and medical tape. Emo’s not in his office when I come back. Switching direction, I go out into the hallway where I know he’ll be. I find him standing in front of a closed door down at the end of the dark hallway. His head is bent down, black hair in his face, and his chest pumps crazily. I step in front of him, blocking his view of the door. A low growl emits from his throat. Ignoring it, I grip his chin and make him look up at me.
“Not now, Emo. Bathroom,” I order.
The hiss that leaves his lips is an animalistic warning. It would scare the shit out of anyone else and make them turn tail and run, but to me, the sound is normal. Emo is a loose cannon on his best days, but he won’t hurt me. We’ve been through too much shit. We’re brothers. Besides, Emo only maims people who are guilty of hurting others.
The eyes that meet mine look wild and unhinged, like he’s on the verge of losing control. His body shakes and the veins in his neck bulge unnaturally. I hold his stare, unfazed by the dangerous vibes oozing off of him.
“Lock it down and go to the bathroom, Emo.” I keep my voice hard, unwavering. When he gets in these moods, strength and persistence is the only thing that snaps him out of it.
After a moment, he jerks his chin away, gives the door behind me a hated stare, and stalks off toward the bathroom at the other end of the hallway. I follow behind him and set the items I collected on the counter. Emo’s leaning against the sink, his arms lying lifeless at his side. Blood drips from one closed fist.
“Open,” I demand, holding out my hand. With an iron set jaw, Emo opens his palm and drops the key in my hand. It’s coated in blood and has chunks of skin in the grooves.
I stuff the key in his front pocket and turn him around so his hand is over the sink. Turning the faucet on, I rinse the fresh gash then pour alcohol over the wound. This may seem overboard, me caring for him like this, but if I don’t, then he’ll let it fester and become infected. It’s not that he can’t take care of himself, he just doesn’t care enough to want to.
“Grace asked about you the other day,” I say quietly, wrapping his hand in gauze. Tearing off a piece of tape, I secure it in place.
He grunts, his eyes focused on the sink where there’s pink water around the rim of the drain.
“She wants you to call her. Might be a good idea to have her around for a while until you’re done with the tapes.”
His uninjured hand rubs against the key in his pocket. “I’ll give her a call,” he replies gruffly.
I put the first aid stuff back in the cabinet by the sink and turn to Emo. “You know that girl has it bad for you, right?”
“And you know I can’t give her what she needs. The only thing I can offer is a twisted fuck.”
“Well, it’s a twisted fuck she obviously enjoys, or she wouldn’t be coming back for more. Just let her be here for you over the next few days to help calm the darkness.” I walk to the doorway, but stop and turn around. “There’s no need for you to sit and watch the videos. Just play them and leave the room. Call one of us if you need help.”
I don’t leave until I get his nod of acceptance. Once in the hallway, my eyes move to the end and the closed door. The next few days are going to be tough on Emo, and it fucking kills me what he’s abo
ut to go through. I advised him to not watch the videos as they recorded on his computer, but I know he won’t listen. He’ll watch every single fucking second, even if it is torture for him. He’ll use it as another form of punishment he wrongfully feels he should bear. Emo blames himself for the death of Rella. He blames himself for the pain she went through, no matter how many times we’ve told him otherwise.
Closing the front door behind me, I find Grace’s number and hit send.
“Emo should be calling you to come over,” I say when she answers. “Watch over him for a few days. He’s not going to be in a good place for a while.”
“What’s wrong?” she asks, concern edged in her voice.
“Nothing that can be discussed. Just be prepared, and call Judge, Trouble, or me if things get out of control.”
There’s not a chance in hell Emo would hurt her beyond the pleasurable pain Grace likes. No, what worries me is the pain he’ll want her to inflict on him.
“One of us will be by tomorrow to check on him while you’re at work.”
Her breath crackles across the line when she says softly, “Okay.”
Disconnecting the call, I climb in my truck and head to the sheriff’s office.
EDEN
I LOOK DOWN AT THE PRETTY shimmering midnight-blue color on my nails and wiggle my fingers. My eyes slide past them to my feet, which are encased in sandals. My toenails are painted the same color. The color looks surprisingly good against my pale skin. A pale moon against the dark starry sky.
The thought of what JW will think of them crosses my mind, before I inwardly berate myself. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. That’s what I tell myself anyway.
I finger one of the red curls that blows over my shoulder from the slight breeze. My hair feels softer than usual. I need to find out what shampoo the lady in the salon uses.