It was kind of funny—it took a hell of a lot of alcohol to affect me, and even then, I could close my eyes and be unaffected by it the next day. No hangovers, no repercussions. Just me, enjoying life to the fullest, basking in its depravities and its beauty. Just me, losing myself the only way I knew how.
I’d thought Felice was the answer. She calmed the raging storm inside me, made me feel real and whole, helped me forget that picture.
Me. She made me forget who I was. Who I really was, outside of Grimmstead. Who I would be—or rather, who I wouldn’t be.
I stood in my bathroom, my glass empty and resting in the corner of the vanity. I couldn’t deal with the kids. I couldn’t look at the young me without losing it. Maybe it was wrong, but I felt like a thousand spiders were crawling up my arms, my stomach possessed by some rotten food. I wanted to be sick when I looked at the younger me, and I meant violently ill, not…not how he was sick.
That should be me. The coughing, the lack of energy, the blood. It should all be me.
My eyes were on the sink, but I was slow to lift them to meet my reflection. I looked healthy, though a tad disheveled and tired. I had the damnedest time falling asleep, especially lately. How could I shut my mind off when I was faced with the terror of my own truth? I didn’t know how the others did it.
Closing my eyes, I ran a hand over my face. It was a bizarre thing, to feel yourself unraveling. Ironic that a child was what set me over the edge, and even more ironic it happened after I’d thought that, maybe, I could be happy.
Felice was…she was everything. She encompassed all of the beauty I’d been chasing so long, effortless in how she reeled me in. She could quell the constant storm of anxiety inside me, soothe the pain I didn’t even know I had. I’d thought, foolishly, she had become my answer, the answer to the ever-changing riddle that was my life.
But I was wrong.
I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t be confident or suave when everywhere I looked my miniature was, coughing and looking generally wretched. Another man might be able to be strong and ignore it, focus on the good, but I was not another man. I was me. There was nothing good about me. Nothing redeemable. As much as I peacocked myself, I was no one.
Just a man haunted with the truth of his mortality.
When my eyelids lifted, I met my reflection in the mirror once more. This time, though, I didn’t see who I was today. I saw who I should’ve been—the sickly version of me. The version of me who’d been pulled down constantly with the weight of the truth. Thin, wispy blonde hair, like straw. Deep black bags under both eyes, their blue hue hazy and clouded over. My cheeks were gaunt, almost impossibly so; I looked like a skeleton with hair.
I stared at myself for too long, shaking my head as I stepped back, turning my head away from the mirror. But as much as I tried to ignore it, I simply couldn’t, so I did the next best thing: my fingers curled into a fist and I punched the mirror’s glass, shattering it into dozens of pieces.
And breaking the skin on my knuckles, but I’d be fine.
I’d always be fine. Hence the issue.
Wincing as the pain shot up my arm, I pulled it back, giving a precursory glance to my knuckles. Just a little bit of blood, nothing too extreme.
A knock on my bedroom door caused me to sigh. Whoever it was, it was a loud, rough knock, and I was so not in the mood to deal with anyone else’s shit. Not even my own.
“Whoever it is, don’t come in,” I called out of the bathroom as loudly as I could. “I’m having a naked session with myself. Lotion, toys, the full works!” I swore I heard someone in the hall mutter something about me being a liar, and then I heard my bedroom door opening anyways, even though I clearly did not give an invitation.
My room was always open, metaphorically, and by room I meant something else—my dick—but not now. Now I was losing it.
I stormed out of the bathroom, glaring at the intruder. Payne, no less. He and I had absolutely nothing to discuss, so I had no idea what he was doing here. He was too weird for me, especially now, with that scar around his neck, a constant reminder that he’d been decapitated and yet still walked around like the best of us.
“Isn’t a guy entitled to a mental breakdown every now and then?” I asked in a huff, standing near the bathroom door.
Payne’s grey eyes studied me, noting the blood on my knuckles. “Believe it or not, there’s more going on right now than your…breakdown.” When he spoke, he did not sound terribly impressed.
Ditto.
“Yeah, well, if you could go somewhere else and bug another person with whatever it is, that’d be great.” I went to return to the bathroom, my uninjured hand grabbing the door to shut it and lock Payne out, but I couldn’t.
Payne must’ve moved fast, for as I tried to close the door, he was suddenly there, both his foot and his arm stopping me.
I blinked, nearly stumbling back in shock. “Whoa. What in the hell—”
“If you’re spiraling because of the children, don’t. The children are gone.”
Wasn’t Payne just full of surprises? My fingers dug into the wood around the door. “That’s sad. I’m so terribly sad I missed their departure. Excuse me while I go cry a bit.” Again, I tried to close the door, and again, Payne acted like a doorstopper and didn’t let me.
“The children are gone, but something else happened,” Payne spoke, sounding almost as detached as ever. Almost. There was some emotion hidden in his tone, behind the monotone way he spoke. You had to pay careful attention, otherwise you wouldn’t hear it.
Ugh, did I even want to know what happened now? This place had been nothing but fucking nuts since Felice stepped foot here.
“Frankly, I’m not sure I want to know what else is going on in this shithole,” I muttered. My throat felt dry; I needed another drink. My thirst was unquenchable lately, though with the kids gone, I supposed there was less of a reason to drown myself in whatever I could get my hands on.
That was too sober a thought for me to have right now.
Payne’s silver eyes dropped to my feet, slowly making their way up as he examined me, making his own judgment call about me. “I can see you aren’t ready to handle the major issue, however I am going to ask you to sober up enough to help me get Dagen under control.”
Okay, that meant multiple things were happening, and I wasn’t quite sure how to take it. A part of me wanted to kick Payne in the shins and lock myself in the bathroom—not to mention get myself another drink—but another part of me was curious.
“Dagen?” I questioned. “What’s wrong with him?” If I was honest, I’d grown a bit of a soft spot for the paranoid fellow. It’s what typically followed a session of wild fucking. Dagen might’ve been against the threesome before, but once we got started, he became more than pliant.
I wouldn’t mind having another session like that, actually, but I supposed now wasn’t the time to lose myself in sensual, erotic thoughts. Not with the way Payne watched me.
Ew, that guy really creeped me out.
“I think his paranoia has finally come to a peak,” Payne sluggishly said. “I brought him to his room, but he’s…not well.” His silver eyes studied me with an intensity usually reserved for Felice as he turned and said, “Come on.” Clearly, he wanted me to follow him.
Hmm. I could, or I could close the door and tell him to fuck off.
What did I decide on doing?
Was it what I wanted to do? No, it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t, because somehow I let myself care too much about another person. Caring for someone else, let alone loving another, it was just asking for trouble.
I let out an explosive sigh before trailing after him, exiting my room and following him to Dagen’s. At least the kids were gone, right? At least no four-foot-tall demon was going to pop out of nowhere and start coughing on me.
Dagen’s door was half-closed, and Payne was the first to walk in, his back straight as he headed inside, stepping off to the side as he waited for me to come in
behind him. He closed the door, shutting us all in. I immediately spotted Dagen hunched in the corner of his room, between his tall dresser and his closet, tucked away from the gloomy light coming in from the window.
His fingers were splayed in his black hair, his palms over his ears, his eyes shut behind his glasses. The man was basically in the fetal position, only hunched over instead of lying on his side. He rocked back and forth, muttering something under his breath.
In all the time I’d known him, I’d never seen him this bad.
I glanced at Payne, finding that Payne was already watching me. “Well,” I said after a long moment of silence, “I guess I’ll take a crack at him, unless you want to, you know, have at him.” My charm did not stick the landing, and Payne only stared, his expression unreadable. “Right.”
I gathered up whatever courage I had and moved to kneel before Dagen. Being this close to a man who was obviously having a mental breakdown, well, it reminded me a lot of myself, though at least Dagen’s was all in his head. Me? I had a bloodied knuckle for a reminder, which did hurt, by the way. I wasn’t completely numb when it came to pain.
“Hey there, Dagen,” I spoke lightly, wondering if he could even hear me through the noise that was surely bouncing around in his brain. “How you doing, buddy?” Calling Dagen buddy was weird; his cock had been in my mouth, after all.
Not a good time to remember that.
I was about to say more, but then I was able to perceive what he was mumbling over and over under his breath: “It’s my fault. I didn’t do enough. I couldn’t save her. It’s all my fault. My fault.” And he pretty much just kept repeating variations of those things over and over, whispering like a man who’d truly lost his mind.
Peering over my shoulder at Payne, I met his stare. What the hell was he talking about? I wanted to ask, but instead I turned my attention back to Dagen, asking quietly, “Anything I can do to make it stop, buddy?”
“You can’t stop it. No one can stop it. Demise is inevitable.” Dagen was at least listening to me, though he went off talking nonsense shortly after.
“Dagen,” I spoke his name louder this time, leaning toward him. I set a hand on his knee, stopping his incessant rocking and causing his dark eyes to snap to me. He looked wide-eyed and frenzied, an animal cornered and trapped, even though he was the one who put himself here, not me. “What’s wrong? Is it the noise? Is it bad right now? There has to be something—” I stopped the moment Dagen began to laugh.
As in, chuckle madly like a man who’d completely lost his marbles. Every single marble he’d had before now, which wasn’t many, if I was honest, was gone. Lost to the winds of time and the eternal chaos that was Grimmstead.
“You still don’t get it,” his voice shook with emotion. “You can’t stop it. The noise—it’s always been there. Always. I didn’t…I never thought it was because of me, but it is. It is because of me.” He released his grip on his head to push my hand off his knee, and I responded by grabbing him by the forearm.
To Payne, I said, “Help me get him to the bed.”
Dagen fought both Payne and I as we hauled him up and out of the corner, moving him to his bed. He fought us at every turn, each step of the way, like a child. Like someone who needed a…what was the word? A straightjacket.
Once he sat on the edge of his bed, with Payne and I on either side of him, Dagen let out a shaky breath, a look of pure fright on his face. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I should’ve told her before. I should’ve been down there to stop her.”
I glanced to Payne, having no idea what the hell he was talking about. It was obviously something about Felice, but that was the only thing I could guess. Payne gave nothing away in his expression, though I did note the way his pale jaw clenched.
“It’s not your fault,” Payne finally spoke.
“Yes, you know you should listen to him,” I chimed in, causing Dagen’s dark brown eyes to move to me. “Payne knows what he’s talking about, a lot more than I do. Very rarely do I ever truly understand the words I speak. I sometimes just like to hear myself talk, I think.” I shrugged.
Dagen’s back hunched over, and he buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. “It’s so loud now. I can’t…I don’t know how to stop it.”
Over Dagen’s curled back, I met Payne’s unique stare. “Where is Felice, anyways?” She made the noise stop for him; if we brought her here, surely she’d be able to help him. Although, it was clear something had happened earlier. I just didn’t know what.
“She is…” Payne paused, frowning slightly. “…indisposed currently.”
Indisposed? Did that mean she was fucking Koda or something? Seemed kind of stupid, given what happened with Bram before, but hey, who was I to judge our little minx? She liked to play with fire.
“I could get you something to drink,” I offered Dagen, finding it a logical response since bringing Felice here was out of the question.
“I don’t think a drink is what he needs,” Payne advised, the know-it-all in the room, which earned him a small scowl from me. Needless to say, I did not like being told what to do. Sure, I wanted to help my friend here, but come on. I could only do so much. “He simply needs to calm himself, to realize that all is not lost.”
All was not lost. Right. Hopeful—I could do that, I thought.
Maybe.
I set a hand on Dagen’s back, rubbing it gently, hoping I was being friendly and warm and all that other good shit I normally didn’t really care about being. I was known for my over-the-top friendliness and my sexual innuendos, along with the inappropriate times I suggested orgies, not comfort.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I whispered, leaning against him. Dagen’s form still shook, but he shook a hell of a lot less than he did mere moments ago, so maybe this whole thing was working. Perhaps Payne and I could calm him down.
And then Payne would have to tell me just what the hell was going on here.
“I know it might not seem like it right now, but it will,” I said. “If there’s one thing we are in Grimmstead, it’s stubborn. We have a way of making it through anything. This place can change and morph into something new, but we remain.” And so did our problems, the monsters that haunted us in our nightmares and during our every waking hour, but I figured that much wouldn’t make him feel better.
Dagen let out a sigh. “It’s…it’s hard. I don’t—I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. It’s all my fault.”
“It is not your fault, and you know it,” Payne said. “Don’t put the blame on your shoulders; it’s not where it belongs. If anything, you should blame this place.” He grew quiet for a moment, pensive. “It has made me into something I hardly recognize, forced me to fantasize about blood at all hours of the day and night, even before I became this.” He lightly touched the scar lining his neck. “You cannot hold yourself accountable for everything that goes on under its roof.”
“He’s right,” I agreed with him. Not about the blood part, because again, ew.
Payne added, “You cannot control what it does to you. All you can do is learn to live with it. It’s not easy, far from it, but it is possible.”
When the hell did Payne get so lecture-y? When did he start spewing wisdom like this—when his head was reattached to his body? I must’ve missed the memo, been too focused on the way his cock had tented that sheet after Felice fed him her blood. Yeah, that was my excuse.
Dagen’s shoulders slumped, and he was slow in saying, “I don’t know if I can. I don’t think I’m that strong.”
“Hey,” I told him, “you’re stronger than me.” I paused when I realized what I’d said, when both men’s gazes flicked to me, wordlessly questioning it. I know—me, the handsomest one in the house, admitting he was weak; it didn’t happen often. “I’m the weakest one in the house. All it took for me to lose my shit was a kid version of me. You’re better than that.”
His head tilted to the side, and I could only imagine what he heard in
his head. “No, I’m really not.”
“Eh, I think you are, but I know I’m hardly ever serious, so you probably think I’m joking.”
“Dagen,” Payne spoke, “you need to pull yourself together for Felice. She will need us all, especially right now. Do not lose yourself in your own mind when she needs you most.”
It was kind of funny, really, hearing Payne say that to Dagen. He could’ve been lecturing us both at the same time—and maybe, I realized, he was. Maybe this was bringing two members of the house together and giving us a metaphorical slap for acting so stupid. Payne would never outright yell at anyone, but a stern scolding was much more his style.
I’d lost myself to my vices after seeing that miniature me. I shouldn’t have. I…as much as it pained me to admit it to myself—and myself only, because I would never say it aloud—I made a mistake.
“Of course,” Dagen breathed out, “you’re right. You’re both right. I…she deserves more from me than this.”
Dagen was a better man than I, so easily admitting that. Me? It would’ve taken me years to say that aloud, let alone say it aloud while two other people were in the room.
Eventually Dagen was well enough to walk with us, to leave his bedroom. We met Lucien on the stairs, and when he mentioned that her body was upstairs, where we’d stored Payne’s body, I froze.
I stared at Lucien, blinking stupidly, wanting him to repeat himself, “What?”
The man in the black suit frowned at me from under his neatly-trimmed beard. “I said her body is upstairs. Don’t make me repeat myself again, Dorian.” He only used my full name when he was really feeling spiteful.
I didn’t correct him, like I always did. Instead, I took off in a run, darting up the stairs to the third floor, heading into the west wing, stopping only when I reached the furthest room. Victor stood near the windows, apparently the watchdog stationed in the room, but it wasn’t the stone-cold serious man in an old suit and sideburns that the past was dying to get back that caught my attention.
Grimmstead Academy: Defiant Rebellion Page 13
