Thrive (10 page)

I turned in his arms, no longer needing to look at London City to see beauty. I had it right in front of me. Severe pain, dark torment and an aching need to be free – there was something beautiful about the man who refused to give up the fight against his demons. There was something painfully beautiful about the hope that still flickered in his eyes.

“Will you let me help you?” I set my palms on his chest. “Will you let me carry some of the load?”

“I’m scared, Skye.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“That I won't be able to fix this for us.”

“You’re not alone anymore.” I leaned forward and kissed his chest, where I’d seen the remains of a fading bruise last night. “The only way
we
can fix this is if
we
do this together.”

“I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt.” He cupped my face and his thumbs gently brushed my cheeks. “I can't let it happen.”

I covered his hands with mine. “I can handle pain, Curtis. What I can't handle is you trying to do this on your own. I can't sit around and watch
you
get hurt.”

“Skye…”

We were interrupted by his phone ringing. He pulled it from his pocket and frowned when he looked at the screen.

“Answer it. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” He swiped his thumb across the screen and turned his back on me as he brought the phone to his ear. “What?”

He said nothing; just listened to the person on the other end. I heard the harsh tone of a woman’s voice and knew it was Charlie. How would we be free from her? How could I put an end to something I didn’t know the full extent of?

“I can't…because I’m telling you I can't.” He glanced over his shoulder at me. I nodded. Curtis sighed and turned away again. “Fine. I’ll pick you up at eight.” He hung up and turned to face me, gripping his phone until his hands shook. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Get involved in this.”

“I wasn’t.” He stepped towards me and caged me in once more.

“I could have handled Charlie. You don’t get to have a say in this.”

“Don’t you dare.” I shoved at his chest. “I’ll say whatever the hell I want. You can handle Charlie? What if she turns up at your apartment to use whatever skills she has to convince you to change your mind? Then what? Are you ready to deal with her?”

“No.” He bowed his head. “I just don’t want you to be a part of this.”

“I’m not. You go and deal with Charlie and get her money. I’ll be there when you get back.”

“And how long does that go on for?”

“Until we have a plan.”

“Then we need to come up with something fast. I can't risk a run-in with you and Charlie.”

“Fine.” I relaxed against the glass as we neared the ground. “But there’s something more important we need to do first.”

“What’s that?” He eyed me cautiously.

“Eat.” I grinned. “I’m starving.”

He shook his head with a smile. “Where do you put it all?”

“My backside.”

“Mmm,” he groaned, lowering his hands. “I love your backside.”

The capsule reached the ground before we could enjoy Curtis’ love of my exceptionally-sized ass.

Charlie was waiting when I arrived outside her apartment. I’d be driving, so I couldn’t drink. At least I could make a quick exit. I could escape and hide, just for a second, and pretend the mere sight of her didn’t create a raucous in my head, a hard-on in my pants and the urge to castrate myself for wanting to act on it. The poor American would be bled dry. He’d be left begging outside food banks for a tin of tomato soup and stale bread, wishing he’d never given in to Charlie’s charm. Was there a doubt in my mind how she’d managed to acquire the power to have access to where he was staying, the knowledge of where he was going to be all night, and the password to his Mac? Not one. What did I want to do about it? Kill something.

Where did I go when I dropped her off and refused to go up with her?

Joes.

~Curtis~

Nine pm came and went, ten pm passed, eleven pm disappeared and midnight struck and faded into the early hours of the next day. Curtis hadn’t come back. I tried reading a book, I watched TV, I cleaned the apartment and I showered while I waited for him. I grew edgier with every second that ticked by and the tension seemed to echo around the quiet space. Curtis was right, again. We couldn’t keep playing whatever game he was involved in with Charlie. I couldn’t trust her; I wouldn’t trust her to look after him. I knew he was on the verge of breaking; she must have, too. She must have witnessed the nightmares, seen the look in his eyes that said he was lost, afraid and vulnerable, no matter how much he tried to hide it. She exploited that, used it to make her rich and if she broke him, I’d ruin her. I didn’t care how much money she had, I didn’t care how dangerous she was; if she hurt Curtis, I would make her pay.

I had no idea where he was, and what they were doing. I was powerless and I hated that as much as I hated pity.

I was pacing the living area, contemplating calling the police when there was a thump on the door. It sounded like someone was trying to break in and terror struck. Thump after thump filled the room and then a faint scratching sound. More thumping. I was frozen, stuck to the spot and held down by fear. Had Charlie found out and come looking for me? I felt a slight thrill at the thought and suddenly understood why Curtis did what he did. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to feel pain so she could no longer inflict it on Curtis. I squared my shoulders and straightened my back; I was prepared to fight as I crossed the room.  I threw open the door and was brought to the floor when The Hulk tumbled in and took me with him.

Curtis was out of breath, panting and frantically gasping for air. His entire body weight had me pinned to the floor, and after a huff and a heave and a hell of a lot of effort, I crawled out from under him. He rolled over, groaning, and tried to get up. I stood up first and then I saw it. Blood. It covered the new pyjama set Curtis had bought me after lunch; I noticed a small puddle on the floor that glistened and drew my attention to the stray drops on the floor outside. I shoved Curtis’ legs out of the way and kicked the door shut.

“What happened?”

I knelt by his side and tried to roll him onto his back. Finally, he helped me and laid flat on the floor with his arms over his face.

“Jesse,” he mumbled. “Call Jesse.”

I tore into the pocket of his jeans and pulled his phone out. He called Jesse a lot – almost every hour – even through the night. How had I not noticed? Besides a few unknown numbers and a contact labelled as Charlie, Jesse was the only person he spoke to. I called the number,

“Hi, you’ve reached Jesse. Leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as I can.”

I hung up. “Curtis, he’s not answering. What happened?”

“Call again,” he growled and a trickle of blood dripped down his jaw to the floor.

“Curtis-”

“Call him again! I need stitches. I need Jesse…he’ll know what to do.”

“Christ.” I dropped the phone to the floor as I crouched down and grabbed his arm. “Come on, get up.”

“Jesse,” he muttered frantically. “Jesse.”

“Forget about him for a minute. I can stitch you up, but you need to get up off the floor. I can't carry you.”

He groaned again and rolled over, getting up onto his hands and knees, and I helped him to his feet. I carried as much of his weight as I could and we moved to the bedroom.

“No.” Curtis snapped when I reached for his shirt.

“It’s covered in blood and I need to clean you.”

He dropped his arms and I took a deep breath before I began to take it off. I had to be strong. I had to care for him and ignore the anger I felt when I realised what had happened, and why he was so late coming home. He’d gone to fight. I slowly unbuttoned his shirt and gently slid it off his body. He was a mess. Vivid red welts had formed on his torso, his ribs had begun to turn a dark shade of purple and his chest heaved with exhaustion.

“Did you fight with a belt?” I asked, running one finger over a lump on his peck.

He winced and shook his head. “Leather can do that.”

“So you wore gloves.”

“Joe’s only has one rule…no rules.” He coughed and grimaced. “He had a leather knuckle duster. Apparently it’s a new craze to-”

“Enough.” I stopped him and squeezed my eyes shut, balling my fists by my sides. “Where’s the stuff?”

“Bathroom.”

I rushed to the en-suite and pulled open the cupboard doors. The medical equipment inside, labelled as property of John Radcliffe Hospital, told me Jesse was a doctor – or med student – and Curtis needed patching up often. I filled my arms with supplies, threw them all into the bedroom and filled the washbowl with lukewarm water. I hadn’t looked at his face yet – I didn’t want to, but I caught sight of it when I stepped back into the bedroom. One eye was red and the cheekbone that surrounded it was swollen; his other eye was split open at his eyebrow, and he had another small nick on his top lip. I couldn’t see where the blood was coming from. It had dried and crusted, but a new trickle made his face glisten. I had to stop the bleeding. I hadn’t been able to…before – but I could do it now.

“Sit down,” I demanded, noticing he was swaying on his feet. He sat on the edge of the bed and I pulled the chair over to sit in front of him. “Tell me a story,” I said, dipping the washcloth into the water and began wiping at the dried blood.

“What kind of story?”

“Any. Just talk.”

“Can I make one up?” he asked with a soft boyish excitement in his voice.

“Yes. Talk, Curtis.”

I grabbed a small tub, poured antiseptic in it and plunged a clean washcloth into it. Curtis hissed when I brought it to his face and began dabbing the open wounds.

“Once upon a time, a boy fell in love with a girl…”

Curtis told his story as I cleaned him up – a story about a beautiful princess and an evil prince who kept secrets from her. It was a fairy tale, but darker, and not one you’d want to tell children at night. His voice was shaky and thick with pain. I didn’t know if it was from the cuts, my care or because the prince and princess in the story were us. When his face was clean and his heartrate had slowed. I sat back and watched the cuts. His eyebrow needed stitches and I wasn’t sure if the stick-on ones in his box of aftercare would be enough.

“Jesse always wonders the same thing,” Curtis said, reading my mind. “They’ll work.”

I nodded and reached for the packet. “Keep going.”

“The prince didn’t want to break the princess’s heart, but he knew, eventually, he would. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to have everything she dreamed of and more. But she wouldn’t have those things if the prince stayed. He would never make her happy…”

“What if the princess only wanted one thing?” Curtis’ eyes met mine and I avoided his, concentrating on sealing the wound shut. “What if the prince’s happiness and their happiness
together
was all she wanted?”

“Then the princess was stupid and she should have opened her eyes to reality.”

“I think story time is over.”

I finished with his eyebrow and moved to his cheekbone.

“That’s my point, Skye. You’re willing to get hurt so you can have whatever scraps of myself I throw at you?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation.

“Why? What reason can you possibly have for believing we can ever be happy together?”

“This isn’t you talking. You’re letting your head get in the way.” I finished with the stitches and gathered the mess up into the washbowl. “That’s going to take a while to heal.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know. No more, Curtis.”

“But-”

“There is no but. If you want to hurt someone, hurt me. I’ll take every bit of physical pain you’ve got to avoid the mental pain of what I went through tonight again.”

“If I stop fighting, things will get worse.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. No more fighting…no more.”

I left the room without another word and heard him being sick a few moments later. A knock to the head can do that. I wished that was the only punishment Ollie had to endure.

Curtis was asleep on the bed when I went back into the bedroom. As I pulled the blanket and duvet over him and bent to listen to his breathing, something caught my eye. The corner of a worn book that looked like a diary was peeking out from under the bedside cabinet. I pulled it out. I’d seen this before…
why did Curtis have Oliver’s journal?
I thought it was lost when he died. It wasn’t in his possessions or in our bedroom when I cleared it before I moved out. Curtis must have had it all along.

I curled up on the armchair in Curtis’ room so I could watch over him and turned to the first page of my brother’s diary.

I was still awake reading when Curtis stirred the next morning. I looked up from the journal as he sat up and propped himself against the headboard. Our eyes locked.

“Oliver knew?”

Curtis nodded and cleared his throat. “He didn’t know the details. He just knew enough to know he had to keep you safe.”

“We were twins. It was
our
father. Why would he keep something like this from me?”

“Because he wanted the facts first.”

“He told you didn’t he?”

“Yes, he told me.”

“When?”

“The day I invited him to join the gym.” My bottom lip trembled as I thought about Oliver alive and healthy, before the poison of fighting had torn him away from me.

“What happened?”

He scrubbed his hands over his stubbly face, wincing when he felt the reminder of his injuries. He grabbed the water I’d left next to the bed and drank it all before he spoke.

“Will you come sit with me?”

“I’d rather stay here.”
And try to detach myself from this nightmare.

“Fine.” He sighed. “I took him for breakfast the day I met him. He looked half-starved so I bought him breakfast. I knew he had a story and I asked him to tell me.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He told me he knew your dad had another wife. He heard him talking on the phone once and used his pocket money to follow him in a cab.”

“Where did he go?”

“To a carpark, just outside town. Your dad stayed in his car and a woman came out of the diner and climbed in. He ran out of money and couldn’t pay the cab to go any further. He had to walk home.”

I’d read that in the journal last night.

“And you didn’t know anything about this?”

“No!” Every one of his features displayed his shock. Curtis hadn’t expected me to suspect him…neither had I.

“He asked you to help him but he didn’t ask me.”

“No.” Curtis shook his head, then thought better of it. “I had no idea about the journal or Ollie’s mission until a few years ago.”

“And that’s when you decided to find me?”

“No. I always wanted to find you. I wish I’d never sent you away.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Curtis?” Panic rose to lace my voice with anger. “Oliver was dead. You were the only one who knew the truth. Why would you not tell me?” I threw the book to the floor and stood up. “Why did you let me sit in the hospital with Phillip? Why did you let me stand with him when we buried my dead brother?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t make the connection, Skye. I don’t remember it. I didn’t see it, I just
didn’t
see it. It was like a mental block...” He shrugged and met my eyes. His danced with regret. “I wanted to take the pain away. I couldn’t bear to break you any more than you were already.”

I fell to the bed and slid up the mattress to curl my body into his. He wrapped his arms around me and the anger I felt towards Curtis morphed into something entirely different; something I couldn’t explain, but it resembled something that felt a lot like madness.

“I want to find him, Curtis.” I gripped the bed sheets that covered the lower half of his body. “I want to punish him.”

“I know.” He soothed me by stroking my hair, but it only stoked the flames of insanity. “I know, baby, and we will.”