Alamort

16. Crew

One Step Closer – LINKIN PARK

S torming out of the house, wanting to turn back to slam the door repeatedly as my times as I can to let the world know how vexed I am. My blood boils underneath my skin, heating me from the inside out. I refrain from it for the same reason. I don’t want everyone to know I’m shaking with uncontrollable rage.

Ever since I was a young boy, venom has coursed through my veins, numbing any warmth within. At first, for no reason at all. It was just who I was. Bennett and I were the perfect opposites as far as twins go. Ben carries an air of contentment, a warm aura that radiates from him, sparking happiness in everyone. I, being skeptical by nature, have remained unconvinced. He thinks it’s because I’m technically older, but that couldn’t be far from the truth. I have always had to shoulder the burden of cleaning up after everyone’s mess. Starting with our mother.

The day she died, I couldn’t help but be relieved that she wouldn’t have to choose between the drugs or her kids. I swallow the guilt that nags in the back of my throat. She chose. All the times I begged her to be better for Ben and she promised she would. Time and time again, I believed her broken promises. Thinking that one day it would get better. Each time, the relapse would be worse than the last until it finally caught up to her. Finding my mother’s dead body fucked me up.

I expected once she was gone, it would be easier for us. I was wrong.

Someone separated Ben and me, which was uncommon for twins. He was sent to some fucked up couple with sick tendencies to harm little vulnerable, defenseless boys. And I went to a foster dad who would rather beat me until I was unconscious, wait until I healed, only to repeat the process. Now and then, Steve would get creative. His favorite punishment outside of his daily beating, was drowning me. Only to bring me back from the brink of death.

Suppressing a shudder at the thought of the grimy bathtub, I close in on Brian’s room tucked behind the school. The building houses most of the teachers on campus. Being the dean means he has the biggest suite. An older building with grey stones, much like the school, completely remodeled inside. I open the double glass doors and head through a carpeted hallway. It smells like old books in here. Showing years of success, pictures of earlier deans' line the wall. Brian’s room is at the end of the long hallway.

Taking a deep breath to lull myself back into the calm I’m known for, I turn the knob. The idiot left it unlocked. Walking in, I’m hit with the musky odor of sex. I know it’s from Lisa, the nurse. I wouldn’t call her a sex worker, but I’m sure the money we offered her had a hand in getting her to agree. Sitting down at the two-person table off to the side of his full-sized kitchen, I wait for the shower to turn off. Checking my pockets, I find what I’m looking for when he steps out of his bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.

I’m not like Bennett. I don’t have time for the niceties and games he likes to play.

“Sit down, Brian.” I say, emotionless.

He cautiously pulls out a chair across from me with his hands resting on the table. Good, he does know how to listen. He smiles weakly. I don’t like to deal with him. Me coming to his room isn’t a common occurrence. Glowering, I let him see my disappointment before swiftly pulling a narrow knife out of my pocket and stabbing it through the center of his hand. It’s a clean wound, straight through, missing bones and anything else important. Brian’s reaction is delayed a split second before I swiftly bring my other hand over his mouth to smother the scream.

“Shut the fuck up, Brian.” He whimpers behind my hand.

“Were Bennett’s directions too unclear for you?” I scold. Finally, somewhere to put the anger that constantly eats me. He shakes his head underneath my hand.

“Then why am I fucking here?” Slowly removing my hand, I allow him to speak.

“I-I was g-going to tell you! I swear,” he stutters.

Not good enough. He should’ve told me the second she left his office. I jiggle the knife in his hand to let him know he’s pissing me off. Clenching my jaw, looking away from his face before I put my fucking fist into it.

“I will fucking kill you, Brian. We had an agreement. First, you allow River Walton to change her schedule and now?” Letting out a humorless laugh. “I’m barely able to keep Ben and Malice from having a go at you. They want you fucking gone. I’m half tempted to let go of their leashes. I am the only reason you’re fucking breathing right now.” I’m not going to give my hand away and let him know I have a deal with his wife. Nor that he will probably be dead by the end of all of this. Having someone higher up that was easy to control from the sidelines was supposed to be the simple part. We’re doing this for Ty. He was going to be someone. He was owed that much. We are in debt to him and his father.

“Here’s what you’re going to do, Brian. You are going to stick me into one of her classes since you can’t manage the one, simple job you were given.” I sneer. His name leaves a nasty taste in my mouth. He nods vigorously.

“Yes, of course, Crew.” Brian gasps in between his pained panting. His face pales. Good boy, I pat his cheek. Finished with this conversation, I rip my knife from his hand and wipe it on his loose towel.

“Get a hold of Lisa. If she’s even left.”

The cool air washes over my face, doing nothing to stem the anger that holds a permanent residence in my heart. We need a job, and soon. I’m reaching a breaking point that I don’t want to cross. The guys are probably as twitchy as I am to get back to work. I thought avenging Tyson would distract us, but it seems to be making everything worse. Pulling out my phone, I shoot off a text.

Any jobs?

That bad, huh?

Rolling my eyes at his response, he always has to read into everything. Leave it to Elijah Cox to over examine a simple text message. He may not be my birth father, but he’s more than a father than that deadbeat ever would be to us. Unfortunately, he isn’t wrong. Regardless of what I show the world, he’s always been able to see through it. Sometimes more than Bennett. The feeling that we aren’t as close as we should be overwhelms me with regret.

I debate on lying to him, but then he’ll just call.

Yes, it’s that bad.

Martin Pierce, 0000 River Road, Saint George, ME. He’s hiding out on a lot. I’ll send his crimes.

That’s enough for me. I’ll let the guys know when I’m done downstairs at the gym. We will get it set up. It’s something we can get done this weekend. My phone dings with another text message.

Love you, Crew

I look at it, shutting the screen off. I haven’t been able to bring myself to say it. But he knows. He has to. Ding. Jesus Christ, should I just say it?