The Grey Blood #2

Don't Come Back

"You're a fool."

Oliver lifts his head from his hands as someone walks into the room. He huffs out a pained laugh and looks at his sister, her features sharp and her skin porcelain. "Some things never change."

"No, they don't. It seems you coming to me half-dead doesn't change either."

Wincing at the reminder of everything he's put her through, he watches her advance.

"What a mess," she sighs, taking up the seat Katya had vacated to reach into a bag beside the bed. She produces cotton swabs and rubbing alcohol.

Oliver leans back against the pillows damp from his sweat and tries not to flinch when she nears him.

Miriam leans over him and presses a hand against his jaw to inspect the side of his face. Whatever she sees has her wincing, her light eyes swimming with concern.

"Sorry to drop in on you like this," he says, swallowing the urge to swear as she prods at the cut on his temple with the cotton, the severe stench of alcohol hanging in the air.

"I haven't seen you in over six years, Oliver, and that's all you have to say?" She pulls back, looking down at him with grey eyes as fierce as their mother's. Her square jaw is clenched, the stern set to her features something Oliver had missed. Until now that he's faced with it.

"I sent you a letter."

She laughs and shakes her head before cutting him with those eyes. "Yes," she hisses, no amusement on her unyielding features, carved from the same stone as Oliver's. "A letter reassuring me that you weren't dead after I'd mourned your death for the past four years. How kind of you." She turns away, and Oliver sits up, refusing to let their reunion go like this.

His head pounds, vision blurring as he grits his teeth and wraps an arm around his stomach. His muscles try to claw out of his skin, and it takes everything left within him not to collapse back on the bed and delve into his nightmares again.

"Wait," he mutters, but pain overwhelms him and drags him under. Oliver gasps and his hand slips from the edge of the bed. Then he's falling, the ground slamming into his shoulder. He can't draw in breath as fire roars through him, raking through his body, scorching his flesh.

His sister is at his side again, a swear upon her lips as she tries to help him back onto the bed. He stops her with a hand against her shoulder.

"Please, just—"

"Stop it, Oliver," she says, her voice quiet, filled with a pain she tries to keep off her face. "Whatever excuses you have for abandoning us when we needed you most aren't wanted. Just get better then get out." She stands and leaves him there on the ground, the sight of her back thrusting him into all of his failures, every mistake he can't undo.

He let them down, he broke his family, and nothing he does will ever fix it.

"I have three days," he calls, shoving down the guilt to focus on what's important.

"What?" She stops walking but doesn't turn around.

"I have three days to do a job for Katya."

"Or what?" she questions, her shoulders stiffening. She knows exactly how the Ronavics operate.

Oliver leans his back against the bedside table, every movement choking the air from him. It takes him a long moment of gathering his breath before he can answer. Miriam's back is to him still and he's thankful he doesn't have to see her face as he replies. "Or Theo dies."

Miriam whirls on him and storms towards him, lightning shining in those stormy eyes. She hits him, her hand connects with his cheek and agony blossoms once again as the cut on his lip splits and blood wells. She hits him again and again, fists colliding with his chest and all he does is raise a hand in a weak attempt to stop her blows. He knows he deserves them.