The Worst In Me

25 - Corey

I lie awake all night, tucked closely in Raven's arms. But the warmth of the embrace does nothing to comfort me—not like it usually does. Not like it did before Sang came into my life and uprooted everything I ever thought I knew.

So when the morning comes, I don't mind the way the light floods in from the cracks of the curtains. I welcome it, using the first moments after dawn as an excuse to get up and take a shower, in an effort for an early start to my day—if not a way to clear my mind. Normally, the hot water soothes me, and this time is one of sorting through all the wild thoughts in my brain. But I come up short each time I ever try to think of anything other than Sang. Sang and me and Raven. Together.

I clear my head with a shake and hurry to clean myself. Not long after that am I out of the shower and dressed, only to find Raven still asleep, and the alarm clock on the bedside table to read 6:30 am. He won't be up for at least another couple hours.

So I open our new bedroom door—for however long our stay in this manor will be—and exit, slugging my way through the halls and to the kitchen for something to eat.

I fix myself a quick bowl of cereal and carry it to the living room with me, if only to watch some television while I eat so I'm not stuffing my face in silence. It's then that I hear sound already coming from my desired destination, and I almost spill my cereal on myself when I see Sang laying on the couch with Noah sitting before her. And displayed across the large television screen is, unsurprisingly, Spongebob.

I just barely hold in my groan of annoyance at the sight. After having to watch it daily for so many years—as Raven, for whatever reason, decided watching this show would be his greatest guide in learning English—I've grown all-too familiar with it. And I've already seen every episode, like, eight times.

She's sleeping, I soon realize. Her head is propped up by a soft couch pillow, her arm laying under that and her legs sprawled across the couch, body resting on its side. But with it being so big and her being so small, she still has about a whole other cushion before her feet touch the other end. More than enough room for me to sit. That is, if the little boy sitting up and leaning back against her stomach, blanket wrapped around his small legs, weren't wide awake and staring at me with wide, tired eyes.

"Morning, buddy," I grunt out a noncommittal greeting, still feeling the weariness from my long night without rest deep in my bones. "This seat taken?" I gesture to the empty space to his right with my free hand, and he does nothing more than shake his head no. So I sit and survey him, and the dark circles under his eyes—eyes the exact same color as his sister's, albeit without that dark, haunted gleam.

There is an empty bowl with a spoon sitting a few feet in front of him on the expensive coffee table, with nothing more than a few spoonfuls of milk left at the bottom.

"Did you eat cereal, too?" I ask, trying to flood the silence with small talk, even though the answer is quite apparent. I nearly snort aloud at the idea. I'm trying, and failing, to make small talk with a three-year-old—nearly four, apparently—right now. What has my life come to?

He nods. And stares. And huffs a breath, turning his head to face the TV.

Okay, then.

Yesterday, I didn't get the chance to speak to him, and normally I'd just assume that he's shy around strangers. But I also saw him interact with some of the others; watched as he laughed and giggled and played with them, as if he's known them all for years. He clearly isn't the shy type. No. No, it's something else. Something isn't right here.

"I didn't get to meet you yesterday, but you might have met my brother. He looks just like me, but his name is Brandon. My name is Corey, and I've heard a lot about you." Nothing but silence and that fucking annoying sponge's laughter. "Why are you and Sang awake so early, Noah? Did something happen?"

Still, no reaction. I spare a long glance at Sang, at her sleeping form. And I'm reminded of that princess I've heard Jess, Kota's little sister, speak of so many times: Sleeping Beauty. Sang is certainly that. But why is she sleeping down here and not in the room she was given?

"Please, Noah, I need to know if something is wrong." I feel my heart drop to my stomach when he finally turns to look at me, and all background noise seems to disappear completely when he speaks to me for the first time.

"Sometimes Sissy has bad dreams." His voice is quiet, weak. And not in the way that kids' voices are sometimes soft and faint. No, his voice is... sad. Scared. Not for himself, but for his sister.

I feel something tear a little at my heart at his next words.

"Sometimes she wakes up sad and crying. She thinks I sleeping. I not sleeping."

No words. I have absolutely no words. Not in my mouth; not in my brain; not in my heart. There's nothing but dread and a festering ache where my heart lies pounding an unsteady rhythm beneath chest.

My eyes find themselves switching back and forth between him and the beautiful, aching girl he rests his back against. Who hurt you? I want to ask the sleeping beauty, the broken princess—no, scream. And plead and beg.

Somehow, by some miracle, I manage, "Do you know what she dreams about?" He's so young, yet something tells me he knows pain, too. That he isn't entirely oblivious. But that same something also tells me that whatever has happened to Sang—whatever might very well still be occurring—she doesn't want him to know about it. But he does, at least a fraction.

"Mommy." Such a short, simple answer. One word. And yet, he may as well have just screamed from the rooftops a secret so chilling, even the shadow that follows him on the brightest summer days would be frightened.

"What do you mean 'Mommy'?"

He says nothing more, only turns to continue watching the television screen with rapt attention, as if he needs to focus on that to forget his realty. But that corrupt part of me already knows, or at least suspects.

Like calls to like, some say. And they're impossibly right. At least in this case. For the reason why I was first drawn to Sang was—callously, I'll admit—because of her beauty, but the reason why I stayed was because I saw something in her that I've only ever seen in myself. In my brothers, my family.

If like calls to like, as they say, and Sang is the beautiful princess in the fairy tales... does that make me—make us—her fourteen knights in shining armor that come to her rescue? Or are we the beasts that come to steal her away at dusk? The beasts she herself is drawn enough to that she chooses to stay.

Something tells me it isn't the former. But who am I to say what's in her heart? I've never been a big fan of fairy tales...

But even I know that the beast wouldn't have to hide behind silver and shields and weapons to survive and thrive. And, let's be honest, armor would hardly suit me anyway. Silver just isn't my color.
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I'm going to be entirely honest, this is not how I thought his chapter would go when I first started writing it. But something just led me to this point, and it kind of just feels right. There isn't much said between Corey and Noah, but somehow I feel like there's just so much character development in such a short dialogue that I had to keep it.

Also, can I just say that I feel super bad for Noah. Like, I know that I'm the one writing it, so technically I can control what happens, but WTH?! Our sweet, innocent, little boy has seen far too much! :,((

Don't worry, though. Everything will be okie dokie in the end!

I love you all so much,
Tori