head to pin me with black eyes.
“That goes for one of us. I’m surprised. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” I take another look around the porch, impressed with how nice it looks compared to the slumping shit-fest it was before. There’s a swing on the far right side of the porch. I can image sitting there and watching the sunset. Not with a beer in hand, but a cold sweet tea that really quenches the thirst. There are a few potted plants, and there is a small sign next to the door with ‘Las Vegas Asylum’ engraved on it. As if this place is a bed and breakfast.
Whatever tickles their crazy, I guess.
“I think you’re here to talk to your brother.”
I grab him by the back of the shirt collar and throw him against the side of the house. “Don’t ever fucking call him that again or I’ll kill you.”
“You won’t fucking touch him,” Zain’s ol’ lady comes up to the other side of the screen door, a knife in hand. “Or I’ll kill you.”
“I don’t take kindly to threats,” I warn her, my voice bordering on a threat.
“I’m not asking you to,” she sneers.
Zain lifts his hand up telling us to stop. “Jessica, it’s okay.”
“How do you know it’s Jessica?” I ask, sizing her up as she does the same to me.
“Jessica is a bit more… protective.”
“Chloe is a coward.”
“Be nice,” Zain orders.
“I will when he doesn’t threaten you.”
“I’ll stop threatening his life when he doesn’t refer to Porter as my brother.”
“He is your brother.” Jessica tears her eyes away from me and stares at her nails. Her tone is as if she’s bored out of her mind, just repeating the obvious.
“He isn’t!” I growl, slamming my fist against the side of the house. A piece of brick crumbles to the ground and lands on my boot. “He is nothing to me.”
“Get over yourself.” She drags her eyes from inspecting her fingernails and lands those empty and emotionless abysses on mine.
I don’t like her.
“He’s your blood. And if he wasn’t your brother, what are you doing here? Dropping by to say hi?” She snorts in disbelief. “Please. I bet there is a small part of you that wonders what he is like.”
“I know what he is like.”
“Hmmm,” she hums, unimpressed with my argument. “Then you know he’s a lot like you, right?” She taps the door and with a confident smirk she turns around and walks away, heading toward the couch. She sits down next to a woman with blonde hair and a guy in a toga. That must be Apollo.
“She’s a pain,” I state honestly.
Zain toss his head back and laughs. “Isn’t she great? I fucking love that woman.” He slaps his hand on my shoulder as he comes down from his joy. “Tongue, can I talk to you about Porter? Maybe in some way you’ll be able to see he isn’t all bad. He didn’t used to be. He’s sick. Here.” He taps the side of his head with his index finger. “I mean, we all are, but Porter is different. His identity crisis is similar to Apollo’s, but Apollo literally doesn’t have another personality. Apollo is… Apollo. I don’t even know his real name. Porter? He thinks he does the world a favor getting rid of people like you, or people involved with you, because of his dad and mom.”
“His mom was mine, remember? And what I remember of her, she wasn’t bad. My parents were good to me.” I think they were. I remember a few things, but I can’t remember what they looked like. It’s been too long, and I don’t have any pictures of them. Life’s unfair like that. I remember Mom making mac and cheese for me because I didn’t like anything else as a kid. I remember her putting a band-aid on my knee and then kissing it better.
I don’t believe kisses make wounds better anymore, but I did as a kid.
“I just think you should talk to him. Maybe you could find some common ground.”
“The only thing I could tell him is that if I ever saw him again outside of this Asylum, if he ever roamed free, I’d kill him. I’d take my time. Not just for what he did to Sarah and Daphne, but Knives too. I’ll kill him. He’s lucky Reaper hasn’t asked for his death. I don’t understand why.”
“You don’t know why?” he asks in disbelief. “Reaper hasn’t killed Porter because Porter is