Page 94 of Adam
And suddenly, my mind isn’t a happy place anymore.
My fingers claw into my hair, like I’m trying to rip the thoughts out by the roots. My head won’t shut the fuck up.
Thinking turns into overthinking turns into remembering shit I buried on purpose. Every memory starts breeding with the next one—linking, comparing, cross-contaminating—until it’s one frothing mass ofwhat if,what the fuck,why did I,why didn’t I.
My pulse is loud, obnoxious, beating against my skull like it wants out.
Stay away …
Always stay the fuck away …
I can’t help remembering that day.
That fucked-up day that, out of all the shit that passed for my childhood, stayed carved into my skull like a scar that never shut up.
We were playing hide and seek with Cain and Judas, running wild through that oversized mausoleum I was forced to call home. Atticus, our golden-boy older brother, was off on some bullshit business trip with dear old Dad, so the house was quieter than usual. Cain asked our mother to invite Judas, our smug older cousin, to come play. Of course she said yes. She always did. She never told Cain no. That’s why he asked in the first place.
“Why do I have to be the watcher again?” I’d snapped, brows pulling tight.
“Last time, alright?” Judas said, already walking off like it was settled.
He was four, maybe five years older than me. Always acted like he was above it all. Cold as shit for an eleven-year-old. Never smiled unless it meant something bad for someone else.
“One last time,” Cain mouthed like a coward playing hero, then bolted like he always fucking did.
I stayed behind, lost in the maze of corridors, chewing on the same bitter disappointment that never seemed to go away. Alone again—because of course I was. They were both older, which I guess in their minds meant smarter, braver, more important. It gave them the divine right to treat me like baggage they forgot to ditch.
Maybe I’m still biased.
Or maybe they were just dickheads then, and nothing’s changed since.
I guess we’ll never know.
“Fine,” I mumbled, turning to the wall. “One … two … three …”
I heard some movements that drew a scared gasp out of me. “Four … fiiive … six …”
I tried to peek, but nothing. “Seven … eight … nine …”
I hesitated.
“Ten. Ready or not, here I come!”
I moved through the cavernous house, quiet, every step tighter than the last. I wasn’t really trying to find them. I was just trying not to walk straight into one of their bullshit traps.
After about five minutes—though it felt like a goddamn eternity—I was still searching.
“Guys?” I called out. “I don’t like this game anymore.”
I kept walking like an idiot, until I ended up outside Mother’s chamber.
She was there. Not alone. Whispering in that soft, syrupy voice she used when she talked tohim.
“Look how much you’ve grown,” she said, her gray eyes gleaming as they settled on him.
I thought she was talking to Cain. But no. She was looking at Judas. Fucking Judas. Smiling like he’d hung the damn moon. Her voice went all sugar and silk as she reached out and stroked his cheek like he was some goddamn miracle.
“Thank you, Aunt,” he mumbled, all shy and grateful, soaking it up.
