𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇

XXIII

"I'm hardly wearing my birthday suit," Zephaniah retorts, as he heads into his en suite.

As i go to leave the room, i bump into Yakov, who carries a glass of water in his hands.

"Zephaniah was right, Rori. It's way past your bedtime. Go back to bed. We'll handle this."

I snort, unamused.

"First of all, i don't have a bedtime. I'm fifteen." i flash him a bitter smile as he brushes past me. "Second of all, what happened to keeping a watchful eye on his drinking habits?"

Yakov places the glass onto Zephaniah's bedside table and not once does he acknowledge my concern.

"Yakov," i say his name like a curse.

"Keep your voice down, Rori," he reprimands me.

"For someone who is always the voice of reason, you are not being so reasonable right now," i tell him.

"You should be sound asleep. I'm sorry that we woke you with all the ruckus but this isn't a conversation we can have right now," he insists, sending me a meaningful look that tells me this isn't up for debate.

I glance at Vinnie, who pretends not to hear our conversation, and then return my gaze to my second eldest brother, my arms folded across my torso in defiance.

"Fine." i sigh, defeatedly, heading towards the doorway. "Don't listen to me then. See what happens."

— SUCKER PUNCH —

I shoot up from my bed in a panicked state, as if i have been lying on hot coals. My breathing is rapid and out of control, my hair is dishevelled from all the tossing and turning i've been doing, and my heart feels as though it is about to leap right out of my chest.

In case it isn't obvious, i had a nightmare. Not my usual meaningless nightmare in which someone drowns, but, rather, a nightmare in which Damiano murdered my eldest brother right before my eyes.

Of course, i know Damiano isn't planning on murdering Zephaniah, or physically harming him, for that matter. But he may as well be at this rate.

From the moment my eyes closed, morbid visions appeared. Visions of the pregnant lady lying on the cold ground; blood pooling around her belly. The same belly that was carrying my brother's child. Visions of Zephaniah telling me that it is all my fault that his child died before it truly entered the world. And lastly, visions of me screaming as i watched Damiano pull the trigger and shoot my brother right in his frigid heart.

Before i can begin to comprehend any of it, i abandon my beloved bed and rush into my en suite.

I throw up once. And then i throw up again. And then i throw up once more for good measure.

"Fuck!" i curse, as i take in my appearance in the mirror.

My eyes are bloodshot; tiny red speckles forming around them from where they have strained. My skin is as pale as Snow White on a cool Winter's morning, my whole body seems to shiver with uneasiness, and that damn hickey on my neck has only gotten bigger.

Thinking of the party, i can't even work out if my throwing up is because of the alcohol i drank or because of those gruesome nightmares.