Antihero (Indefinite Hiatus D: )

Chapter Twelve

"Who's this?" Mira's face was pursed in an awkward position, half curious and half disgusted as she eyed Christopher, who seemed to shrink under her gaze.

"Mira, darling, this is Christopher," I said, gesturing to the lanky, dirty boy beside me. I would have pushed him forward to properly introduce him, but I had already pushed him once today and I didn't really enjoy thinking about all the germs that were on my hand because of it. "He'll be living with us from now on," I finished, raising my eyebrows at Mira.

"What?!" 

"It's true, just ask Dad," I said, nodding my head in agreement to her astonished look before I brushed her aside and stepped through the door. "Come, Christopher, you need a shower and don't even think about touching anything," I muttered to him, gesturing for him to follow me through the doors and into the large foyer.

"It's nice to meet you," Christopher's voice was low and quiet as he slightly nodded toward Mira who, upon seeing this, softened her gaze.

"You too, Christopher. Welcome to the household," she said, eyeing me slightly over Christopher's lowered head. 

I shrugged at her and turned away, walking across the tiled floor of the foyer into one of the living areas. Christopher followed closely behind me, his feet almost touching my heels with each step I took. Mira's voice echoed through the foyer as we walked away: "Dad, what the hell?"

I let out a small sigh and stopped abruptly near the stairs, causing Christopher to run directly into my back. I laughed slightly but then remembered how dirty he was and silently cringed. At least this was a work suit and nothing too nice - it would be burnt before the night was over. 

"Dorothy?" I asked, turning to face the maid standing attentively in the doorway, waiting for orders. Her hair was perfectly in place, her posture was straight, and she stood with her hands clasped behind her back. 

"It's Heather, sir, Dorothy left last year," she said politely, curtsying slightly. 

"Oh, well, Heather, darling, can you please make up the spare bedroom on the second floor for Christopher here?" 

"Certainly, sir," she said, curtsying again. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Not for now, thank you, Heather," I sent her a small smile before heading up the stairs, Christopher still following closely behind.

"You don't know their names?" His voice echoed from behind me as we made our way up the stairway. He was faster this time, the daylight obviously making him braver against the steps he had been so hesitant against before. 

"Some of them, but they change around a lot," I admitted. "Anyway, there's a lot of staff here, it's tiring to remember all their names."

We made our way onto the second floor, walking past Mira's empty room and towards one of the many guest bathrooms this house had. I gestured to the room as I opened the door, my arm waving at the extravagant bathroom. It was the same size as my ensuite, but this one was definitely more DeMarlo's taste than mine. Where my bathroom had clean, slick lines and black and white detailing, this one had gaudy gold accents and marble tiling. Disgusting. I opened the cupboard and pointed to the towels and the guest robes inside.

"Please, have a shower and clean up. Don't put the clothes back on, we will get you new ones. Just wear one of these robes for now," I explained before I turned back to face him. Christopher nodded and looked around unsure. "What's wrong?" I asked, letting out a sigh. I wanted to have a shower myself, but I could at least pretend I cared.

"What am I doing here?" Christopher asked, his voice holding an unusually rough edge to it.

"What do you mean? You need a shower."

"No, what am I doing in your house? Why have I been brought here?" He asked, his voice cutting through the air angrily as he clenched his fists by his side. I raised my eyebrow at him, looking between his fists and his face dramatically.

"DeMarlo wants you here, so you're here," I shrugged, folding my arms and leaning against the doorframe.

"It doesn't make any sense!" He said louder, stamping his foot on the ground. God, he was making it hard to keep thinking he was older than me. Maybe he just looked older, but he was actually twelve - since that's how he was acting.

"Can't you just do as you're told?" I asked, my voice coming out a lot sharper and angrier than I intended. Christopher paused before he shook his head, his eyes darting up to meet mine.

"What if I don't? What are you going to do?" He said, taking a step forward and standing up straight, reaching his full height. I felt small against his tall frame as he looked down at me for the first time and, suddenly, Christopher seemed a lot older than he had minutes before. Too bad he was a lanky guy with no real muscles, otherwise I might have actually been intimidated.

"All I'm telling you to do is have a shower," I said calmly, my voice deadpan as I kept his strong gaze. "So, have a fucking shower!" My calm slipped away as I raised my voice slightly. 

"What are you going to do? Kill me?" Christopher sneered, his own voice rising. 

"Maybe I will!" I stepped forward, grabbing the collar of his shirt, ignoring the dirt and germs that were undoubtedly on my hand now.

"Just fucking tell me why I am here!" He was yelling now, and his own arm reached out to grab the collar of my button up.

"Just hop in the fucking shower!" 

I pulled his shirt closer and glared at him harshly, using all my self-control not to smash my fist into his arrogant face. How hard is it to just have a shower first and ask questions later? If he didn't want to have a shower, he should just leave and not come back. It's his fault he was here in the first place. Christopher's eyes darted away from mine briefly and I took pleasure in thinking I had won until a voice echoed from behind me.

"Boys." 

I paused and let out a quiet sigh before letting go of Christopher's collar and taking a step back as he let go of mine. I brushed my clothes down lightly to recollect myself before turning to Dad with a large smile.

"Yes, Dad?" 

"That's enough," he warned, eyeing both of us. "Christopher, shower and the help will bring you to us. Michaelson, come with me." I nodded my head and followed DeMarlo out of the bathroom, sending Christopher a warning glare over my shoulder. Christopher narrowed his eyes at me slightly before shutting the door.

"You shower too," DeMarlo said, stopping in front of my bedroom door. His eyes roamed down my work suit before stopping at my pants. I looked down as well and noticed the dried blood clinging to the material and cringed inside, remembering Joel and his bloody demise. "And burn those clothes." He turned to walk away, heading back towards the stairs before he stopped and looked back at me.

"Good work today, son. You're living up to the family name," he said loudly, his voice booming through the hallway. I smiled at him, a genuine one, and nodded my head. It was rare to get such praise from him, so I wasn't going to pretend I didn't love it. His words of praise made everything worth it and, each time I heard them, I lost myself a little more. I didn't care, though, since I wasn't sure if I was ever completely there in the first place.

"Meet us in the coffee room once you are done," he finished before turning away and heading down the stairs. I opened my door and made my way into my room, lightly placing my blazer across the back of the couch. I pulled a burn bag from my desk drawer and begun to undress, placing my soiled clothes into the bag as I went. A small shiver ran down my spine as I placed the bloody pants into the bag, my mind flashing back to the memory of Joel's heart in my hand.

Not bothering to suppress the pleased smile that made its way onto my face, I headed to the shower.