Ch.22: Rotten Heart, Rotten Soul

"Thomas left a letter. That's probably where Milo read your name," Nicholas said. "You didn't know about it?"

Julian stared at Nicholas, hardly even breathing. The fire in the chimney crackled and sputtered. Silence lapsed across the room. Julian shook his head, and he looked pitifully clueless.

"I didn't," Julian said, his voice slow and cautious. "My dad and stepmom had already kicked me out when he died. They wouldn't talk to me. They never told me he left a letter."

"Well, he did." Nicholas furrowed his eyebrows. "Didn't you ever wonder if he left you a note or something? Didn't you try to ask if he did?"

Julian shook his head again. "I didn't think he would."

"It's in his bedroom if you wanna take a look."

"Nicholas, you're my second favorite," Julian said. "Don't make me change my mind. I hope you're not lying to me. I really, really hope not."

Nicholas wasn't lying, but his heartbeats picked up. He nodded. Julian regarded Nicholas with skeptical eyes and stood, then left the room, heading in the direction of the front door, which clicked as he swung it open.

"I need a minute. Come here and keep an eye on them."

Then Julian crossed the corridor again, hurrying into Thomas's room. Frowning, Nicholas stared at the threshold of the living room he was in, anticipating Julian's companion to enter at any moment. That would be the person who'd caught Valentino and Milo, and rendered Nicholas's sacrifice meaningless.

Bastard.

Nicholas glanced at Valentino in the meantime. Valentino was frowning at the floor, his eyes pensive and lost. Then he sensed Nicholas's gaze and gave him a displeased look.

Before Valentino could react, Nicholas said, "If you scoff or huff I'm gonna—"

"What?" Valentino said with a familiar taunting tone, one that triggered every angry bone in Nicholas and reminded him of all the bickering they had done in the short period they'd known each other. They hadn't even had enough time to fight properly recently. "Bash my head into the wall? I've heard that one before."

"Yeah." Nicholas nodded, scowling. "Yeah, exactly. I'm still gonna do it." His tense shoulders dropped. "Just… when I'm not tied up, kidnapped, or getting chased by a psychopath…"

Nicholas didn't expect what happened next.

Valentino laughed.

It was quiet and tired, but he laughed.

"Don't laugh," Nicholas said. "I'm serious."

"You're an idiot."

Valentino's words sounded more apprehensive than insulting, and Nicholas understood he was referring to something entirely different.

"Yeah," Nicholas said. "And I have no regrets. And I'd do it again if it means there's just a 1% chance Milo could get away from this insanity."

Valentino had that confused look in his eyes again, like he was hearing something he couldn't comprehend, something his brain couldn't process.

"Stop thinking about it," Nicholas said, his gaze flicking to Milo on the couch, still stuck in a situation he had nothing to do with. "It turned out pointless anyway."

"It's not… It's…" Valentino closed his mouth before he could finish his thoughts, then squeezed his eyes shut. "My head hurts."

Yeah, Nicholas thought. Because you tried to break your skull…

Footsteps sounded, and the front door was slammed shut with a loud thud. A few seconds later, a tall, middle-aged man appeared in the doorway. He had a forgettable, unremarkable face — which was probably why it took Nicholas a while to realize he had met him before.

He was one of Sasha's men.

A mocking smile sat on the man's mouth. "Looking good, Valentino."

Nicholas glanced at Valentino beside him; his posture was relaxed, even with the ropes wrapped around his torso and arms. His clothes were a little crooked, soiled with mud and dirt, his hair loose in the hair tie, a few more strands falling down around his shoulders.

Despite his dishevelled state, Valentino regarded the man with disinterested, bored eyes and straight lips.

"I had a feeling it's you," Valentino said. "And I already started guessing Sasha's somehow involved with Julian. He's obsessed with puzzles, and I saw a puzzle box on her desk last time." A contemplative pause. "Does she know about this entire thing, though? His whole plan?"

Oh, right.

Nicholas had seen the puzzle box on Sasha's desk too. Until Valentino mentioned it, he'd completely forgotten about it.

"She's got no idea," the man said. "She pays me to keep an eye on Julian. Julian pays me to help him with his plan and keep it a secret, and he pays me more. I have no reason to tell on him."

"Why would Sasha want to keep an eye on Julian?" Nicholas asked.

What was her relation to him?

The man narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Nicholas's face.

Nicholas frowned. "What the hell are you looking at?"

"You look like Julian."

Nicholas made a face. "You think? He picked me because I look like Thomas. And they're brothers. Of course I look like him too."

"I know. But you look so much like him it's insane." The man picked up one of Thomas's framed pictures that had been lying on the coffee table beside the puzzle board. Stepping closer, he bent and held the photo by Nicholas's face. His eyes skipped between the picture and Nicholas. "You actually look more like Julian than Thomas."

Nicholas shuddered. "Shut up and get out of my face."

"Answer the question," Valentino said. "Why would Sasha wanna keep an eye on Julian? How does she know him?"

Before the man could open his mouth, Julian stepped into the room, holding Thomas's letter in his hand. His brown eye was red-rimmed, but he wasn't crying. He gave Sasha's man a look, then nodded towards the door.

"Go make me milk tea. I want it really sweet."

Julian's voice maintained its usual tone: soft and innocent, easy on the ears. Nicholas tensed. Any second. Any second and Julian would shed this composure and explode. There was no way he could remain calm and indifferent after reading his half brother's letter, at least not for long. It was only a matter of time.

"Get to work," Valentino told the man. "You heard Julian. Go make him tea."

Valentino's lips weren't smiling, but his eyes were. Nicholas could see the shit-eating grin in them. The man gave Valentino a death glare, easily knocked off his high horse by Valentino's comment, and then left the room.

Julian glanced at the paper in his hands, then set his eyes on Nicholas and Valentino, like he was expecting something from them. Nerves jittered in Nicholas's belly. He tried to think of what Julian would want to hear, something that would prolong this state composure, or at least avoid a tantrum.

Julian walked to the coffee table, then pushed it towards Nicholas and Valentino. Its legs scratched against the carpet. Sitting down again cross-legged, Julian pushed the puzzle board aside and placed the letter on Nicholas and Valentino's side of the table.

"Read it."

Nicholas leaned a little closer, and so did Valentino.

Thomas's handwriting was an absolute atrocity. Even worse than Nicholas's, which was saying something. Nicholas squinted to make out the words.

Lian,

I hate Mom. I hate Dad. I hate Grandma and Grandpa. I hate all my relatives and cousins. I hate my friends. I hate everyone I know. I hate the universe. I hate myself too.

I told you this before. You always asked me why I hated everyone if they were nice to me, if all they wanted was the best for me. And I always told you it's because I'm sick.

I'm really, really sick, Lian. I hate the people that I love. It's exhausting. It's a feeling I can't control. I can't stop it. I don't know what love feels like. It always turns into hatred. It's a sickness. I think my heart is rotten, my soul is rotten too, and it's like they poison everything. Maybe that's why all I can feel is hate and hate and hate.

There's no cure for this sickness, Lian. You can't find me a doctor. You can't fix me. No one can.

It's weird. I hate all the people in my life even though they were good to me. You loved them all even though they were terrible to you. You're way too good for this world, Lian. I think you should be less good.

I still don't understand why Mom and Dad hate you even though you didn't ask to be born. Maybe they're sick too. Dad says you're a mistake. But really, he's the mistake. He's the one who made the mistake. You're only the result, so it's not your fault. It doesn't make sense for him to hate you. He should hate himself.

I still remember when your real mom died and Dad was forced to take you in. I still remember the first time I saw you. You were so young and innocent and shy.

I still remember thinking that I didn't want to love you because I didn't want to hate you.

But then you asked me if you could do my puzzle with me. I said yes. I don't know how you're so good at it. I remember the way you finished a 3000 piece puzzle in less than two hours. I'm not sure why you pretend you need help. You never needed my help finishing any puzzle, even if it was 5000 pieces. But looking back, I'm glad you did that. Because it became my favorite thing to do. Doing puzzles with you was my favorite thing ever. Spending time with you was my favorite thing. Walking to school with you was my favorite thing.

You're my favorite, Lian. It's why I hate you the most.

I'm sorry if that's confusing to you. It's confusing to me too, and I can't live like this anymore.

Goodbye.

Thomas

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