It’s nearly been a year. I’ve made no move, but it’s because the stakes. The bet. Risk. Whatever you want to call it, it’ll tear us both up. Neither of us can win without consequence. We’ll both bend or snap; no one will quite come out on top, and I’m not sure why it has me stalled.
Before, I felt fearless. Like nothing and no one could stop me. In many ways, yes. It’s true. In others? My brother, like the basketball his opponent dribbles bravely, he handles me, blocking me from succeeding this shot. We both know it’s because this win means I’m his. Both of us know how real that is. What that changes. It’ll be the biggest game of our lives. One we may not be able to get away with. Even if we want it, even if we’re part of the Society, even if losing means I’ll have to admit what this game has turned into.
Our yearly bet challenges me like nothing else. This time, it might actually defeat me.
We’re turning eighteen soon, it’s our senior year, and the masquerade ball all in two weeks. Which means my bet has to be fulfilled. Or I automatically lose.
Game on, brother.
Chapter Two
Atlas
Past
Finishing my last layup on the court, I meander the short distance home. It’s humid, the clouds overcast, while the heat seems cranked by the sun. It smells like flowers and salt, a scent you could only find on a coastal city like Silvercrest. Driving seems pointless when it’s less than a mile away, especially when the gray sky invites me to enjoy its bitterness that mirrors mine on a good day. It calms my heart rate anyway, to not be in an air-conditioned box where my body won’t properly cool down.
Whenever the ball is in my hands, my head is elsewhere. Either stuck on stripes, orange, and a netted basket or on the plays for the next game. Nothing matters but my goal. Concentration grounds me, keeps me sane, stops me from acting on disapproving urges. Ones the Society has brought out of me, begging me to crave vengeance, blood, and death. The impurity should freak me the fuck out, but it doesn’t bother me one bit. My morals and conscience are long lost, and there’s no intention of searching for them. My focus is draining by the end, but worth every satisfactory hoop I hit while at games. We’re further with the team as a result of my diligence. At least Coach appreciates it, even if the other players think I’m insane. They’re not wrong, but caring about what you’re doing should matter most.
No one understands the tenacity necessary to accomplish life goals. No one. Makes for hard situations when I’d rather work at the courts for extra hours than date losers. Don’t get me wrong, parties are my favorite way to release tension, smoking weed even helps me relax before playing, but basketball comes first. Even before the Society jobs and the duties I owe for being a Grim. I’ll protect KJ from the same destruction as long as I can—it’s why I’m dark and he’s light, and he’ll hopefully never be tarnished from this life.
Disarming our house from my cell, I unlock the door and head inside. Our parents don’t spare an expense when coming to security. Between the rooms KJ and I can’t get into to the twenty-four hour surveillance, we’re like Fort-fucking-Knox here. Our parents are pretty high in the Society, not that we know much about how they rose. It’s probably the last name; from what I’ve learned since being objectified into their bloodshed, our name holds the most power in Silvercrest. We’re practically untouchable. KJ knows even less, other than the shit we can get away with. The rooms, though, as far as Kenji and I are concerned, they’re locking their secrets in this house and those who seek them outside.
Smelling myself as the air from the house hits me, I scrunch my face in disgust. It wafts with the fan blowing at me. Fuck, I smell rank. Lifting off my shirt, I carry it with me to my room. The central air in the house is already cranked, and it’s cold as shit in here. KJ must be home. He likes it arctic in here.
Loud music plays downstairs, Hollywood Undead, of course. My brother’s taste in music is shit, for sure. It blares as I get closer to his room. Jesus. Does he listen to anything better? Instead of knocking, I turn the knob. Annoyance builds in me as their voices and beats rape my eardrums. Opening the door, his room seems stagnant. The air is almost undisturbed as I take in the emptiness. Why the fuck would he play this garbage if he’s not even in here?
Kenji likes to piss me off.
It’s his own personal type of amusement.
Shitty music, crappy friends, and dates who make my eyes bleed.
His carpet isn’t visible beneath the behemoth disaster scattered about, but my eyes wander anyway. My brother may be the smarter of us two, but he’s messy. He calls it a purposeful disaster, something that has order in his mind while looking like a pigsty. His life is full of contented dirtiness, but if you asked anyone who thinks they know him, they’d say he’s as clean-cut as it gets. They’d be wrong, but it’s how well he appears on the outside.
Clothes litter his room, ranging from gym clothes to random ones that he’d worn last week. He doesn’t take advantage of our housekeeper, letting her clean his shit. It’s a waste, if you ask me, but he has his own secrets he’s unwilling to unveil by cleanliness.
On the center of his bed, homework is scattered everywhere. Books upon books are open, lying about. It’s nothing like his normal routine. Homework to him is sacred. My brother doesn’t leave it out
