it since then. I
wanted to use it to…” Gabe takes a breath, powers through, “to pay for whatever
he needs to get rid of the scars. I’ve looked into it. There are some
options—laser treatments, skin grafting, even stem cells—but it’s pretty damn
expensive. I mean, they can’t completely get rid of them, but they can do
amazing things. Only, Tarren doesn’t want it. He won’t even talk about it. He’s
just so fucking stubborn!”
“He feels guilty about Tammy,” I
say, “that he got out of Grand’s clutches and Tammy didn’t. The scars are a way
to punish himself.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Gabe says. His
voice is rising and so is his aura.
I’m bewildered that he hasn’t made
this connection before. Then again, the fact that Gabe is not a very intuitive
person is one of his most endearing character traits as far as I’m concerned.
If he ever knew me for what I truly was, I would never see those lovely
lavender shades in his aura again.
“What’s the point?” Gabe goes on.
“Him being miserable and unhappy isn’t going to change what happened. Doesn’t
he know that I’d do anything, anything to bring her back too? Or that maybe it
tears me up inside just like him?” Gabe clenches his hands into fists. “It
still hurts every fucking day, but Tammy would have beat the living shit out of
the both of us if she saw us going all teary-eyed over her. Fuck.” The energy
around him blooms bright, flickering at the edges. I shiver and look away.
“Tammy was always the strong one,
you know,” Gabe says after a while, his voice softer. The colors of his anger,
deep reds and elastic yellows, merge together and begin to dim in his aura. I
keep my hands balled into fists, but the orbs are sinking back down.
“Anyway,” Gabe finishes, “I put
that money away for Tarren. Never even told him about it. He’d just insist we
buy more guns, more supplies, or whatever. But when he’s ready, when this thing
is over, and the angels are all gone, I’m going to make him forgive himself. I
will.” Gabe’s voice wavers, and he ducks his head away from me. “Whatever’s
left we can, I mean it’s not really a lot of money, but we can start over.”
Even though this is stupidly
dangerous and I have to clench every single muscle to control myself, I lean
over and reach out to my brother.
“Gabriel is an angel’s name,” I
tell him and pull the devil horns out of his hair. At least this is what I try
to do. The headband gets tangled in his wavy locks, and my hands are kind of
shaking, so Gabe has to lean his head toward me and help.
“Nice try,” he mutters as I get the
headband free of his hair. I make to put it on my own head.
“Don’t!” Gabe’s aura flares again.
I freeze with the headband right in front of my face. “There aren’t any angels
in this family or devils,” he insists.
We look at each other. Beneath the
weight of our shared sorrow, even Gabe’s nearly invincible shield of sarcasm
can crumble, his Teflon smiles can buckle, and his mischief brown eyes can fade
and grow distant.
I drop the devil horns. We stand up
together and walk into the gym.
***
Tarren does give us a grandiose
scowl when we arrive, which is impressive considering that he’s wearing a
mouthpiece. His displeasure, however, is the least of my worries. Upon entering
the building, I know I’m in trouble. There are entirely too many people here.
In front of me, a class of men spar against each other on a black mat that
covers three quarters of the room while an instructor barks corrections. On the
other side of the mat, a group of rangy teenagers watches a lithe black woman
demonstrate an arm bar submission technique on an unlucky volunteer. Each
person is filmed in bright energy that flows in stark peaks and valleys as they
practice. The noise of grunts, groans, and sudden yells breaks over my
eardrums, and the scents of sweat and hormones mix a stiff soup in the air. I
pause just inside the door,
wanted to use it to…” Gabe takes a breath, powers through, “to pay for whatever
he needs to get rid of the scars. I’ve looked into it. There are some
options—laser treatments, skin grafting, even stem cells—but it’s pretty damn
expensive. I mean, they can’t completely get rid of them, but they can do
amazing things. Only, Tarren doesn’t want it. He won’t even talk about it. He’s
just so fucking stubborn!”
“He feels guilty about Tammy,” I
say, “that he got out of Grand’s clutches and Tammy didn’t. The scars are a way
to punish himself.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Gabe says. His
voice is rising and so is his aura.
I’m bewildered that he hasn’t made
this connection before. Then again, the fact that Gabe is not a very intuitive
person is one of his most endearing character traits as far as I’m concerned.
If he ever knew me for what I truly was, I would never see those lovely
lavender shades in his aura again.
“What’s the point?” Gabe goes on.
“Him being miserable and unhappy isn’t going to change what happened. Doesn’t
he know that I’d do anything, anything to bring her back too? Or that maybe it
tears me up inside just like him?” Gabe clenches his hands into fists. “It
still hurts every fucking day, but Tammy would have beat the living shit out of
the both of us if she saw us going all teary-eyed over her. Fuck.” The energy
around him blooms bright, flickering at the edges. I shiver and look away.
“Tammy was always the strong one,
you know,” Gabe says after a while, his voice softer. The colors of his anger,
deep reds and elastic yellows, merge together and begin to dim in his aura. I
keep my hands balled into fists, but the orbs are sinking back down.
“Anyway,” Gabe finishes, “I put
that money away for Tarren. Never even told him about it. He’d just insist we
buy more guns, more supplies, or whatever. But when he’s ready, when this thing
is over, and the angels are all gone, I’m going to make him forgive himself. I
will.” Gabe’s voice wavers, and he ducks his head away from me. “Whatever’s
left we can, I mean it’s not really a lot of money, but we can start over.”
Even though this is stupidly
dangerous and I have to clench every single muscle to control myself, I lean
over and reach out to my brother.
“Gabriel is an angel’s name,” I
tell him and pull the devil horns out of his hair. At least this is what I try
to do. The headband gets tangled in his wavy locks, and my hands are kind of
shaking, so Gabe has to lean his head toward me and help.
“Nice try,” he mutters as I get the
headband free of his hair. I make to put it on my own head.
“Don’t!” Gabe’s aura flares again.
I freeze with the headband right in front of my face. “There aren’t any angels
in this family or devils,” he insists.
We look at each other. Beneath the
weight of our shared sorrow, even Gabe’s nearly invincible shield of sarcasm
can crumble, his Teflon smiles can buckle, and his mischief brown eyes can fade
and grow distant.
I drop the devil horns. We stand up
together and walk into the gym.
***
Tarren does give us a grandiose
scowl when we arrive, which is impressive considering that he’s wearing a
mouthpiece. His displeasure, however, is the least of my worries. Upon entering
the building, I know I’m in trouble. There are entirely too many people here.
In front of me, a class of men spar against each other on a black mat that
covers three quarters of the room while an instructor barks corrections. On the
other side of the mat, a group of rangy teenagers watches a lithe black woman
demonstrate an arm bar submission technique on an unlucky volunteer. Each
person is filmed in bright energy that flows in stark peaks and valleys as they
practice. The noise of grunts, groans, and sudden yells breaks over my
eardrums, and the scents of sweat and hormones mix a stiff soup in the air. I
pause just inside the door,
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