Chapter 35: XXXI

— RORI —

𝙰𝙿𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚇𝙸𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙻𝚈 𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽 𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂 𝙰𝙶𝙾...

It is Zephaniah's birthday today, and i baked him a cake.

Wyatt might have done most of the work, and i might have agreed to help on the basis that he let me lick the spoon at the end, but, nevertheless, i baked him a cake.

Papa isn't home. I don't know where he is, but he isn't usually around anyway. I am not disappointed though, as the day would only be ruined if Papa were here.

Mama is home, and she is fussing incessantly because Zephaniah would rather spend his twenty-first birthday anywhere else as opposed to here, with us.

I reckon he will end up going out later on. Not that him going out would be any different than usual. He is home even less than Mama and Papa these days. Sometimes he is missing for weeks at a time.

I don't understand why he wouldn't want to spend at least some of his birthday with us. I love birthdays; they are one of few occasions in which Mama spends time with us.

The two of them are currently arguing in the other room, but i tune it out. Wyatt plays songs from the nineties on his MP3 player, and i giggle as he takes a handful of the flour into his hands and blows on it, so that it clouds the air.

He lets me write a message for Zephaniah on the cake, but i choose to draw a picture of me and my eldest brother instead, and he snickers when he sees the final result, causing me to pout.

My older brother carries the cake through to the adjoining room, Zephaniah and our mother seated at the dinner table.

My eldest brother doesn't seem pleased with my mother, as he looks into her eyes with a detached expression, but her eyes discreetly gesture to the door as Wyatt and i enter, and my brother sobers up ever so slightly.

"Look, Z," my mother begins, using a snide tone that i can't detect. "Your sister baked you a cake. Don't you have something to say to your sister after she baked you a cake?"

Zephaniah's jaw clenches at her words, and he shares a knowing look with Wyatt, who places the cake onto the table in front of him.

I offer my eldest brother a shy smile, and, to my surprise, he gives me a smile in return.

My mother stills at the sight of flour sprinkled on my head and on my clothes, and sends a harsh glare in Wyatt's direction.

"She's a mess!" my mother exclaims. "Your father will throw a fit if he sees the state of her. How could you allow her to play with the flour like that? And in her new pinafore, too. I payed a pretty penny for that, you know? She needs to learn to take care of her belongings."

"It's flour, Ma," Wyatt reasons.

Our mother ignores him, now ranting about the state of the kitchen; how it better be spotless by the time our father comes home and how she can't do everything herself.

Zephaniah glances down at the cake in front of him and frowns at the picture of the two of us.

I don't think he likes it.

He turns to face me once more and points to the picture in question.

"Trees?" he guesses.

I shake my head.

"Us. See? Boy, girl," i explain, as i point to the two figures.

"Ah." he nods. "I didn't recognise myself. You made me look so handsome."

I choose to ignore his patronising comment. At least he tried.

The sound of the letterbox closing startles me.

"Can i get the mail?" i ask, with hopeful eyes.

My brother raises a bemused eyebrow, not sharing my excitement.

"I won't stop you," he answers.

I grin, turning on my heels and excitedly skipping towards the doorway. I pick up a letter with nothing more than my brother's name written on it and skip back to the kitchen, handing it to him.

His eyebrows furrow as he sees the unopened letter, and he glances towards the doorway, and then the window, and then me.

"Aren't you gonna open it?" i ask, curious, as always.

"Later," he says, sounding strangely unsure, but he quickly plasters a tight-lipped smile onto his face. "I have cake to eat."

𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙳𝙰𝚈...

A large, calloused, hand encases my own, its thumb gently tracing the bumps and grooves of my knuckles.

It stays for no longer than a few seconds, and i instantly feel a lack of warmth as the person's touch disappears.

"I'm sorry, Rori," they say. "I was stupid...I am stupid."

The voice sounds a lot like Zephaniah's.

I had a couple of not so nice dreams earlier on. Nothing unusual, just the good ol' dreams of drowning.

My eldest brother wasn't featured in any of them, but i was reminded of him anyway. Most of my nightmares link to him in some way or another.

"I should have known better. You'd defend even the most unworthy. Let alone a stranger. I wouldn't be surprised if you thought you could reform Henryk of his malicious ways."

Is that really Zephaniah? Or am i dreaming yet again, perhaps?

It does sound like something Zephaniah would say to me, though i don't understand why he reserves those rare moments of maturity to lecture me about being less caring.

And what is he lecturing me about exactly? I can't remember.

Did i hit my head or something?

"I warned you that your selfless attitude would get you in trouble with others, Sorellina. Perhaps i should have emphasised that this doesn't exclude me. Why has it taken stepping in the line of fire for you to finally pull your head out of the clouds?"

At the sound of his admonishing tone, i instinctively tighten my grip on Simba's neck, pulling him closer to me so that his head is resting on my shoulder.

My brother sighs.

I do not hear him speak again.

I drift back to sleep within seconds.

— SUCKER PUNCH —

Dozens of bouquets sit atop a table in front of the hospital bed. I notice a reoccurring theme of Lilies, and, while most of the flowers are a subtle shade of white, there are little pops of pink here and there.

Amongst them is a range of cards, which i have not yet read, but, from what i can see, display the most typical greetings.

One card catches my attention; 'best wishes' written on the front of it, and i can just about make out the name Ralph from where i am sitting.

Well, it's nice to hear that this Ralph is thinking of me, but, unfortunately, the only Ralph who comes to mind is the burly Disney character who's movie i adored when i was younger.

Nurse Jones enters the room, a warm smile on her face despite my impassiveness. She's the only nurse who doesn't seem phased by my temperaments.

I don't greet her. I simply step out of bed and hobble to the bathroom. When i return, she is fluffing up my pillows and redressing my bed. She meets my gaze once more, with the same warm smile, and, once again, i do not reciprocate the action.

"There was blood. And not the period kind," i report, rather bluntly.

She spares me a look of sympathy.

"I wouldn't worry too much. We're going to monitor your health within the next few days, but there shouldn't be a cause for concern unless there is an excessive amount of bleeding or your other symptoms worsen."

I nod my head in acceptance.

"I'm sure i can monitor my health just fine," i dismiss her. "At home, that is."

Her mouth pulls into a thin line this time, not in a frustrated fashion but in a stern one.

"You know that's not possible right now, Rori. What, with it being less than twenty-four hours since you were admitted to hospital?"

"My brother Uvaldo was released almost instantly," i argue.

"Yes, but all the bullet did was graze his shoulder. Your brother Vinnie, on the other hand, sustained similar injuries to yourself and was kept in hospital for a few days."

"Vinnie is just a major Crybaby," i insist, and she huffs in amusement.

"How do you feel, generally speaking?" she asks.

"Euphoric," i answer, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "This medication you have me on is really going above and beyond."

She rolls her eyes for the first time and insists that i return to bed, sit up-right, and replenish my fluids.

Even though i can walk to and from the bathroom, she doesn't want me to strain any of my muscles when i am in the process of healing.

It's funny because, even though she says that, i can't feel much at all, and i am convinced whatever medication i was forced to take earlier on is the reason for this.

I squint at Simba, who has somehow travelled from my bed at home to my bed at hospital.

"Vinnie dropped by," she explains, when she notices me eyeing the stuffed toy in suspicion.

My head snaps in her direction.

"When?"

"Yesterday," she reveals. "You were resting, of course."

I place Simba in my lap, observing the way his neck flops to the side due to the lack of stuffing from me cuddling him over the years.

Sometimes i feel foolish for being so attached to him. It feels like i am holding onto my childhood, and my childhood isn't exactly anything to reminisce about. But, in a way, he was my lifeline back then. And, even still, i cannot bear to part with him.

Simba was always there. He always listened to me vent and let me bite his ears to muffle my cries each night. When i look at the state of him; as worn as an old man, the hair on his head and tail withered, i realise that he is the last shred of innocence i have.

He preserved my childhood. He held onto my traumas and fears so that i didn't have to. But he's old now. And i'm not a little girl anymore. And there's only so much responsibility one stuffed toy can handle.

"...like to visit at some point."

My head snaps to meet Nurse Jones' gaze, having drifted away for a few moments.

"Hm?"

"Your brothers will want to visit you now that you're stable," she repeats herself. "More specifically, Zephaniah is eager to speak to you."

"Zephaniah is not eager to speak to anyone. Least of all me," i dismiss.

"Well—"

"I won't speak to him," i insist. "He will be unfazed as to what he has put me through. He lacks basic human empathy."

"He's been worried sick, Rori," she tells me; a last attempt to change my mind.

"Then he shouldn't have tried to shoot his brother with me in the room," i argue. "He knows better than to assume i wouldn't try to intervene."

Her eyebrows raise, eyes widening, and her mouth parts ever so slightly, upon hearing the details of the incident which landed me here.

I'm not really in the mood to silently pretend as though me being shot was fault of the enemies of my family.

The enemies of my family are my family, so there is no difference at this point.

Everybody knows that Zephaniah Łabanowski has blood on his hands.

Nurse Jones' expression mellows almost immediately, as if she has been trained to control her reactions. Well, i assume hospital workers do learn such techniques...She then approaches me, taking a seat on the chair by my bed, and her eyes are kind as they look into mine.

"You're going to need to face your brothers eventually, Rori," she tells me, sympathetically. "Please understand that i cannot deny them permission to enter the hospital."

My still impassive expression falters slightly at this revelation, leaving me overwhelmed, and i sniffle.

"There are two that i wouldn't mind visiting," i tell her, and her head tilts in intrigue. "Seamus and Quentin," i add.

She nods her head, smiling once more, seemingly satisfied that i have told her this.

"I'm sure i can arrange that."

— SUCKER PUNCH —

At eleven am the next day, Seamus and Quentin pay me a visit.

The younger of the two walks in first, and immediately replaces his look of worry with a forced smile as i make eye contact with him. Seamus enters the room a moment later and looks anywhere but my direction, holding onto a stack of books.

I place a bookmark in the one Nurse Jones kindly let me borrow for the time being, and give them my full attention.

My eyes are wary as i glance between the two of them. Not untrusting. Never untrusting — they are my twins — but wary nonetheless.

Quentin gulps, and then he clears his throat.

"We brought some books for you to read," he says, gesturing to the pile in Seamus's hands. "If you want," he adds. "They're new. We just bought ones we thought you would like."

I wait for Seamus's usual snarky comment. I predict what he will say. But it doesn't come.

And he doesn't look me in the eye.

"Thanks," i mutter, genuinely grateful that they thought to do that for me.

Quentin takes the books from Seamus's hands, not bothering to acknowledge his brother's unusual behaviour, and places them on the bedside table.

His eyes roam across the room, widening as he sees the sheer amount of flowers that have been gifted to me.

"Woah. You're popular," he marvels.

He approaches the table filled with bouquets and picks up one of the cards, pulling a piqued expression.

"Who's Ralph?" he asks me.

I shrug.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Quentin places the card back where he found it and faces me once more. My eyes are on Seamus, who still does not look at me. Quentin faces Seamus now. Seamus faces Quentin. They have a silent conversation with one another.

Seamus looks at me.

"Hi," i greet him.

Any attitude i displayed in the presence of the hospital staff is dissolving now that my twins are here.

I almost hate the comfort i feel when they are by my side. It makes me feel weak and dependant, even more so than i have been throughout my time in hospital.

Quentin knows that i had a nightmare recently, but Seamus knows nothing, and neither of them know that nightmares are a regular occurrence for me.

And it's not just visions of drowning, of course. I once had a dream that the two of them found out my biggest secret.

My biggest secret.

One of these days, the truth is going to come out. If not from Damiano, then from someone else.

I am a murderer. A criminal. Just like my father was, and his father before him.

But, worst of all, my sinning was all in vain.

It is hitting me like a tonne of bricks in this very moment. The weight of what i committed at the age of thirteen never quite sunk in until now.

If my nightmares, fears, regrets, and guilt were bad before Damiano revealed to me the identity of the victims, and before i heard Zephaniah confirm that he was, indeed, the father of the child, then how am i supposed to cope now?

I am a murderer.

A murderer; not cold and callous, but far too caring for her own good. A murderer so well trained that she put a bullet through a man's head and it was passed off as a murder-suicide. A murderer who, although well trained, pulled the trigger a second too late.

I could have saved them.

Mother and son.

She would be alive. My brother would be a father. She would explain everything. Damiano and Zephaniah could find peace.

I could find peace.

I could live, not as the granddaughter of a criminal, nor the daughter of a criminal, nor the sister of a criminal, nor as a criminal, but as a normal, teenage girl.

"Ri?"

Quentin looks at me as if he can read my every thought. It worries me.

"Yeah?" i respond.

"Everything okay?"

The question is stupid.

Of course everything is not okay.

Nothing has ever been okay in my life; in any one of our lives, for that matter. Papa was absent and abusive. Mama did not outshine him as a parent because she, too, was absent and abusive, though in a different way. And if our parents 'abandoning' us wasn't bad enough, Zephaniah and Yakov leaving five years ago was where my life took a turn for the worst. On top of that, my brothers returning was supposed to fix everything. They assured us we would be stronger as one, but now i realise that they left for all the right reasons.

We were naive. We thought we needed them — maybe we did — but they were doing the right thing. For them, and for our family.

My family is at war with one another, and my parents started said war three decades ago when they decided to have an affair. My uncle is responsible for the death of my father and has most likely been planning the death of my brother since he was a mere infant. We are in a foreign country and, even though i have been fluent in their language for as long as i can remember, i do not understand the people here.

My grandfather turned to crime as a way to escape poverty, as did my father when he was left to fend for himself, as did my brother. We left Russia, yet we are still criminals. We are wealthy now, yet we are still criminals. My brothers are entrepreneurs. I am enrolled in one of the best schools in the country. Yet...we are still criminals. We are still frauds.

Nothing is okay.

Not one thing in my life is okay.

I don't realise my eyes are welling up until a lone tear rolls down my cheek. It taunts me as it moves at a slow and torturous pace, mocking my predicament. I don't wipe it away. I don't do anything so much as blink.

Quentin reacts promptly, as always, a look on his face that is as sorry as it is scolding. He takes a step towards me.

"Don't," i say.

He stops in his tracks, almost offended, though he tries not to let it show.

"This was a mistake," i say.

Seamus looks cross; his mouth pulled into a thin line and his jaw clenched in anger.

"She's crying," he tells Quentin, as if i am not in the room. "We've barely been here four seconds, and she's crying."

I don't like crying in the presence of any one of my brothers, or anyone, for that matter, but i especially don't like crying in the presence of Seamus.

He doesn't appreciate tears.

"Please talk to us, Rori," Quentin pleads, a defeated expression on his face. "Please. If you're going to shut anyone out right now, don't let it be us."

He says that as if i have a choice. To let them in would be to confide in them, to confide in them would be to let my guard down, and to let my guard down would be to slip up; to say either too much or too little.

I can't even bear to look them in the eye, let alone discuss the cause of my distress.

Seamus still hasn't responded to my greeting. He still hasn't truly acknowledged me, despite the fact his eyes are now locked in place as he stares right at me, me nervously avoiding his gaze like it will obliterate me.

My brothers don't know what to say. I don't know what to say. Everything about this interaction is uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," i settle for my traditional apology.

It's funny how i say the word 'sorry' like it is going out of style, yet i have heard Zephaniah use it for its genuine purpose only once in fifteen years.

The boys share another look with one another.

I'm sick fed up with her unnecessarily apologising.

It's a lost cause.

One of us has to be the one to break the ice here.

What are we going to do?

Eventually, i get tired of watching them silently deliberate. I hate this method of communication, even if i use it myself. If i'm good at eaves dropping, i'm a world champion in interpreting my brothers' shared glances.

I clear my throat and am instantly met with two pairs of hazel eyes.

"Maybe i wouldn't be apologising if i didn't feel like such an idiot," i announce. "I will speak, but only if we get the inevitable interrogation out of the way first. Just ask what you wanna ask and let's be done with it."

Even Seamus's expression softens at this.

They exchange a brief look once more, producing two chairs which they place by either side of my bed. I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm my seemingly erratic heart beat.

This will all blow over soon. If i answer some of their queries now, i will at least be able to relax a little and focus on returning to full health. The sooner i'm out of here, the better.

"We could have helped," Seamus begins, a weight to his tone, telling me that this is a true conviction in his eyes. "If you had just told us what was going on — that this Damiano had forced you into such a situation — we could have done something."

I remain silent but shake my head in disagreement.

They truly have no idea what turmoil i was faced with.

"No," i say, my voice firm. "That's not how it works and you know it. Business is personal."

"I'm intelligent, Rori. I might not put effort into my studies, but i'm intelligent. At fifteen, i've looked out for you more than our older brothers have. I have my own way of handling things and i'm very discreet. I could have prevented this if you had only told me. I could have ensured that man never contacted you again."

He speaks with a clear confidence and sincerity to his tone. I don't entirely disbelieve him, but in no way am i convinced that me telling him of Damiano's blackmail would have helped.

It's not the type of thing one is able to bring up in casual conversation.

"You don't understand," i say.

"I never do, apparently," he retorts, almost sorrily. "Between Henryk, and Teddy's mental health, and now this...there's such a lack of transparency in this family. I never do quite understand it, Ria."

Quentin shakes his head at our brother, but i can't say it is in disagreement. His arms rest on his thighs as he alternates between anxiously twiddling with his thumbs  and the colourful rings on his fingers. Seamus's presence, as always, is large and defying.

"Oh, and that's my fault?" i ask, using an incredulous tone.

"That's not what i'm saying." he sighs. "You know that's not what i mean."

Silence engulfs the three of us once more and, though not intended, Seamus's words feel like a personal attack, as i easily detect the disappointment in his tone.

"We care about you, Rori," Quentin breaks the silence, looking directly into my eyes to convey the seriousness of his words. "More than anyone, your brothers and i care about you. We're just in disbelief of what has happened," he admits. "I mean, we still don't even know the full story. It's all so confusing."

Seamus nods in agreement.

They always seem to fill in the blanks for each other. Most commonly, Quentin highlighting that Seamus's frustration-filled lectures are a result of his protectiveness. Or Seamus adding in the details that Quentin has forgotten to mention when he is telling one of his long-winded, usually pointless but funny or dramatic, stories.

I admire that about them. They have been a team since birth, like a mini Zephaniah and Yakov.

I guess that's also as scary as it is amusing. Of course, we are our own persons. But we are so, uncannily, alike sometimes that i can't help but wonder how everyone else perceives us.

It makes me wonder about my half-brothers. I suppose Damiano shows signs of having similar traits to us in some way or another, but he still feels like a stranger rather than a brother.

I wonder if Lorenzo, Eden, and him are as in tune with one another as the ten of us are. Though, when i think about the way Damiano described his siblings and his relationship with them, it doesn't sound like they are too close.

Still, Eden is his twin, and they grew up together, unlike Lorenzo. There must be some sort of connection between the two of them, like there is with Seamus, Quentin, and i.

"I'm not ready to relive these past few months," i admit. "I can't even think about it without feeling exhausted."

Quentin's eyes whirl with concern.

"Rori," he says my name like he is sighing, the same tone people use when they feel helpless, "that's the last thing we want. We just wanted to see you...make sure you were okay," his voice breaks towards the end of his sentence.

Once again, i am not okay.

But i don't need to tell them that.

What he means is that they wanted to see that i was still in one piece, with their own eyes. That they wanted to make sure the brothers who visited me weren't simply hallucinating.

At least i can reassure them of that — that i am still in one piece — even though, mentally, i feel as though i have been shattered to smithereens.

"We—we can't just avoid the topic altogether, though," Seamus stutters, clearly hesitant of what he is about to say. "I mean...you were shot. By our brother, no less. We can't just have a normal conversation with one another and ignore the reason we're here."

Can't we? i hear myself saying. Can't we do that?

But, ultimately, Seamus is right. We can't just overlook the fact i am sitting here in the most hideous hospital gown, several stitches and a gauze on my waist.

"He didn't mean to shoot me," i say, not trying to defend his action but, rather, set the record straight. "He was aiming for Damiano. It's my fault that i ended up here."

"Don't say that—"

"No. It's true," i immediately cut Quentin off. "I stepped in the firing line. No one forced me to. And because of this, i was the one who got hit. I reckon Zephaniah was trying to render him temporarily disabled. He certainly wasn't trying to kill him, but, either way, i knew him shooting our brother would be the final straw. Something had to give, and that something was me interfering," i explain, with a nonchalant shrug.

In my head, my justification makes perfect sense, but my brothers stare at me as if i am speaking a language they do not understand.

I'm sick of everyone acting as though my actions are so crazy. Okay, maybe i was idiotic for stepping in the way as Zephaniah was about to fire a gun, but it's not as if i had time to process what i was doing. Before i knew it, i had been shot.

I wasn't defending Damiano because i had miraculously grown fond of him in the span of three meetings. I was defending Damiano because the possibility of something going wrong and my brothers' drama being unresolved was a lot more agonising than the thought of anything happening to me.

Once again, it has been three decades since our family has been at war with one another. Something had to give.

"That doesn't change the fact he shouldn't have thought to use his gun in the first place. Especially not with you nearby," Quentin says, as Seamus aids him with another nod. "Our brother was irresponsible. No one blames you. No one."

His words somewhat reassure me that, maybe, they don't think i'm crazy after all.

I know he is right. None of this is my fault. I was blackmailed; used as a pawn in Damiano's little game designed to get back at my brother.

Zephaniah was supposed to be the only target here, yet, here i am, wounded from a bullet that he fired.

I should have warned Damiano that our brother cannot be outsmarted. But, then again, i was too busy trying to juggle all the many other dramas in my life as well as trying to fit in a bit of school work here and there.

And now that i'm in hospital on a school day, after previously missing two days when i caught that sickness bug back in October, i may as well kiss my promise of winning that bet goodbye and start preparing to embarrass myself in front of Christian.

Christian.

In all of this chaos, it completely slipped my mind that he was with me when Damiano last called. I can only assume that he and my friends are aware of what has happened. Though part of me remains curious, i refrain from asking.

Instead, i settle for mumbling a meek "Okay."

Quentin smiles, softly, but Seamus doesn't look convinced.

"Okay?" the elder repeats in a dubious tone.

"Okay," i confirm with a slight nod.

"Okay?" Quentin double checks.

"Okay," i say a little louder; a little more convincing

"Okay?" they ask at once.

I smile for the first time in a long time, partly with exasperation because of their blatant attempt to wind me up, and the dimples on my brothers' cheeks make an appearance as they grin at the sight.

They end up staying for a few hours and go to the canteen in between. Quentin takes one sip of his coffee and spits it back into the cup, while Seamus, who loathes the taste of coffee in general, happily slurps his peach smoothie, ignoring our brother as he begs for a sip of it.

Quentin places a kiss on my forehead as they are about to leave, and Seamus mockingly pouts at him for a moment, until the former laughs and kisses him on the forehead too, which amuses me greatly considering the two of them aren't even fond of hugging one another.

Though i am glad that they visited, my good mood is short lived, as, as soon as they leave, i feel a sense of emptiness, and, as i am struggling to get to sleep, i realise that this is my first time being away from all of my brothers at once.

My grip on Simba instinctively tightens. In the distance, i hear the sounds of staff patrolling the hospital. I listen for the sound of muffled voices, but it doesn't come. I wait for the shadow at the doorway, but it doesn't appear.

Though i have slept in a peaceful and darkened room, by myself, for the past seven years, this feels strangely eerie and lonely.

I retrieve my phone from the bedside table and open the Spotify app, hitting play without bothering to check what song was listened to last.

Radiohead's 'Fake Plastic Trees' flows through the speakers.

I sigh.

How typical that the last thing i hear, as i am contemplating this newfound separation from my brothers, is one of Zephaniah's favourite bands.

A/N: Essentially, i unpublished this chapter a day after uploading it, as i wasn't happy with it. My plan was to tweak it, write the next one, and then surprise you guys with a double update, but, at this point, i'm planning on rewriting the chapter i was going to upload alongside this, as i'm just going through the same thing with that one 🥲.