Chapter 5

KIERAN

The pills always left a film on my tongue.

Bitter, chalky and clinging. I could still taste it when I ran my teeth over the back of my mouth. I remembered the doctors saying something about how the bitterness meant they were working, but I knew better, it meant they were still in me. Still eating at the edges of what was left of my thoughts.

I sat up slowly, pressing a hand to my face. The room smelled like sugar and plastic—blocks, stuffed animals, and those stupid colors that screamed for attention in the dark. Toys everywhere like a fucking child’s room. They thought it helped me. Grounding, Lilian called it. But it wasn’t grounding. It was drowning.

I swung my legs off the bed, the marble floor cold under my feet. For a second, the world tilted sideways and nausea hit hard. I should’ve spat the pill out earlier. Should’ve shoved it under my tongue until I could hide it. But I’d been tired. Tired and slow and didn’t even know why I would want to do that.

That’s how they wanted me. Half-awake, half-alive, dull enough to forget who I really was.

I kicked one of the toys out of my way. It rolled across the floor and hit the wall with a soft thunk. I hated that sound, the small, neat noises this house made, as if everything inside was made to cage me in.

Ezra’s door was only a few steps away. I didn’t plan to go there, but my feet moved before my mind caught up. The door gave when I pushed it, just a crack, enough for the faint smell of soap and lavender candles to slip through.

He was asleep. Curled slightly on his side, the blanket tangled low around his waist. The light from the window touched his face, made his hair look lighter than it was in the day. Every slow breath from him sounded too calm, too even like he didn’t realize where he was, or who was watching him.

I leaned against the doorframe. Just watching him breathe. In, out. Too simple.

They brought him here to handle me, to feed me, keep me quiet, keep me manageable. Babysit the broken man. But he wasn’t like the others. The others looked at me like I was a problem to solve. Ezra looked at me like I was something he could fix.

And I couldn’t decide if that made him brave or stupid.

The small stuffed bear sat on his shelf, catching the light. I’d given it to him earlier. I wasn’t even sure why, maybe I’d wanted to see what he’d do with it. Maybe I’d wanted proof that he was gullible. And he was. Fuck he was. He’d placed it there carefully, like a gift that meant something.

I stepped inside the room, quiet as shadow, and stopped beside his bed. His breathing deepened slightly but he didn’t wake. The steady rhythm of it filled the room. I could almost hear the echo of Lilian’s voice in my head—He needs supervision.

I smiled faintly. Supervision. Right.

He had no idea what kind of thing he’d agreed to live with. He’d seen glimpses—the way I’d moved earlier, the way I’d watched him—but he didn’t understand what lived underneath. Not yet.

“Ezra,” I whispered his name as my thumb pressed against his lips and parted them lightly. Just enough for his breath to hitch. Just enough for me to push my finger into his mouth.

I tilted my head and bite my lips as I watched him. My stupid babysitter. Ezra.

I let my fingers trail down his Adam apples, then slowly down his chest and my grin widened when he groaned. “You are mine now.” I whispered. “You are in my cage now.”

I stayed there longer than I meant to. My head felt too light, my chest tight with that weird feeling I couldn’t name when the child tried forcing it’s way through.

Finally, I turned and left before the noise inside my skull grew too loud.

Downstairs, the air was cooler. The house felt bigger at night, like it expanded in the dark. Pipes moaned, wood shifted, the faint hum of the refrigerator filled the empty spaces. I found the liquor cabinet tucked behind the sitting room doors.

The first bottle my hand found was half full. I poured without thinking, watched the amber swirl against the glass, then drank. The burn was sharp as it went down my throat. Every other thing they fed me was meant to soften me. This at least reminded me that I was still human, still the Kieran.

The clock ticked loud in the background and I caught my reflection in the window, my own eyes looking back, dulled but still mine.

I remembered flashes—boardrooms, contracts, signatures. The weight of my father’s watch on my wrist. The company that had been mine. The legacy I had built from the ashes of my parents’ deaths. Seven years of work stolen with a handful of pills and a freak accident.

I poured another drink, slower this time. My hand trembled slightly, but the glass didn’t spill.

My mind went back to the babysitter.

Ezra.

He was different. Too kind. Too easy to read. That softness could be turned into something useful. If I could make him trust me, if I could make him forget the rules, he might skip the pills. One night. Then two. Then I’d start remembering more.

I could almost hear his voice in my head, soft, careful, coaxing me like a child. The same voice that had cracked when he’d seen me run down the hallway. The same fear in it.

It made something warm twist low in my chest and my lips split into a grin.

The sound of steps creaked behind me and I turned my head slowly, my instinct sharp.

Ezra’s voice came soft, drowsy from sleep.

“Kieran? What are you doing here?”

The sound snapped through me like a jolt of electricity. I looked down at the bottle in my hand, at the half-drained glass, and the spill across the counter. I needed to think. Fast.

My body remembered before my mind did. I dropped my shoulders, tilted my chin down, softened everything about me and let the tension bleed out of my face.

“Was thirsty,” I murmured, keeping my voice small. “Saw the colored water.”

I could feel his panick and shock that I had actually responded to him. I could feel the way he hesitated on the stairs, befor running down in his blue pajamas pant that slipped too fucking low. “Fu—No you can’t drink that. That’s for uh Adults.” He ranted and my lips almost twitched.

He grabbed my hand, his smaller around mine as he led us up the stairs. “You shouldn’t be up,” he said quietly. “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

He moved closer, his steps careful, voice still gentle as he guided me toward up stairs. I followed, keeping my expression blank, my breathing steady. But inside, I was counting. Each step. Each movement. Each second his hand still held mine.

He thought he was leading me.

At the top of the stairs, he gave a soft smile. “Good night, Kieran.”

I looked at him. The moonlight from the window hit his face just right to show his sharp jaw, tired eyes. God he was too human for this place.

It made me twitch.

“Good night,” I said, barely above a whisper.

He waited until I’d gone into my room before closing his door. I stayed there a while, staring at the faint strip of light under it, the warmth leaking into the hallway.

Then I whispered, “We’ll fix this. You’ll help me.”

I sat at the edge of my bed until the child came and I could no longer control myself. And the last thing I saw before my eyes shut was that carved stuffed bear on Ezra’s shelf, his first mistake, gleaming faintly in the moonlight.