The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers 1)

1

Prologue

Seb

Ahem. Ahem. Acchhh-chhemmm.

I yanked the pillow further down on top of my head, but nothing could block out the nauseating, God-awful, “this close to punching you in the balls” sound of my roommate’s compulsive throat clearing.

Accchhhemmm. Cough. Cough. Acck.

I dug my fingers into the pillowcase and my knuckles actually hurt from squeezing the damn thing so hard.

Ahem. Aaacckkk. Cough.

My left eye began to twitch, the non-stop spasms nearly as maddening as Henri “Ahem” Allaire and his motherfucking phlegmy throat lying in the bed next to mine. Some days, I just wanted to snatch the plunger out of the communal washroom and suction the damn thing over the kid’s mouth, then pump that bastard until the permanent, sticky ball of mucus came flying out of Henri’s overtaxed lungs.

Ahem. Cough. Cough.

Oh God. A wave of exhaustion slammed into me, hitting so hard my eyeballs literally ached. Speaking of which… twitch, twitch, twitch. That damn left eye continued its little dance, the one it did whenever the stress levels got to be too much, which was pretty much all the fucking time in this shithole. The twitching grew exponentially worse whenever Mr. Mucous fell into one of his hacking spells.

Despite not believing in spiritual woo-woo bullshit, I was so desperate for sleep, I even went so far as to attempt a ridiculous relaxation technique one of the dozen interchangeable counselors showed me. I closed his eyes…twitch, twitch, twitch.

Fuck! Concentrate, Seb!

One muscle at a time, I forced my limbs to unclench and began the exercise. Breathe in through the nose, hold for two, then out through the mouth, hold for two. I continued with the stupid breathing, even though every time I inhaled, the sharp scent of antiseptic cleanser and the musty odor of institutional blankets assaulted my nostrils. In…one… two. Out… one… two.

Ack. Ahem. Accchhhemm.

I ground my teeth together, convinced I’d end up with at least two cracked molars by the time I got released. In… one… two. Out… one… two. Two more months. Just two fucking months and I’d be out. I’d already done eight, which, granted was a hell of a lot easier to endure before phlegmy over there ended up assigned to my room. The clueless asshole made an Olympic sport out of ejecting a lung every night. But still, only sixty more days, well, fifty-nine to be exact. I could do that. Then no more Henri “Ahem” Allaire. No more tasteless, colorless, and unrecognizable blobs that were deemed food. No more shapeless, saggy blue scrubs and white, lace-free slippers. No more group therapy. No more of any of that shit.

Cough. Cough. Cough. Accckkk!

I cringed as my left eye spazzed and did the Riverdance. That fucker twitched so hard my cheek muscle jumped right along with it. Apparently, the rhythm was catchy.

Fuck. In… one… two. Out… one… two.

I’d never been more miserable—no, scratch that. I had. Even that miserable place was a dream compared to my life before. So, phlegmy roommate or not, in my mind, every single day spent confined in the bowels of the white-walled government institution was worth it. When I got out I’d finally be able to see my little brother, Rèmy. Then, for the first time in my life, everything would be good. Normal.

No longer would I have to stay alert, tense and watching over my shoulder at all times. I’d be able to relax at Mémère’s house, where Rèmy lived with our grandmother, or so I’d been told. Rèmy wasn't allowed to visit, and that was more than fine. In fact, Mémère said she didn't tell Rèmy the truth about where I was or what happened a little over a year ago that ended up sending me away. Mémère told Rèmy that I was spending a year at a boarding school in Nova Scotia. That I had to get away due to undue stress. Keeping my little brother in the dark was fine as far as I was concerned. Since there was no chance I could erase the images in his own head, the least he could do was ensure that sweet, innocent Rèmy never suffered the same, or found out what really went down at our house that night.

Hack. Cough. Ahem.

Fucking Hell. I stared at the ceiling, eye twitching away.