"Zephaniah?" i call out, as i look down into the depths of the deep, blue water. "Zephaniah?" i repeat, determined.

My brother is under the water but he hasn't resurfaced for air yet.

Why hasn't he returned?

"Zephaniah?" i whisper, feeling my eyes swell up with unshed tears. "Zephaniah, please come back. I need you. Please don't leave me," i desperately plead, choking on my sobs.

I want to dive into the water and bring him back to land, but i can't even lift a finger.

For some reason, i seem to be glued to the spot i am standing on. Almost like something, or somebody, is holding me back...

Stopping me from saving my brother's life.

"Zephy?" i try one more time, my voice wavering when i hear no reply.

Not a single noise can be heard, except from the few bubbles that are now making their way towards the surface, a still and lifeless body sinking to the bottom.

My brother is dead.

My brother is dead and it is all my fault.

— SUCKER PUNCH —

I find myself wandering the halls at night, desperate for an escape.

I need to see my brother and i need to see him now.

I need to make sure he is okay.

The nightmare i just experienced was even more severe and even more sickening than any other one i have endured before.

None of it makes sense. None of it at all.

I rarely ever have nightmares about my twins, let alone the rest of my brothers. It's always me and Zephaniah who end up going through some traumatic experience.

The logical explanation as to why i had this nightmare would be due to what he told us earlier on...

Henryk.

The name of a man who supposedly ordered a hit on my two older brothers. The name of a man who has been (and still is) trying to kill my eldest one.

My father's only brother.

An uncle i never knew i had.

I feel out-raged that no one had bothered to mention his existence, especially since he plays such a vital part in my family's ongoing issues.

I wasn't surprised to hear that i have an uncle, however. It just came as a shock to find out about him no less than fifteen years after my birth.

After all, my parents must've had family of their own...siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles of their own.

I will have many family members that i do not know of and will never come to know.

This uncle of mine though, Henryk, sounds pure evil.

My brothers made him out to be worse than Zephaniah and my father combined, which had me thinking, are all of my relatives so cruel?

They were very vague when answering our questions, like always. Not telling us too much, nor too little.

Apparently Henryk has been an enemy of Zephaniah and our family for decades now.

I don't know if he specifically hates my siblings and i, or if it has something to do with his relationship with my father.

Either way, i do not want to cross paths with him. Ever.

Zephaniah claimed that he recognised something in the surveillance footage. The gun that the shooter used was marked with a symbol. My brother never told us what the symbol was, only that it belongs to Henryk, and, therefore, the shooter must work for him.

Our brother believes that Henryk wished to be caught; that it is one of his many tac-tics and he is deliberately leaving trails of hints everywhere in order to lure us into his trap.

To put it simply: he plans on capturing Zephaniah and then murdering him.

But my eldest brother is not phased in the slightest.

In the end, we cut the meeting short. Wyatt decided it would be best if he emailed each of us the information he collected from Aunt Tosca's cafe last month, as he believes it may have something to do with our uncle.

I have so many thoughts running through my brain right now that it is quickly overwhelming me.

How could my siblings just go to sleep and pretend like nothing is happening?

How could my twins not consult me afterwards and agree that this is simply preposterous?

Why aren't we running away now, like we always do?

Why aren't my brothers fearing for their lives and for each other's lives like i am?

I feel exhausted, betrayed, lonely, and sick...

Sick of everything.

Sick of myself, and my family, and my last name which put a target on my back from the moment i was born.

Sick of the fact my brothers don't have a goddamn care in the world; no regard for anyone but themselves.

While they are tucked in, all snug in their beds, i am having a panic attack and have no one to turn to. No one to comfort me and tell me that everything is going to be just fine.

Nobody cares about me in the slightest it seems, not even myself, and i am completely and utterly sick of it.

I barely make it to the kitchen sink in time before i regurgitate my dinner, grateful that i decided to sleep with my hair in a bun.

I hate vomiting, like everyone, but admittedly feel a lot better afterwards.

I splash my face with warm water from the tap, before cleaning up any remnants of my sick.

A mental image of ten year old Rori pops up in my head.

She is leaning over the same sink, cleaning the same sink after she threw up in it.

That was the day her eldest brothers left her. Oh, how i wish i could give her a hug.

God knows she deserves much more than that.

It seems i always end up throwing up when times are hard; either from crying too much or because i witness something so physically repulsing
that i have no choice but to.

I release a shaky breath, too tired to function despite the fact my thoughts keep me alert at all times.

I turn one of the cabinet lights on, which provides a better visibility than my phone torch.

I pour myself a glass of tap water and swirl it around in my mouth before spitting it back into the sink, an attempt to get rid of the ugly, lingering, sick-filled taste.

I think about calling Zephaniah but soon realise that is not possible as i don't have his phone number.

I am sure Xavi had written it down for us not long after he returned, but i never thought of adding it to my contacts list because...well...i retain a strong dislike for him.

I will forever regret this decision though, as it would obviously prove to be useful at some point, but i do tend to lack in common sense.

I hopelessly rake and fumble through the unnecessarily overpacked drawers. I even check the top one, finding nothing but a few CDs, bobby pins, and other misplaced objects.

I know that if i were to check elsewhere i would risk waking the whole house up, but i need to hear his
voice.

I need to know that he is okay.

I hate that i am being all caring, and sympathetic, and genuine right now.

I hate the fact not a sliver of my soul wants him gone for good.

When he was gone for years at a time, all i wanted was for him to come back. I soon got used to the feeling of not having him or Yakov around, and so, when they did eventually return, i never expected them to stay this long.

Deep down, it was obvious that i longed for my eldest brother's presence. Whether i loath the man's existence or not, and whether he even cares for me, he is still my family. My former guardian.

It was obvious that i needed him by my side, yet, at the same time, i can't help but push him away.

He's done so much to hurt me in the past; more hurt than he has done good, to be honest. He has never spoken such sweet words to me, like the others. He has never wanted anything to do with me for the most part. But i can't help the way i feel about him.

I can't help that i want my most sinister, audacious, psychotic brother's love...if he is even capable of loving someone, that is.

It's embarrassing.

He shows me no true goodwill but i still always come running back to him, like an annoying, little, shadow.

— SUCKER PUNCH —

After aimlessly walking around for half an hour, i end up in Quentin's room.

My poor twin brother is snoozing peacefully, releasing the occasionally snore as he shifts around in his sleep.

I don't want to wake him up at such an unreasonable hour. I already feel as if i am being a burden by coming here in the first place, but i don't want to be alone right now. Not when i could end up putting myself at harm.

Knowing how jumpy he can be, i settle for calling his name instead of shaking him awake.

Quentin, unlike most of us, is a morning person. He is usually one of the first up, not even relying on an alarm in the process, and is a bright and cheery wake up call for the rest of us. I just hope that he will react well right now instead of kicking me out.

I hear a muffled groan escape his lips, followed by a few unintelligible grunts, but i cannot tell if his eyes are open, considering his head is still smushed against the pillow.

Eventually, he rolls over to face me. With one hand rubbing the sleep away from his eyes, the other stretched out, his tired appearance almost makes me laugh.

"Mi hai svegliato?" he rasps, furrowing his brows. "A che ora?"

Not waiting for my response, he briefly glances at the digital clock to his right before taking a sharp breath. He turns back towards me, sitting upright and narrowing his eyes.

I continue to stand there, uncomfortable, while he scrutinises me.

"M'sorry." i sniffle, releasing a shaky breath as i watch his facial features soften.

"Oh caro." he sighs. "Rori, have you been crying? What for? Did something happen?" he interrogates, completely ignoring my apology.

When i make no effort to move from my position, he shuffles around in his bed to make room for me. Patting the spot on his left side, he gestures with his head, silently commanding me to approach him.

My glossy eyes make it very difficult to see where i'm going, and, if i were in any of the other boys' rooms, i definitely would've tripped on something. It is due to Quentin's minimalistic and tidy nature that this does not happen, however.

"Is it about...Henryk?" he asks me, cautiously.

The lump in my throat restricts me from speaking, so i settle for a nod instead.

Quentin sighs sympathetically when i begin to cry even harder, wrapping his arm round my shoulder and pulling me into his chest.

His soft touch draws circles on my upper arm and i soon allow myself to relax in his hold. Still shedding a few tears, i follow the movements of his steady breathing.

I begin explaining what happened, from the moment i woke after the night terror, to then having a panic attack about Zephaniah; throwing up in the sink, searching for our brother's number, the lot.

The whole time, Quentin listens to me without interrupting. Just like i knew he would. Even still, i am surprised by his sudden maturity and almost parental comfort he gives me.

I'm not afraid to break down in his arms, like i would've been if he were the likes of Xavi or Seamus, and he isn't intimidating me or being judgmental in the slightest.

Quentin's warm and loving embrace, along with his sweet scent, is like my safe haven right now. One which i gladly take refuge in.

In the past, the roles have been reversed. I haven't seen Quentin cry very often — not since we were young children, that is — but due to his anxiety, amongst other things, it was i who would provide him with solace.

In fact, being here right now, i almost forget about our separation as triplets throughout these tough times.

I wonder if he is ready to forgive me yet, unlike his older brother.

"In no way are you stupid for reacting like that, or childish for having a bad dream," he placates me, sternly. "It's them who are in the wrong." he sighs. "It's your brothers and i who are the stupid ones," he voices, in a resentful murmur.

"And childish ones," i mumble.

"Hmm." he snickers, quietly. "That too."

There is a short pause, the only sound being that of our synchronised breathing. I can still feel Quentin's steady heart beat next to me, and, unknowingly, it helps to settle my own.

"I thought i had killed him," i speak up, nervously gulping. "In my dream, i thought it was my fault that Zephaniah..."

Please don't cry again. Please don't cry again. Please don't cry again.

"I can't say it, Quen," i whimper. "I can't say it because it was too realistic, and now it's only a matter of time before our Uncle completes the task."

"Shh." his hand combs through my hair. "He's okay, Ria. You know he's okay. In fact, he's more than okay. He's probably at home right now, talking about all of his master plans in his sleep...dreaming of world domination, or something," he mocks our eldest brother, and i quietly giggle at the thought.

Although Quentin's attempt to cheer me up is a success, he fails to distract me from my relentless worrying, and, as if on que, my mind begins to conjure up a bunch of graphic scenarios.

All of which involved Zephaniah dying.

"But he's unguarded. That's the point." i scoff. "Our Uncle is aware of his location. He must be," i raise my voice, causing him to hush me once more.

"Zephaniah won't be completely unguarded, although i very much doubt he would need a shield for battle. Besides, he can just offer Yakov as a human sacrifice," he attempts another joke, but this time i hit him rather than laugh. "Okay, i'm sorry, i was kidding. But i do trust that the guys know what they're doing."

We have this unspoken belief that Zephaniah is invincible. Well, not totally invincible, but he somehow manages to escape death more than the average person. A curse to most, rather than a blessing.

He always wins, no matter what.

It's like the 'baddies' i used to read about when i was younger. No matter how many times they came close to meeting death's doors, they would always bounce back one way or another.

I would always complain about the baddies being undeserving, their actions unjustified.

Zephaniah insisted that they were simply misunderstood. That they were often the real victims in the scenario, and that maybe they were the way they were for a certain reason.

And so i suppose Zephaniah can relate to those characters: his reputation does not matter to him, so long as he survives.

So there's no way that after all this time, all of the threats, and all of the things he has been through, he is suddenly quivering in fear at the thought of being killed by a man who could have done it a hundred times already.

No, my brother is too far from sane to give a fuck about some guy who waited twenty-eight years for this moment.

My brother is too far from sane to care at all.

"Quen?" i murmur, looking up at him through my glossy eyes.

"Hm?"

"Please don't tell the others i had a nightmare," i rush out, looking away again before he can spot the embarrassed, red tint on my cheeks.

"And why would i do that?" he asks, deadly serious.

I sigh, shuffling around, and cowardly burrow myself under his cosy comforter. Quentin remains unbothered, merely raising a questioning brow in response.

"I dunno," i mumble, my voice muffled. "Seamus would've."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, clearly less than impressed by my miscalculated assumption.

"Do i look like Seamus to you?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Touché," he says though gritted teeth. "But seriously, Ri, i would never. I can promise you that," he insists, looking directly into my eyes to convey the seriousness of his words. "I'm glad you told me about it. A problem shared is a problem halved, remember?" he mocks Vinnie.

I nod, though still wear an apprehensive look on my face.

I'm glad i am able to confide in him tonight. However, seeing how quickly things have changed recently, i half expected him to laugh at my request.

I feared i would have to deal with two evil twins soon, but after tonight i am more than confident my sweet-natured brother will remain loyal to me and to himself.

I just wish the other, more rambunctious, boys didn't try to be so...influential towards him.

"Seamus hates me," i announce suddenly, still deep in thought. "And Teddy."

"Rori!" he scolds. "Why would you say that? You know that can't be true."

"Well, i'll be dammed," i grumble, earning yet another sympathetic sigh from Quentin.

I glance up at him and again see how visibly tired he appears. I must make sure to be extra nice to him from now on, so long as he is to me also.

I will forever be grateful that he managed to help me tonight. Hell, i was half prepared to simply call an Uber and show up on my eldest brother's doorstep.

Not that i know where that is...

Thank God i did not completely lose my mind.

"Look, i know you guys aren't exactly the best of friends right now but they're your brothers. Seamus your twin, as am i. They don't hate you, Ri. They're both complete assholes, i know what it's like, but i know for a fact they do not hate you."

His reaction to my claim catches me off guard. Of course i know my brothers care about me, somewhere in their shallow selves, but, when we fight, it makes me feel like they'd be better off without me.

There has been many occasions (more so as kids) where we have gone without speaking to one another. A day would turn into a week, and then a month, but still nothing. Sometimes we would physically fight, not stopping until blood was spilled. Other times we would go after belongings: smash things, tear things, do some type of irreparable damage. Yet it was nothing compared to the mind games we'd play.

Those left many scars, far deeper than the ones on our bodies.

Though the promising thing is, we always made up afterwards. One way or another. Granted, it was usually by force but we managed. And i suppose i'm hoping this will all blow over in a day or two. We are better than this and we have a lot more important things to be dealing with.

But still, i find myself angry at Seamus and feel that our twin should know exactly what is going on...

"I got an automatic fail on my English paper. I spent weeks on it, picking out a topic that i was passionate enough to write about, doing research, finding evidence...You get the point," i list, and he nods. "The thing is, i've never gotten lower than a B before in that class, because...Well..."

"It's your strongest subject," Quentin finishes for me. "I'm sorry, Ria. I didn't know about that. But why on earth would they fail you?" he asks. "Surely there's been a mistake or something?"

"Seamus's paper was due in a day before mine and when i finally got my grade back, Mr Fuller said he never thought a 'bright young lady' like me would be one to cheat," i explain, watching as his eyebrows raise, disbelief etched onto his face.

I remember everything from that day so clearly.

It was one in particular where i had  angered Seamus. He was annoying me in the morning, as usual, and so i was acting extremely cocky and throwing all sorts of insults at him. I threatened his ego, betting that he was all bark and no bite. 

He had simply laughed at my statement and only then did i realised my stupidity.

Christian — who apparently wasn't aware of Seamus's little prank — had teased me endlessly afterwards. He, himself, received a respectable -A and it was only when he found out that i lost to him by foul play did he