I watch Rafael sit next to Ethan, trying to gauge whether he’s being honest or just making up a whole thing for my brother’s benefit.
“What does that mean?” Ethan asks.
Rafael crosses his arms, focusing on a spot on the floor. “My dad was a bully. He smacked me around, but that honestly hurt less than the stuff he said. That was…” He swallows. “Hard to take.”
I take a seat on the armrest of the couch, not daring to make a noise.
“Stuff like what?”
Rafael’s gaze darts to me, and I don’t really know what to do with myself. I think he’s being honest, and if Ethan wasn’t here, I’d hug him. Sit on his lap or touch him some other way, hoping that the skin-on-skin contact could provide him some sort of comfort. But Ethan’s here, so I offer a light smile.
“Lots of things. How I was a constant disappointment. Stupid. A waste of space. How I’d never do anything with myself, and my mom leaving us was all my fault.”
I’m pretty sure my lips twist in disgust. What kind of parent would say things like that to their own son?
Ethan scoffs. “What an asshole.”
“Yeah.”
Yeah. A real asshole.
Ethan shakes his head. “But it’s nothing like that. Nobody’s saying anything to me.”
Rafael’s eyes are on me again, as if weighing something. Then he leans forward, elbows on his thighs, and says, “You were pretty young when I left. Do you remember what happened?”
Ethan shakes his head.
“Well, that night my father was having one of his fits of rage. Hitting me, insulting me. I knew if I just let him use me as his punching bag, everything would be fine. He’d eventually stop, and life would move on.”
“Why was he hitting you?”
Rafael hesitates, eyes stuck to the floor. “He…”
“Rafael,” I finally interject. “You don’t have to—”
“It’s okay.” He looks up at me, almost apologetically. “He found a letter that was meant for me.”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in. For the meaning to really permeate every piece of my being.
A letter.Myletter.
“A letter from whom?” Ethan asks.
“From a girl who said she loved me.” He presses his lips tight. “He made me read it aloud, then he got really…reallymad. She was a minor, and he assumed I was doing something I shouldn’t have been doing.”
My voice shakes. “But you weren’t.”
“It’s not supposed to make sense, Scarlett. Abuse never does,” he says. I catch the undertone of reassurance, but it does little to soothe me. “My father was a horrible man, that’s all.”
“What happened then?” Ethan asks.
“He always hit me somewhere nobody could see, but that night,he couldn’t contain himself. He kept…” He pauses, then clears his throat. “He kept asking if I was a…” He shakes his head.
I wasseventeen! Three years younger than him—three.
“When he made me read the letter, he saw it made me happy. And name-calling was one of his favorite tricks. Abusers always know exactly what to say to take your insecurities and turn them into the most twisted version of the truth.”
I blink, feeling my eyes sting with unshed tears. I was right. He left because of me. Because of my letter. I always thought I was being egotistical to think so, but it’s true.
