“Do you mind?” Rory asks, and when I turn to look at her, I see her aiming a significant look at Duffy.
“No, I don’t. He should know.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I demand, and there’s that incessant need to know everything.
“I’m gonna tell you all about Eian in a minute, but I think the best way to make you understandwhyis to tell you where Duffy and I come from.”
Her curt words put me on edge, and my sensitive stomach does not appreciate that. I shift in my seat and nod once to let her know I’m listening, though I doubt I’m truly prepared.
“Our mother abused me for the first ten years of my life, at least as far as I can remember.” That... is not what I was expecting. “When I was ten, I killed her after cutting off the hand she used to hit me, to rape me.”
The nausea wins.
There’s no chance of stopping the bile that surges up my throat. I vomit all over my sheets, my hand doing nothing to stop the disgusting flow of pure bile.
“Shit,” I hear Duffy hiss.
Rory moves fast, taking the sheet off me and throwing it in the direction of the room’s bathroom, then she gets toilet paper and cleans up my face and hands.
Duffy gets out of his bed with his sheet in hand, and dragging his IV stand over, just shoves me lightly, then sits right by me and covers us both.
“It’s hard to hear, I know,” he whispers. I freeze when he throws an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into what I’m guessing he wants to be a comforting hug.
Nothing could comfort me right now. I called Rory crazy, and Duffy?—
“Most of the psychiatrists Ronan took me to thought that was probably why I am the way I am. Our father was... less bad. In some ways he was worse, though,” Rory continues as she passes me a container of some sort. I guess it’s in case I need to vomit again? I don’t have anything left in metovomit, and right now it feels like I’ll never have an appetite again.
“He came home that day and found her body in the back yard, where Duffy had helped me put her. He didn’t say anything.”
“What?” The question comes out in a shocked whisper.
“I know,” Duffy huffs.
“He knew, of course. He knew what she did to me.” Rory keeps talking as if we hadn’t interrupted her. “He mostly didn’t pay me any mind after that day, and just focused on Duffy.”
The fact that she sucks in a deep breath, as if whatever’s next is something evenshehas to brace herself for, is terrifying. The rage brimming in her eyes then is real enough that I can practically feel it in my eyeballs.
“He started chaining him to the wall in the basement, and wouldn’t let us see each other for days sometimes.”
“He played sick fucking mind games,” Duffy growls.
“I knew Duffy was suffering, but I couldn’t do anything. He knew to keep all the knives, anything sharp, anything I could use as a weapon hidden, and I couldn’t ever break the chains when he was away.” She sounds almost annoyed at that. “And he was stronger than me.” That time she definitely sounds annoyed. “Eventually he started... negotiating.”
“Negotiating what?” I can’t help but ask, indignant beyond anything I’ve ever felt.
“If I did things around the house, he’d let Duffy sleep in his bed, or let me take him down some food.”
“Motherfucker,” I spit out.
“Don’t worry, Colby. I killed him,” Duffy says, squeezing my shoulder while smiling reassuringly down at me.
“Yo-you did?” I hate that I stutter.
“Yeah, but I’ll tell you about that in a bit.”
“Yes, that part of the story is almost here.” Rory nods, almost sagely. It’s weird, but I think I’m grateful she can only really feel anger. I’m grateful she survived and outlived those monsters.
That’s fucking dark.
