I close my eyes until I hear Levi shut the door. Lying in bed, scrolling on Instagram. My phone beeps, ten new notifications, five new messages. Swiping down the notification says I've been tagged in a new post. Clicking on the post, a video pops up. The caption read, “Wild Night” with seven hundred views andthree hundred comments. Clicking play, I watch Spencer punch Carson twice before the video turns to me, with my hands over my ears and terror drawn on my face. My chest heaves up and down, making my blanket rise and fall. My hands sweat profusely, and I throw my phone on the floor.
Getting out of bed, all I want to do is run to the bathroom and drown under the scalding water to feel something other than this pain. Before I make it, my door flies open, and I'm being ripped off the floor by my hair. “Stupid little slut. I just got a video of the neighbor boy beating a boy up, and guess who was in the video with her hands on her ears, cowering like a fucking pussy. YOU.” He yanks my hair down hard, throwing me onto the floor. I know I messed up.I'm sorry.I scream in my head as tears pour from my tired eyes.
Before he takes his shoe and drives it into my side. “Strike one. Went to a party.” Kick.I’m sorry!I felt my ribs for the pain to stop. “Strike two. You wore sultry clothes with my last name. Just like your damned mother.” Kick this time, he got my arm that was covering my ribs from the assault. “Strike three. You are the biggest mistake in my life.” This time, he picks me up and slams me onto the floor before he backhands my wet check and spits directly in my face.I'MTHE BIGGEST MISTAKE IN MY LIFE TOO,my brain screams back at him. “You'd better fix this, kid. I won't be seen as a joke.”I can't. With that, he slams my bedroom door, and I pray that my mother watches that. I pray to God or the Devil, wherever she landed, that she witnessed that and that she feels this pain, because death was too fucking kind to her.
Levi and I were taught to keep the peace. His actions had a reason: ‘rough day at work’, or ‘wasn't in his right state of mind’, or this one was my favorite, ‘trying to mold us into good people by punishing our bad behavior.’ So, when a situation arose andI was being pushed away, slapped, and belittled, I would tell myself, 'Father had a reason; I needed it.' I was the problem, and all I wanted was my father to like me, maybe even love me. I thought, if I could take the beating, he would think I was strong. If I said I was sorry enough, he would stop.
After what feels like hours, I know it is only minutes. I grab my shorts from last night, and I crawl to the bathroom, shutting and locking both doors. Leaning up against the door frame, broken and beaten, I grab the lighter I stole from Spencer's pack of cigarettes and light the flame. When my mother died, I needed a release. I needed to be in control of my pain. I needed to be the one inflicting it. That's the first time I burnt myself.
I pull down my shorts and find a good spot on the inside of my thighs, and I light myself up.
Burning away his words and burning away the pain he caused, and creating a new pain made by me on my terms. Pain I can turn on and off, which I get to harness and control.
Burning away his hate for me. Burning all the hate I have for myself.
Everyone hurts me, and it feels good to hurt me, too.
Chapter 10
Wreckage
Levi
Baseball practice was shit today. How can I coach these players when all I can think of is how I hurt Scarlett? The one person I have been trying to save is the one whose tears I caused last night through my actions. Throughout baseball practice, I tried to formulate an apology, searching for words to convey how deeply I felt, but nothing came; no words could express how sorry I am.
Pulling up to the house, I look up at my bedroom window, wondering if she’s still awake. Practice ran late, pushing 8:45 pm, the sun had fallen, and the moon shone bright, blanketing the sky with a glow. Stepping inside, Grant is still on duty, and the house is quiet as I make my way upstairs. I place my ear on her door, listening for movement. Before twisting the doorknob, I knock softly, not wanting to wake her if she is asleep.
Slowly, the door opens, and I see her shuddering in her bed. I watch as her bed slowly shakes with each silent sob. I run to her bedside. “Letty… I, fuck. I fucked up. I’m more than sorry.” Placing my hand on her side, she jerks and hisses in a big breath that comes shuddering out, hitting me like bricks.
I rip off her covers. She quickly moves her hand over her face, a pained whimper spills from her, as she shifts slightly, using the other hand to hold her side. “Please leave.” Her voice is broken. With her jaw set tight and her eyes staring at the space in front of her, my heart drops to my feet.He broke her, again.
I run my hand through my freshly cut, sweaty hair while turning to pace in her bedroom. “Show me. Show me what that fucker did while I was away.” I pace rapidly, burning footsteps into the hardwood. “Scarlett, show me.” She slowly sits up, turning her face towards me, her cheek swollen and reddened, some spots turning bruised and black, making me understand the power of the slap. She removes her blanket, sliding her legs over, wincing in pain. As she slowly lifts her t-shirt, redness takes over her sides, with bruised lines wrapping around her ribs from where he made contact. “Fuck. Letty.” Walking over to her bed, I drop to my knees.
She shakes her head. “D– Don’t do that. Don’t feel bad for not being here.” Her eyes are like black voids, not even a twinkle of light shining in them. Her hand reaches out slowly, pulling my own into her lap. With shaky fingers, she uses her other hand toclamp her hands together. “I need to start taking care of myself. You deserve a life, you deserve to have fun, and not worry about me, the burden, the reason you're stuck here at twenty years old. I mean, you took a job at my school just to stay close. Just stop saving me, make it easier on yourself.” Her voice falls as she loosens her grip and lies back down as her words register. “Let him finish the job, let him take my pain away…” Her voice barely whispers. Rage and torment fill every inch of my core.
“Scarlett, look at me.” She turns her head away, I watch her eyelashes flutter, and her lips wrap around her teeth, an attempt to hold back the tears she so desperately wants to hold in.
“You've got to talk now, it's my turn.” I sit on her bed, positioning myself so that I'm in her field of view, not wanting to tower over her. I lean forward slightly. This isn’t the time for her to feel weak or less than; it’s a conversation that needs to be had amongst others. “You’re right, you do need to start figuring out how to do this. To be strong. I believe you can. I believe you can do anything you set your mind to. You have a fire to you when someone isn’t holding an extinguisher to it. We both deserve to have fun, and I took that from you, and fuck, I am sorry. You telling me not to worry about you is like telling me not to breathe. You're my sister, Letty. I will worry about you till the day I die, and even after. I am not stuck here; I would never be stuck with you. We are stuck with him. That is the difference.”
I place my hand over her trembling fingers, and suck in a deep breath. “I am sorry I fucked up. The thought of someone putting their hands on you in any way makes my blood boil because, aside from mine, the only hands that have touched you have caused you pain, and that's a messed-up way to think, because you deserve a comforting touch, to be loved endlessly, to be kissed and fawned over, because you matter. After all, you are worthy. I fucked up, and I am truly sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't hereto bash in Grant’s head; sorry you were alone. Please don't push me out.” She pulls her hand away slowly.
“I forgive you for the incident at the party, because you're my idiot brother and I love you, but I will not accept an apology for Grant’s actions. You didn’t cause this, and I won't listen to you apologize for living your life. Plus, hating you right now is exhausting.” She lies back down as I bring the blanket over her.
I turn and walk to her door when she whispers, “I love you even when I hate you, and that is so fucking often.” She flips me off, and I close her door silently.
Sleeping doesn't come easily; I toss and turn all night, wondering how I will control myself when I see Grant. How will I not wring his neck or beat him to the point where he no longer breathes, because damn, I want to. I never thought I was a violent man; I don’t peg myself as one. Yet, every once in a while, these feelings of outrage twist inside me, and all I want to do is hurt someone. I want to hurt someone the way I have been broken. The thing about hiding my emotions, being strong, and always having control is that the feelings are still there. They are gently simmering, slowly heating, until they come to a boil. And once they boil, and the lid shoots off the top, it explodes, and I rage for blood, for his blood.
I don’t sleep. Instead, I toss and turn and thrash around, silently screaming at myself, my mother, my father, Grant, Spencer. Anyone in the target zone, I am hitting.
“Hey.” Jessica’s soft voice comes over the line.Shit, I probably woke her up.
I clear my throat, “Hey, last night at the party, do you know who took and posted that video on Instagram? I don’t have Instagram, and I’m trying to figure it out.” Waiting for her answer feels like a lifetime.
“Yeah, Ashley took it, and she posted it on her Instagram, Ashley_Captain.” Fury courses through my forearm as I squeeze my phone.
“Tell her to delete it right the fuck now, delete it from her socials and her phone. Or I won’t give her a choice.” I snarl with enmity.
I hear a shift in the phone, and some whispers, “Yeah, she’ll do it right now. What’s going on?” Her inquisitive voice is frazzled, probably due to my hatefulness—nothing like the version of me she had last night, soft and tender.
