How long can one last without air?
He’s lying there in the middle of the floor, a pool of blood around him, face a bloodied mask, eyes swollen shut, lip busted open and his arm… his arm is bent, snapped.
“You see what you did,” My father’s hand wraps around my throat, not to choke but to pull. He tugs me across the room, but I do not speak, not even when he throws me to the floor next to my brother. “You see what your defiance does, boy!?”
He is breathing, thank god but it sounds wet and labored and as I kneel there, his head turns in my direction. He isn’t unconscious and with what little strength he has left, he drags his only good arm to me, fingers crawling through his own blood to touch mine.
“It’s okay,” The words are barely coherent,but I hear them.
“Next time,” Our father shoves at the side of my head violently, “I’ll kill him, you hear me? Next time you choose to act out against me, I will run a blade through his chest, and I will make you watch.”
“It’s okay.” Dean whispers weakly.
I run my hand over my damp face, sweat rolling down my temples, my back and chest. The sheets are soaked through and tangled from the thrashing. Beyond the windows, the city still sleeps, the sky a blanket of stars.
The carpet is plush beneath my bare feet as I cross the room and enter the ensuite, flicking on the bright white lights that blind me for a moment before I catch my haunted reflection in the mirror.
My hair hangs limply around my face and dark shadows bruise the space beneath my eyes. There is no way to change the past, no way to stop the forward motion of things that have already happened and perhaps the memories are a form of penance. A punishment because I didn’t stop it.
It’s okay.But it never was okay and never has been.
My car idles at the side of the road, a fresh coffee in my hand and one waiting in the center console for Savannah. She’s been awake since around four a.m., moving around inside that house as she prepares forher day. At seven, she finally steps out and turns her face to the morning sun. She did that yesterday too.
She doesn’t stop or act shocked that I am here again, but her eyes drop from mine quickly, a little crease forming between her brows.
Opening my door, I step out with her coffee in hand and pass it to her where she meets me halfway down the drive.
“I’ll drive you today.”
“Why?” She accepts the coffee and brings it to her lips, her eyes flickering when she gets that first taste.
“Is there much point in taking two cars if we are going to the same place?” I challenge.
“Or,” She holds up her finger, a fire lighting in her eyes, the embers bright and tempting, “You cannotcome. That’s always an option.”
“Get in the car, Savannah.”
I’ve always liked the way her name sounds on my tongue; I can imagine whispering it into her ear as I have her long blonde hair around my fist and my cock buried between her legs.
“Let’s take mine.” She offers, heading toward her little cream Fiat 500 that’s smaller than my closet at home.
“Fuck no.”
I open the passenger door and wait for her.
“Why not!?” She purses her lips.
“Do I need to force you into this car, Savannah?” I warn her.
Her eyes narrow and then she licks her teeth before she shrugs and makes her way to me, “Fine. You win.”
Why did that feel like a loaded statement?
She folds herself gracefully into the car, sipping her coffee as I shut the door and round the hood, climbing inside but once the door is closed, I realize the error I have made.
Fuck.
Ifeelher.
