Thump.
My mind flails, trying to understand. My father’s fists are stained with Micah’s blood because he got the meaning instantaneously and I wish my beleaguered brain would sort itself out and deliver me the same understanding.
I stare at the pummelled face of the man I love. The man who couldn’t send a message like this. Why would he? What purpose would it serve?
Thump.
“I can explain.” Micah drags himself upright. His eyes lock on mine. Despite the punches, the blood, the split lip, the broken nose, it doesn’t look like he registers my dad is there at all, despite his continued yelling.
His attention is fixed on me.
Thump.
“Please let me—”
The snitch.
“—explain. It’s not…”
I back up a step, hitting the wall. Guess I got the answer to the question I could never bring myself to ask. The one about why he’d sought his kid-brother’s girlfriend.
It’s hard to believe that yesterday I thought he’d rescued me from marrying a man who couldn’t be trusted. That I’d thought himhonourablefor saving me from the deadweight of a boy nobody in my world would ever respect.
But he didn’t rescue me. He used me. Worse even than my father because at least he never actively plans to hurt me.
Micah did. He took pleasure in it. Turning my pain into his revenge.
My heart twists at the betrayal. I stare at the image again. Wondering how many other people have seen it. Who else has been privy to my most private moment?
Shame pulses through my blood stream and it’s not fair because it shouldn’t belong to me. It’s not my shame that’s broadcasting across every phone in the room. It belongs to Micah. He should be the one to bear it.
The swarm of voices enter my head, fighting for space against the pulsing in my ears.
“—the fuck could you do this when I entrusted—”
“Crimson, please, I’m begging you—”
“—my only daughter to your care after—”
“—I never meant to hurt—”
“—killed my wife to save her and you think you can stroll in here and humiliate her.”
And my heart stops beating.
My eyes tear away from Micah to focus on my dad.
He didn’t say that.
Yes, he did, you heard it clear as day.
No, it’s just a figure of speech.
“You killed her?” I watch as my father turns in slow motion, horror distorting his features as he realises what he’s said. The secret he yelled aloud for the entire room to hear. “You killed Mum?”
“Come with me,” Greta says, striding over to block my view by standing in front of me. And I see it then. See it in her eyes. She knew. I step around her, my eyes fixing back on Micah. Focused on his lack of surprise.
I want to run but there’s no escape. The lift will take too long, and the spare bedroom is a useless retreat. Nothing in this house feels enough like mine to be a place of safety.
