“You know ... it’s just, wehavefooled around, and they’ve all had sex with you anyway.”
I laugh, resuming my walk to the window. He’s right in a way. I have had sex with his friend, but it’s singular. Carter was my one true mistake, and I’ve regretted that night ever since. “You’ll tell them what you want no matter what I say.”
I don’t add that I like it. The rumors, the gossip. Being the school slut. I’ve done my part to keep the girls talking for entertainment and the boys lying for the sake of their pride. I’ve been the “good” girl before—dainty,docile. And I was ripped in half. So, yeah. Maybe I’ve dragged myself through the mud since then, but even mud hardens beneath your shoes. I must be standing on a mountain of it by now.
And no one can touch me from way the hell up here.
Easton
Icheck the clock again. 12:02. A minute later than when I last looked.
I growl, fall back onto my bed, and drape my forearm over my eyes.
Where is she?
Who’s she with? Marco? Elijah? FuckingCarter?
Unwanted images—hands, lips, skin—flood me. My jaw clenches and unclenches. None of the guys at school know what to do with a girl like Eva.
When the clock ticks by and there’s still no trace of her, I get up and pull a T-shirt over my head. I make my way down the hall, looking from one end to the other in case my mom’s up refilling her wine glass. I quietly open the door to Eva’s room.
Her unmade bed is the center of my attention. The white sheets are crumpled like she just climbed out of them.
Swallowing, I avert my gaze and move to her bathroom. I turn on her bathtub faucet and watch as the water runs smoothly down the drain. Like I figured, Maria called someone to fix the drain again. I gotta give her credit for staying on top of it. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the cotton swabs I snagged from the hallway cabinet and stuff them into the drain, then check that it’s clogged. Satisfied, I leave her bedroom door open so I’ll be able to hear her better, then return to my room, lie on my bed, and continue to wait.
Last year, when I first started sabotaging her bathroom, I told myself it wasn’t for me. I do it to make sure I can see with my own two eyes she’s okay when she gets home so late. But clogging her bathtub isn’t the only questionable thing I do anymore.
I know it’s fucked up. I’m crossing lines brothers aren’t supposed to cross. Reminding myself I’m supposed to be her brother, that I’m not supposed to want her, isn’t enough to stop the obsession from spiraling, but I do it anyway. Because otherwise, I might do things—take things—I’m not supposed to have.
Her words from this morning replay in my head, over and over.
Maybe she deserves it.
Maybe you don’t ...
My eyes pivot to my bedroom door when her window slams shut. I rake a hand through my hair as I cross my room and crack the door open another inch.
Nothing wrong with making sure she’s okay.
That’s all I’m doing.
I listen for a minute. First, to the sound of something hitting the carpet. Then, drawers opening and closing. Then, clothing rustling. My grip tightens around the knob, and I look away even though I can’t see her. It’s been sixteen hours, and I haven’t been able to shake the feel of her standing between my legs. Fingernails trailing my jaw. That flush working up her smooth throat, full lips slowly parting—
I clear my throat, rubbing the back of my neck. My skin’s hot, sticking my damn shirt across the span of my shoulders.
By the time the bathroom door opens and closes next door, I’m like a furnace trying to cool off. You’d think she would have at least stripped down to get this reaction out of me, not put makeup on my damn face. Three years I’ve watched her, three years she’s teased me, dancing circles around me unlike any little sister should. I should’ve known the sight of Eva’s body finally between my legs wouldn’t be easy to shake.
Shutting my bedroom door, I stand by the adjoined wall of the bathroom and continue to listen. But instead of the shower, I hear something else. A sob. Followed by another, then another. Shit.
The sound is close, like she’s leaning against the same wall. I rub the side of my jaw, sliding my bottom lip across my teeth, then press my hands against the white paint. If I know what’s good for us, for her, this is as close to touching her as I’ll ever get. She continues to cry, and my fingers dig into the wall.
Sometimes, I fantasize about it—finding whoever made her this way. She’d never admit anything happened to her, but I saw her, all those years ago. And I’m never gonna forget.
Pushing out a breath, I lean against the wall and slide to the floor. I sit beside her for as long as it takes. Listening until her sobs fade and the shower turns on.
Of all the thoughts running through my head, right now, there’s only one I wish I could tell her.
Maybe you don’t deserve it either, Eva.
