Just short of seven years old, Sam sat in our fathers chair, twirling around in it while wearing her brand new tutu she received that day. It was innocent, but not for long.
Soon enough, my sweet little sister was sitting on the floor, cradling her arm because he pulled it right out of its socket. I held my crying sister as I attempted to dial for help.
“You want to be a hero?” He’d asked. “I’ll make you into a villain.”
I can’t remember much after that and I’m glad for it. If I’m being honest, I can’t even remember how I got to bed that night. The next day I awoke with bruises in all the places no one wouldsee with clothes on. Even in his drunken state, everything he did was with meticulous purpose.
Blinking away the memory, I reach for my drink, making my shirt sleeve move and expose my scars. It catches my mother’s attention and her eyes fall to the evidence of what her husband did to me. As if the one running vertically across the right corner of my lips isn’t a reminder any time she sees me.
His one slip up he won’t let me forget.
“Don’t look surprised, mother. You know what he did to me.”
Sam chokes on her food, stifling a laugh, or a cry. I’m not sure. Whenever we are here, it can honestly be either.
Rolling up my sleeves to prove my point, I expose the others that lace my forearms. Some old, some new. He may not give me the scars himself anymore, but he’s still responsible for them by making me his personal hitman.
“Tyler,” Diane grumbles. “You know that he changed. He worked on himself and went to rehab…”
“I don’t want to hear the spiel.”
It’s the same conversation, just different words to describe it, on a different fucking day.
It wasn’t too long after his rehab I noticed his drinking again. Mitchell isn’t a good person sober, and he’s an even worse person drunk. I won’t call myself a good man, either. In our world, we are all by products of evil, somehow; whether you’re born into it or created by it through circumstance.
By my unlucky stars, I have experienced both.
“Tyler, I know you made so many sacrifices as a child…”
“Mom, just stop!” Sam yells, smacking a hand on the table. “He said cut it out. Stop making him relive things he clearly doesn’t want to. Or me for that matter.”
I rub a hand up and down my face, knowing she feels guilty. Her little brother had to protect her. But there is no world where Iwon’t act as a shield to the people I love, even if it means permanent scars.
“Well, are you two going to be bringing dates to the hotel opening?” Diane changes the topic to yet another conversation we frequent.
“If I feel like it.” Sam sips her drink.
Diane rolls her eyes. “What about you Tyler?” Her tone sounds hopeful, but she already knows my answer.
“Oh, please woman, you already know the answer to that. It’s Tyler, when has he ever brought a date to an event? Too much of a statement.” Sam laughs as she bites into a piece of roast chicken.
“I’m sure Shelby would be available.”
Sam lets out a loud laugh. “HAH. Two coffees, bitch.” She points her fork at me.
“That’s not how it works, Sam,” I mumble into my hands.
“Huh? What?” Our mother blinks, turning her head back and forth between us.
I can’t help but laugh in my hands, not sure if it’s from the pure comedy or pure hell of this dinner tonight.
CHAPTER THREE
SUNNY
Sweat beadsmy forehead as I’m jolted by the sound of my alarm. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my ears as it slams against my sternum.
Tapping the off button, I suck in a deep breath, trying to gain my composure. I’m disoriented, trying to understand the foreign red brick box I’m sitting in.
