“T-thank you,” she stutters as I come and sit next to her on the bed but she moves away.
“Rowyn, I swear I wasn't anywhere near your room last night. I fell asleep and woke up to the guys calling me,” I state, and she narrows her eyes at me.
“You’re lying. Just admit it. This was punishment,” she spits.
“No, I’m not!” I growl.
“You—you fucking said I should’ve listened. It was you.” She points, her face getting redder and redder the madder she gets.
“I didn’t say shit!” I snap.
“You’re in my head!” she cries out, throwing the bottle at me. “You’re messing with me. All of you are—this is a game to you—” she says, gripping her shredded hair. She’s a fucking mess.
“Rowyn,” he growls, but I rip the phone from her grip and end the call. I want this moment with her. I can see it before she does.
“I can’t, I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t–” she growls, and I go to reach for her but she pins me with a look that could kill. “Don’t touch me. Matter of fact. Get out! Get. The. Fuck. Out!” she screeches, but I don’t move an inch. “I can’t breathe,” she wheezes, clutching at her throat. “I can’t.” And I swear under my breath, concern clawing at me because I didn’t do this shit. Her eyes snap to mine and they widen when she reads the look on my face. “No!” she yells, shaking her head violently. “No, no, no, no!” She screams, and I’m not sure what to do, but something inside me cracks and a small grin lifts my top lip while watching this girl losing her mind. I take a step back, continuing to drag my gaze acrossher entire body. The damage, the message. I didn’t do this. But standing here, watching her break like this—it’s enthralling. Even though I didn’t do it, and clearly someone else did. Does it matter anymore?
Her world is unraveling and I can’t help but smile and revel in her pain. But as my fists tighten at my sides, the realization hits me that I’m not the one who caused this, and that’s something I have a fucking problem with.
thirty-six
Elliot Jacobs
Digging
The line goes dead. No warning. No last word. No attitude to go with it. Just silence. I stare at my phone, waiting for it to glitch back to life like it made a mistake. It doesn’t. “Yeah, that’s not weird at all,” I mutter, but it is. Grayson doesn’t do abrupt. Kade doesn’t do quiet, and Rowyn… it sounded like she was breaking. I push off the counter, pacing through the kitchen. I’m all alone. Dad and Holden went shopping for tomorrow’s dinner and Kade disappeared a few minutes ago. They asked me if I wanted to go but I declined the offer. Truth is I didn’t feel like hanging out with them pretending everything is normal when it hasn’t been in years.
My phone buzzes and I narrow my eyes. Unknown number. I open the text but there’s no words, just a picture, and my heart drops. Its me,Kade, and Grayson as kids, maybe six or seven, covered in dirt and grinning like we hadn’t learned how ugly the world could get yet. For a second, something almost soft hits my chest. Then it twists, because I don’t remember this. Not even a little bit. And I remember everything from back then. After our moms died… memories are all we had left, which means I should know this. But again, I don’t. My thumb drags across the screen, zooming in, and that’s when I see it. A little girl with dark hair in pink pigtails sitting behind us in the grass like she belonged there next to us. My stomach drops. “What the fuck?” I say out loud, my voice rough and echoing through the big space.
We don’t have siblings. Not together. Not separately. It was and has always been just us. Three boys. Two dead mothers and Cynthia being passed around from father to father. She is who raised us. She is who I remember the most besides our mothers. I’m not sure when our fathers fell into each other, like it was survival—a necessity—as if they were needing to hold on to something or they’d both disappear. Built a life that almost looks normal on the outside, but if anyone would take a moment and just peek their head in and open their eyes, they would see how fucked up things are. But this. This picture isn’t part of that life. This doesn’t fit anywhere. I zoom in further looking for any more cluesas my jaw tightens, but the girl’s face is shadowed, blurred like the picture itself doesn’t want me to see it clearly. Or maybe—it was never meant to be seen again. Another message comes through. This time, there’s words. “You forgot.” My chest tightens and I shake my head. I’m so fucking confused. I don’t forget it. Everything is stored in my brain like a photo to use later. Forgetting isn’t how I work. Especially not with things that matter. Not with things that hurt. Those stay. They burn and embed into the tissues of my brain. Permanent. So if I don’t remember this—then something is wrong. Not with my memory but with what happened. My fingers fly across the screen.
Me:
Who is this?
The bubbles pop up instantly, almost too fast. I look around the room then look down at my phone and the bubbles are gone. I look at the picture again, taking a screen shot, because seconds later the entire message is gone. Disappears as if it was never there to begin with. What the fuck? Scrolling out of the thread. I open my photos, then leave the kitchen. I walk up the stairs to my room, shutting the door behind me. I plop on my bed and study the photo. Really look at it this time. I look past us. Past the little girl into the background. There’s a structurethere. Faded red. Wood. Maybe a barn. Something about it claws at the edge of my memory. My grip tightens around my phone. This is something I should know, but suddenly, it’s not just the picture that feels wrong, it’s everything around it. Grayson hanging up on me. Rowyn spiraling. Kade leaving, and now this. Dropped into my lap like a piece of a puzzle I didn’t know I was missing.
I take a deep breath, get up from my bed, grab my keys, then pause looking at the picture one last time, zeroing in on the little girl, and for a split second a thought slips through—what if we didn’t forget? What if—we were made to? The house creaks and I freeze, then it does it again, only louder this time. I swing open my door but no one is there. What the fuck is happening? I leave my room, and as I get halfway down the stairs, the front door opens and I hear voices. My dad’s low, familiar, tired voice. Holden is right behind him complaining about forgetting the cranberry sauce. I stop at the last step and take a breath, the photo on my phone in my pocket burning a hole right through it like it's on literal fire. His keys hit the counter, bags begin to rustle, and then he calls out for me.
“Eli? You still here?” he shouts, but I don’t answer. I walk off the bottom step slowly and into the kitchen. They both stop and look at me. My father’s brow raises, and Holden’s brow shifts as if they canread on my face that something is very wrong. “Eli? What’s wrong?” he asks, and I take out my phone, unlock the screen, and hold the phone between us, showing him the photo.
“Explain this!” I growl, and my father takes it from my hand as Holden leans in, and for a second, there’s a flicker of something in their expression… recognition? But then it’s gone in a blink. I saw it though. I always fucking see it.
“What am I looking at?” Holden asks, almost too smooth, and I laugh.
“Don’t,” is all I say. My voice comes out low and sharp. My father glances at me almost cautiously.
“Elliot–” But I interrupt him.
“That’s me, Kade, and Grayson, but who is the little girl?” I snap, and both of their eyes shoot towards me. “The little girl I don’t remember existing.” Silence stretches. No one says a fucking thing. Then Holden straightens his stance and rolls his eyes.
“It’s probably just—”
“Stop! Lying!” I shout the words, coming out harsher than I meant for them to but it’s too late now to take it back.
“Elliot!” my father scolds, but I shake my head.
“No, you don’t get to do that right now,” I say, stepping closer to them. “You both just looked at that picture like you’ve seen it before, so I’m goingto ask you one more time,” I growl, dropping my tone a bit so they can really hear how fucking serious I am. “Who is the little girl?” But they both don’t answer. My father’s jaw tightens and the grip on my phone shifts, and Holden looks at him—not subtly and not quickly—but really looks at him, passing some unknown message between one another. But my father—he hesitates, and that’s what I was afraid of. “You do know,” I say quietly as my father drags a hand over his face. He looks so tired and worn. It’s been months since I’ve seen him and it shows. Whatever is going on that we don’t know about is starting to hit the surface.
