Every story she’s ever told, every finger pointed and accusation my parents and I had to endure, was because of her. And she’ll do it again; I can see it on her face. She’ll throw me to the fucking wolves again, and this time I’ll never get out. This time I’ll rot in that prison until I am dead. And the little seed I placed in her belly when we made love will be born into her horrible world and will grow up without me. And perhaps Carrie will have dirty windows and peeling paint, and perhaps another fancy asshole will come along, and then what? Then what happens?
It’s red I see when I pull the gun from my pocket and smash it into the side of her temple to knock her out. Blood red, when I think of the misery she has caused me over the years, and continues to do, and will continue to do, forever and ever and ever and ever…
“Amen,” I say.
I’m not even angry when I hit her, despite the red I see. It’s just a reaction to the situation, to the sadness she made me feel. Besides, I truly feel justified in my actions.
I can’t let her do that. I can’t let her harm our unborn child, or our life that surely was,I think as I pick up her slumped body from the ground and I throw her over my shoulder.I’d rather us all die than let that happen.
I think back to that time she nearly died because she selfishly slit her own wrists, and how her almost death nearly made me die too. Because I couldn’t live without her. I didn’t want to.
But, like everything that happens around Carrie, there was a reason to her madness. It was the tipping point in my destruction. In the destruction of everything.
*
“We can’t keep doing this, Ethan.”
It was Mom. She was looking at me with her sad, sad eyes again. Touching my hand and trying to reassure me, but it wasn’t reassuring. Not even a little bit.
“Are you even listening to your mother?” Dad said. He was always so angry these days.
I shake my head. “No,” I say. “No, I’m not.”
I look up at him, and then I let my gaze stray to Mom. She’s been crying a lot recently, but especially right now. She’s really sad. She’s always sad these days.
“Well listen now, and listen good, boy,” my dad says. “I don’t want her anywhere near the house again. Not the house, not you, not any of us. We’re selling the house and moving away and then we can start fresh.” His sentence starts with anger but ends with sadness, guilt creeping into his cheeks as he reaches for my mom’s hand. He squeezes it and then lets it go when her hand stays limp in his.
Mom is crying again. She loves this house. Why would she move?
“I won’t go,” I say. And I won’t. I’m making a stand, and I’m doing it for Mom and for Carrie, because without me Carrie has nothing and no one. And without this house, my mom won’t be happy ever again. “I won’t go,” I say again.
“You’ll do as you—" my father starts, but we all stop arguing as Carrie’s father comes into the hospital.
Her mother follows closely behind.
She’s swaying, he’s sneering.
She’s drunk, he’s hateful.
He goes to the reception desk and gives Carrie’s name. The nurse nods and says something and then she points to us. At me. Carrie’s dad turns around and storms toward us, his eyes blazing like wildfire.
“I told her to stay away from you!” he bellows in my face.
I stand up. He’s tall, but I am almost taller. True to my word, I have continued to work out. Carrie’s dad is scary looking, but I am dangerous because I will protect her no matter what. I have nothing to lose but her.
“And I told you to keep your hands off her!” I yell back.
He’s shocked that I answered him back. His gaze moves to my dad, and for a split second they share a look. It’s a split second too long as I raise my fist and hit Carrie’s dad as hard as I can in the face. The sound is loud in the hospital waiting room, and Carrie’s dad staggers back from the force of it.
I step forward as he rights himself. I feel brave. He gives his head a little shake and then squares up to me with another of his trademark sneers, his stare washing over me.
“You’re going to be sorry you did that, boy,” he says.
“I’m going to kill you for hurting her,” I say back coldly.
His gaze moves back to my dad again. “You need to control your boy,” he says, “before I make you pay for it.” And I don’t know what he means, but it makes me angry that he’s dismissing my threat so much. So I say it again, louder this time, because I want the world to know, to bear witness to my threat.
“I am going to kill you, Mr. Brown, and then you can’t ever hurt her again.”
