“There were worse things,” Carrson adds. “Ones that don’t show but scar anyway.”
Does he mean…did his dad…?
“Is that why you don’t want to be touched?”
A dip of movement, like he nodded.
Maybe it’s the darkness that makes me bold. The way it strips everything away, his face, my expression, the space between us, until all that’s left is voice and breath and the things we’re not supposed to say out loud.
“Then I’m glad you killed him,” I whisper fiercely. “He deserved it.”
Carrson retreats a step, enough to let me know he didn’t expect that. He probably thought his revelation would shock me, make me hate him, but it does the opposite. I’ve seen too much to believe in waiting for someone else to make things right. Sitting in hospital rooms. Listening to people saywe’re doingeverything we canwhen it never felt like enough. I know better than most that, sometimes, the only way to fix something is to do it yourself.
“I won’t make the same mistake,” Carrson says. “When I have a son, I won’t go easy on him. I’ll make him strong, but I’ll also take him with me. Teach him to talk, negotiate.” His voice rises. “He’ll be ready for what’s coming.”
He’s quiet for a minute after that, as if replaying his own words.
Then the knife is back, leveled at my chest.
“You’ve been leading me,” Carrson says. “Got me talking too much.” There’s no anger in it. If anything, it’s closer to respect. “Doesn’t seem fair when I’ve got some questions of my own.”
He must move, although I don’t hear it. One second he’s in front of me, the next he’s at my ear, so close the heat of him brushes my neck.
I yelp, flinching away.
“Who the fuck is Remi,” he asks, the words grinding out, “and why does he matter to you?”
“Remi?” My head snaps up. “Remi’s not a guy. She’s Remington. My twin sister, you asshole.” I hiss, fury sparking hot at the sound of her name in his mouth. “The one I told you about.”
Before I can think better of it, I drive my foot forward. My heel connects with his shin. The impact jars up my leg, but I don’t pull back. Instead, I kick him again.
“Ow, fuck!” The knife disappears from my neck as Carrson stumbles backward. I hear it in the dark, the uneven scrape of his foot, a growl of pain, the quick shift of weight that doesn’t move cleanly. Muttering curses, he comes back to me.
One step lands solid. The other drags. He’s favoring the leg I didn’t kick.
Good. I hope it hurt. Jerk.
“Remi died,” I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “She had cystic fibrosis. She was sick her whole life.” I swallow, but I can’t clear the lump from my throat. “To help clear the gunk out of her lungs, I had to hit her back three times a day. Percussion therapy.” My voice cracks. “I’d hit her so hard, the next day I’d see bruises in the shape of my hands.”
I pull in a shuddering breath, fightingback tears.
“Do you know how that felt?” I ask. “Knowing the only way to help her was to hurt her?” Barreling on, I don’t give him a chance to answer. “Like I was the worst sister in the world.” My throat tightens painfully. “Which is exactly what I am.”
The tears I’ve been holding at bay break free, wetting my cheeks. Sliding down my neck to my chest where my shirt is ripped open.
“Remi was kind. Patient. Thoughtful.” I shake my head. “And I was…angry. Resentful. A brat.”
The words don’t leave. They sit there, impossible to take back. My truth, in all its ugliness.
“It took three of them to pull me off her when she died,” I confess, crying so hard I’m not sure he can even understand me. The memory crashes back into me, her body already going cold, how she didn’t move when I shook her, how I screamed.
“I couldn’t let her go,” I whisper, eyes wide in the dark, staring at nothing. “I still can’t.”
I shatter, sobbing so hard I can’t catch my breath. My thoughts spiral, dark and endless. I want to drown. To die. To go back into the earth so I can be with her again.
The only person I’ve ever loved.
The only one who ever loved me.
