“Stop saying that,” he yelled. “You’re crazy.”
“No—no, no, no, you don’t …” She shook her head violently, hair sticking to her face. “I know what’s mine.”
Her voice cracked, rose, then dropped into something desperate.
“He’s—he’s mine. He always was. He always will be.”
She swallowed, chest heaving, eyes glassy and unfocused, hands curling into fists.
“Judas is mine.”
He got in her face, towering over her. “Judas is my fucking son,” he hissed.
“No!” she spat, wild and shaking. “You stole him from me! You ripped him out of my fucking arms! He is my first born!”
His hand lashed out, fast and brutal. The crack of the slap rang sharp as her head snapped sideways. Her lip split, and blood sprayed over the floor.
I froze. Back then, I didn’t understand what I was witnessing. Just noise, just pain, just confusion.
But now, I know exactly what it was, and it makes me sick.
“He’s mine,” Uncle said, calmer now, but his chest was rising and falling like he’d just crawled out of hell.
Her eyes snapped to him. “Youput him in me,” she hissed, voice trembling, shaking like her whole body was about to split apart. “You planted him like I was just a hole to fill and then you took him.”
Her hands clawed at her sides. “Ourson, you bastard. Our fucking son. You stole him from me.”
She took a step forward.
“I felt him grow. I felt every sick, twisted piece of you crawling under my skin. And still—still—I loved him. I fucking loved him.”
Another slap cracked through the room, sharper this time.
She hit the floor hard, skull thudding against the wood, her body limp and barely breathing. Her cheekbone tore, blood smeared across her face.
He stood over her. There was no shred of remorse in his fucking face. He enjoyed this. There was this … this twisted, almost gleeful calm in him. Sicker and more sinister than anyone I’d ever seen.
“You’re fucking crazy, Alice,” he muttered, like he was tired of repeating it. “You always were. A mess. A problem.”
He crouched down to her level, his voice lowering.
“I raise my son the way I want,” he said. “You’re just the thing he came out of.”
She twitched, but he grabbed her by the hair, dragging her eyes up to meet his.
“You want to talk about who owns who?” he spat. “You let your pathetic husband fuck you the same night I did. You laid there and took it like a bitch in heat, and then you cried like it wasn’t your fault.”
“Y-You both raped me,” she whispered. “And yours wasn’t the first time.”
The fingers in her hair tightened.
“Yeah. We did. And you know what the worst part is?” he said, voice almost conversational. “You let it happen.”
“I-I didn’t …”
“That third little fucking insect?” He sneered. “That little shit you hate? You don’t even know who put him there, do you? Me or him.” He chuckled. “Doesn’t fucking matter. Just proves what you are.”
He let go of her, her head dropping back to the floor like garbage.
