Chapter 12: Little Liar: Chapter 12

My hands are covered in my father’s blood as Malachi leans against the wall.

He’s unbothered by the mess around us and obviously doesn’t regret his actions—he just pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and watches me while the sirens grow louder.

I try to ignore the blood around me, my brother’s cum leaking out of me and soaking my panties as the flashing lights glow through the windows.

In a few seconds, I’m going to lose Malachi and my father.

I’m losing them both.

For what? The sake of a forbidden fuck?

He’s staring at me, not running or trying to flee his impending arrest. He’s crossing his ankles and watching me cry over our father’s body as life drains from him with a cigarette in his mouth. Uncaring, unflinching as the door’s kicked open, or when the officers storm in and grab him.

Malachi lowers to his knees, his hands behind his head, and I can still feel his burning gaze searing into the back of my skull—he wants me to look at him, but I can’t.

All I can do is slide back, smearing the blood on the marble ground, while my dad is surrounded by medics.

Malachi is read his rights while being handcuffed—there’s no resistance or fight, but as soon as I hear the clicking of the cuffs, I know his only form of communication is gone, so I look at him.

Our gazes clash, and I feel everything within me shrivel to nothing—he’s not even blinking as his eyes stay on me, even when he’s dragged to his feet and pulled away from me.

It’s Malachi, yet it’s not. I have no idea who’s looking back at me. Emotionless, with no humanity, he turns his head to look over his shoulder at me when the officers lead him out, and for some reason, I wish I could scream at them to let him go.

I want to cry for him—the brother who was always misunderstood and left behind, silenced, in need of so much help, yet I’m the one who breaks eye contact by closing my eyes and letting the tears fall.

The car door shuts in the distance, an engine roars, and I know my brother is gone forever.

Why, as I sit here with my father’s blood all over me, with paramedics working hard to keep him alive, am I filled with so much regret, I wish I could vanish?

This morning, we were happy—we were going to take the next step in our lessons, and I was going to teach him how to say my name. I was even going to tell him that it was never about teaching him but because I loved him. It was perfect, the dynamic we had. It was fun, exciting, and I was happy.

Now I feel empty.

An officer takes my arm and pulls me to my feet—they’re saying something to me, but I can’t hear them. Another one appears, shining a light in my face, and then I’m taken out of the house just as my mother speeds into the driveaway and throws her door open.

“Olivia! What’s happened? Are you okay?” She reaches me and pushes my hair from my face and looks down at my body. “Is that blood on you?”

But when my dad is wheeled out on a stretcher, the scream she lets out nearly blows my eardrums, and she runs to him. She’s crying, demanding answers from the medics and officers as they load him into the ambulance.

More sirens blare, and my body starts to shut down, drowning out the sounds surrounding me. I don’t think I even blink as I trap my mind away, trying to wake up.

I need to wake up.

This is a bad dream—Malachi will be lying beside me when I open my eyes. He’ll hold me close, promise me that we’ll be together forever, and this will all be a dream.

But I never wake up.