Does It Hurt?: Chapter 30

Six Years Ago

I jump the moment I hear the front door slam. He likes to joke and call out, ‘Honey, I’m home!’ But today, there’s only silence.

It’s unnerving, and I’m instantly on high alert. There’s a gas leak in my muscles, tension slowly filling them with poison. My stomach churns as footsteps start on the steps, traveling closer and closer.

“Sawyer?” Kevin calls. In a span of seconds, I dissect each syllable and inflection in his tone, searching for a hint of what mood he’s in.

“In here,” I call, attempting to sound pleasant.

It’s summer break from my college classes, and the only thing keeping me away from home—from him—is my job at the library.

But of course, today is my day off, and I’m now considering calling Mrs. Julie and asking to pick up a shift.

I’m sitting on my bed, sifting through a thriller novel. I don’t even know what it’s about anymore; I lost track fifty pages ago and I’m on page fifty-four.

Kev creaks open the door, walking in without waiting for permission. Not that he’s ever asked.

He’s still in uniform, sans the belt with his gun and Taser. The sight sickens me. He parades as a savior—a protector—but the only thing that uniform represents is my inability to stop him from hurting me.

The energy in the room instantly shifts, plummeting quicker than when a roller coaster crests the top of the hill.

Adrenaline is let off in my bloodstream like a bomb. Sweat forms along my hairline, and my body begins to tremble.

“What are you reading?” he questions, snatching the book from my hands before I can answer. For once, I’m glad for his disrespect because I don’t think I could’ve given him an answer.

He glances at me and tosses the book on the bed, and I watch it fall shut.

Page fifty-four. Don’t forget.

“You’ve been reading all day? Couldn’t even clean up the house?” he asks, though it sounds more like an interrogation.

“I did clean,” I defend lightly, latching my fingers together to hide my tremors.

“And dinner? Looks to me like you’re just sitting on your ass all day while I support us.”

“I have my own money, Kev,” I grumble. Not much of it, but I do everything I can to pay my own way. Even when I have school, I work part-time to help with bills.

Funny enough, our parents’ life insurance was more than enough to pay off the house and car, yet Kev acts like he’s scraping pennies to get by. Shouldn’t be when he stole my half of the money.

I think he just blows it all on strippers when he’s not tormenting me.

“That money should be mine as long as you’re living in my house.”

“Our house,” I correct, keeping my eyes downcast, my heart rate increasing. “We’re twins. And I’m three minutes older anyway.”

I spare him a glance, noting the fury that flashes across his eyes—a rage so deep, it’s something he could only be born with. I was being crafted in my mother’s stomach alongside a monster. It’s in his very DNA. Sometimes, it scares me that it’s in mine, too.

My brother nods more to himself, as if agreeing with his inner demon on something. Can only imagine what about. And that’s the saddest part—I can imagine. I’ve lived every scenario.

“You wear that just for me, pipsqueak?” he questions, pointing to my body. I don’t know why I look at what I’m wearing as if I don’t already know.

A black baggy t-shirt, loose jeans, and my Maruchan ramen socks.

I spent forty-five minutes carefully choosing these clothes. Just as I do every day. Anything that could be considered suggestive results in unwanted touches, but most times, just existing has the same outcome.

I grab for my book, avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t wear them for anyone.”

“That’s because there’s no one else to give you attention, is there?”

Thanks to you.

“That’s what you want?” he continues. “Attention?”

“No—”

Kev crawls onto the bed, effectively freezing the words in my throat. My body is as unbendable as a diamond as he crowds over me, a sinister smile on his face.

Disgust and nausea rise in my throat, and a coldness spreads throughout every inch of my being.

He can’t do this to me again. He’s already invaded my body so profoundly, I have nothing left to give. What else could he possibly want?

A hand brushes across my cheek, but my soul has been transported outside my body. I’m watching from above as he forces me back on the bed.

But I don’t bend. I can only stare back with icy rage.

“Lay back, Sawyer. You know fighting doesn’t work,” he growls.

Tears flood my eyes, and I wonder how he can look in them and not see himself. How can he not when we’re both so dead inside?

“Get off of me, you disgusting pig,” I hiss, the vibrations throughout my form are heightening until it seems as if an earthquake is devastating it. My brother rears back in shock. “If you touch me again, I will fucking kill you, Kevin.”

His upper lip pulls over his teeth viciously, and his hands wrap around my throat, squeezing until my oxygen is completely severed.

I’m both staring into his blackened eyes and watching him strangle me from above. I thrash against his hold, my eyes bugged and my complexion purpling.

His own face is red, putting all his strength into crushing my neck between his palms.

My hand pats the bed sightlessly, searching while my life quickly depletes.

I knew it was coming to this. Felt it in my very bones. My mind has been on the precipice of snapping, and with each encounter, he’s only pushed me further to the edge.

I started hiding knives around the house, my subconscious understanding how deeply I was unraveling without ever fully acknowledging it.

Finally, my hand closes around the weapon hiding under my pillow, right as my vision begins to snuff out.

Without any direction, I drive the knife into him, feeling rather than seeing it sink into flesh and sinew.

Simultaneously, the constriction around my throat releases while something warm and wet splatters across my face.

My lungs fill with oxygen, the relief almost painfully relieving. But I have no time to appreciate it when a waterfall of red is pouring onto me while Kev convulses above me.

The tip of the knife is plunged deep into the side of his jugular, blood pouring both from the wound and his mouth. His eyes are bulging, and every tooth is bared.

I think I’m sobbing, but my mind is so fractured, I’ve no idea what my body is doing or feeling.

He’s staring directly into my eyes, and I can see the betrayal radiating from them. You can only betray someone if they trusted you.

He should’ve never trusted me.

He slumps, and I have just enough foresight to push him off to the side, his body flopping next to me.

I’m heaving, this time the panic seizing my lungs. My upper half is covered in warm blood, but it feels like thick tar. I need it off me.

Eyes wide, I stumble off the bed, refusing to look back at what I’ve done, yet feeling the evidence soaking into my pores. I tear off my shirt and wipe myself down as best I can, hands shaking so badly, they’re beginning to go numb.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse his still body on my bed, a pool of red growing amongst the sheets.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter frantically, practically ripping a new one off a hanger in my closet. I grapple with the fabric, struggling to find the right end to open and shove over my head.

My mind is racing, yet I don’t have a single coherent thought. I’m moving on pure instinct alone, and all I know is that I need to run.

Run, Sawyer. Don’t look back.

Speeding out of my bedroom and down the steps, I practically trip over my feet in my pursuit to escape. I swivel around, frantically searching for my shoes, whimpering in distress when I can’t find them.

Fuck it. There’s no time.

I need to run while I still can.

Because once I start, I’ll never be able to stop.