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When I crossed the street and went into my house, I was already on full alert for potential run-ins with my mother’s asshole stepson. However, finding him in my room was neither something I had anticipated nor dealt with in a very long time.
The minute my eyes landed on Mark Allen sitting on my bed, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention.
Immediately, my skin broke out in a clammy, feverish sweat, and if it wasn’t for the fact that I was in his presence, I might have thought that I was coming down with whatever Hugh had. But I wasn’t the sick one here. “Get out of my room.”
“Still as messy as ever, I see.”
“I said get out of my room.”
“That’s not the way you’re supposed to greet your brother, Gibs,” he replied in a casual tone, completely unaffected by the tension I was emanating. “Didn’t Sadhbh teach you how to treat people by now?”
“You’re one to talk,” I shot back, remaining in the doorway. “You have a lot of fucking nerve to come in here.”
“And why’s that, Gibs?”
I narrowed my eyes. “You know why.”
“Nope.” Shaking his head, he rose to his feet and stretched. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” I bit out, feeling my entire body rack with tremors when I watched him approach me. “You know what you did.”
“And what did I do?”
“You know,” was all I could get out, and I fucking hated how small my voice sounded. Like I was seven years old again. Or eight, or nine, or ten, or even eleven. My breath hitched in my throat, and I had to force myself to not cower. “You know,” I strangled out, chest heaving. “And she did, too.”
“You’re mistaken,” he tried to fuck with my mind by saying. “Confusing nightmares with reality, I reckon.”
“No, I’m not.” I shook my head, feeling all kinds of fucked up and panicky. “I’m not confusing anything because I know what you did.” Swallowing deeply, I forced myself to choke out the words, “I remember.”
“Oh yeah?” Stopping just short of me, he folded his arms across his chest and smirked. “Prove it.”
Trembling from head to toe, I sidestepped his body and moved for my bed. “Actually, I can.”
“What’s that, Gibs? The ineligible scrawl of a dunce child?” he goaded when I withdrew the crumpled-up letter from under my mattress. “Don’t tell me that an illiterate, dumb cunt like you actually kept a diary?” He laughed again before saying, “Jesus Christ, you did. You actually kept a diary like a little girl!” Humor and cruelty filled his features, sending me on a spiral back to a time in my life I didn’t dare revisit. “Looks like, despite my best efforts, I didn’t make a man out of you.”
“No, not me.” With trembling hands, I unfolded the note and held it up between us. “Her.”
A wave of recognition flickered in his eyes, and he took a step closer. “Is that Caoimhe’s handwriting?”
“It sure fucking is,” I spat out, shaking violently. “Think I don’t have proof now?”
His eyes flashed with panic before he quickly slapped on a confident bravado. “If you haven’t show anyone, and you clearly haven’t, it’s because you know nobody will believe it.” He narrowed his eyes. “Nobody will ever believe your truth over mine.”
“There’s only one truth, Mark,” I forced myself to stand my ground and say, while I gestured to the letter in my hand. “And it’s written in here.”
He watched me watch him for the longest moment before taking a step in my direction, attention flicking to the letter. “Don’t even think about it,” I warned, quickly tucking it away in my pocket. “I’m not seven years old anymore, asshole.”
“Why are you bringing all of this shit up again?” he tried to change the narrative by demanding. “It’s in the past, Gibs. It’s dead and buried.”
“Maybe for you,” I strangled out. “But I’m still living it every day.”
He rolled his eyes like I was being dramatic. Like my memories and my pain and his action didn’t ruin me on the daily.
“I want you gone,” I heard myself say.
“That’s not going to happen,” he dismissed me by saying. “I have a job lined up over here, and I just put a deposit down on a house for my family in town.”
