Page 845 of Lessons in Cruelty

While we all watched.

“Jesus, Ezra,” I murmur through numb lips. “Why didn’t you tell someone you were this deep in it? You could have gone to therapy.”

“You think telling some asshole how Dad used to make me bleed is gonna fix me?”

I don’t know what the fuck to say to that. I never went to therapy, even when I knew I should have.

“Nah, bro,” Ezra scoffs. “There’s no fixing me. I’ve known it since I started college. Because even then, even when I wasn’t in this fucking house anymore, it didn’t matter. I still had the panic attacks and the insomnia and the anger issues.”

He holds out the gun, studying it.

“I’d have done this years ago. But then I met Bastian, and I thought I had shit figured out. It was like…I felt like I finally had a chance to be happy. Or as close to happy as I ever thought possible.”

The gun lowers, and for a sweet, sweet moment I think he’s going to set it down. But he raises it again, ever so slowly, aiming it straight at my head.

“Imagine my fucking surprise when he dumped me for you.”

“That’s not how it happened, Ezra,” Haven says behind me. “You can’t blame Kai.”

Thankfully, Ezra ignores her.

“He chose you over me,” my brother says in an almost conversational tone of voice. “After everything.”

His gaze slides to Haven, and that’s when he registers what she’d said.

“Wait…both of you?” It’s not rhetorical. It’s incredulous.

Humiliation flashes over Ezra’s face before he blanks out his expression.

“Ezra,” I say carefully.

“Don’t.” The gun wavers until he steadies his arm. A slow, manic smile spreads on his mouth. “You’re right, Kai. She does make life worth living. I don’t even feel suicidal anymore.”

He moves the gun to the side, and it takes me too long to figure out why.

Haven has stepped out behind me, hands raised, like she’s trying to reason with my unhinged brother.

“But I bet you’ll want to kill yourself when she’s gone.”

I’m frozen again, heart pounding uselessly as I watch my brother’s finger curl around the trigger.

“No!” Mom lunges forward, yanking my brother’s arm. “Stop it! Stop it right now!”

“Sharon!” Richard yells, and I swear, it’s almost like he gives a shit whether she lives or dies.

“Bitch!” Ezra jerks his arm free, his face contorting with rage. “Where the fuck were you when I needed you?”

The gun swings toward her.

“You never did nothing! You just fucking watched!”

“Put down the fucking gun!” Richard bellows.

Ezra gives him a dismissive glance, tightening his grip on the gun.

Sharon’s crying, mascara running down her face in black rivers as she holds up shaking hands. “I’m sorry, Ezra baby,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry. I—I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do, and⁠—“

“Sorry?” Ezra’s voice drops to a growl. “You’re sorry?”