Page 81 of The Knucklebone Brothers

The air had that late October bite to it, the kind that gets in your bones and makes you want to stay inside, but I couldn't. I stood in the open doorway of the trailer, the strange circus robe Amos gave me pulled tight around me, the scratchy wool a shield against the crisp, cold air. But I barely felt the chill. I was too busy watchin' them.

It was late afternoon, the sun hangin' low and weak in the sky. They were out back by the big oak tree, their shirts off, their breath comin' out in little white puffs with every exertion. Maverick was swingin' the axe with a rhythm that was almost hypnotic, the heavy blade sinkin' deep into the wood with a sickening thwack every time. Blythe was right beside him, haulin' the split logs to the stack, his movements silent and efficient, a mountain of muscle movin' with the grace of a bear. They moved together, a well-oiled machine of violence and labor, and it turned me on somethin' fierce.

I watched the way the muscles in Maverick's arms bunched and released with every swing, the way the veins in Blythe's neck stood out as he hoisted the heavy timber. They looked hot enough to melt snow. They looked like men who could kill a bear with their bare hands and then build a fire with the same hands. It was a primal, dangerous kind of beauty that made my breath hitch and my core tighten. I pressed my hand against my stomach, feelin' the phantom ghost of their touch, and a small, wicked smile played on my lips. They were workin' hard, sweat beadin' on their skin despite the cold, and I was the only one who got to watch.

Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her. Momma. She was comin' up from the direction of the main tent, movin' slowly, like a predator stalkin' its prey. She carried herself like she was ten feet tall, her shoulders held high. Her face was a roadmap of bitterness, her mouth a thin, hard line, her eyes were fixed on me, burnin' with a hatred so pure.

I leaned against the doorframe, my arms crossed over my chest. I didn't move. I just watched her, my eyes narrowed, a smirk playin' on my lips. I knew she hated me. I could feel it rollin' off her in waves. But her boys... her boys were mine now. And that was all that mattered. I knew she saw it too. I knew she saw the way they looked at me, the way they worked together, a silent, unspoken promise of a future that didn't include her. I just stood there, a smug, satisfied smile on my face, and let her know, without a word, that she had lost.

I thought about the treatments. The experiments. They'd strap us down to those metal tables, the leather straps cuttin' into our wrists and ankles. Brenda would come in with her cold, dead eyes, her clipboard in hand. She’d order the electrodes hooked up to our heads, the ones that sent jagged currents straight into our brains, makin' our eyes roll back and our bodies spasm until we pissed ourselves or threw up. She'd watch us writhe, takin' notes on our "instability," smilin' like a shark. She did it just to see us suffer, to see the light fade from our eyes.

And then there was the day I caught her. I was walkin' down the hall to the bathroom, and I saw the door open a crack. Brenda was bent over, some orderly behind her, his pants down around his ankles. It was sloppy and desperate, but Brenda didn't care. She looked up and saw me. She didn't apologize. She just sneered, her face twisted in pure hatred. She pointed a finger at me, her eyes glintin' with a wicked promise. "You think you're better than this, Rory? You think you're special? Just wait. I'm gonna do a treatment on you tomorrow. The good one. The one that'll make you forget your name."

She didn't know what she was dealin' with. That night, she came into my room, the tray with her little tools clinkin' against the metal rails. She had that needle in her hand, the one with the bright red liquid. She told me it was for my "anxiety." She came at me, her face inches. The monster Rory didn't panic. She waited. She let Brenda get close, let her think she had the upper hand. Then I lunged.

I didn't just bite. I went for the cheek. My teeth sank into the soft, fleshy part of her face, right where she had that smug little dimple. I bit down hard, feelin' the skin tear, the muscle fibers pop. I ripped a chunk of her cheek clean off, a ragged, bloody mess of flesh. I chewed it up, the taste of blood filling my mouth, and I spit it right back into her face. It hit her nose, splatterin' blood and tissue all over her uniform. She screamed, a high-pitched, agonizin' sound, clutchin' her face, blood sprayin' everywhere, her eyes wide with horror and shock. I stood over her, breathin' heavy, my face covered in her blood.

That was the night the "crazy" girl died, and the monster was truly born. And the monster was lookin' at Momma, thinkin' it was time for a repeat performance.

I watched Momma approach, a small, dark figure against the backdrop of the autumn-brown hills. It was crazy, wasn't it? How I went from bein' the town's whore, the pathetic story everyone whispered about at the diner, the crazy girl from the institution, to bein' a Knucklebone bride. I was kidnapped, dragged here against my will, and no one cared. No one came lookin'. I was scared at first, my heart racin' every time they touched me, my mind workin' overtime, plottin' and schemin', tryin' to figure out a way to escape. But deep down, I don't think I ever really wanted to leave.

Maybe I was meant to be here. Maybe I was meant to be a Knucklebone wife. I thought about the years of abuse, about the way my stepfather used to look at me, the way he'd handle me, the way he'd make me feel dirty and small. I thought about the night I finally snapped, the way the night in the kitchen felt, the way he looked at me, his eyes wide with surprise as he fell. I thought about the institution, the way they'd lock me up, the way they'd tell me I was crazy, the way they'd strip me of my dignity and my humanity. The boys... they knew. They knew the whole time. They knew I was a murderer, a monster, just like them. And they still wanted me. They saw me, all of me, the angry, broken, vicious parts, and they wanted me.

But I always ruin everything. Everyone always leaves me. It's a pattern, a curse I can't seem to break. I push people away, I test them, I make them hate me, just to see if they'll stay. And they never do. They always leave. And I'm so scared that one day, they'll leave too. That I'll ruin this, too. And I'll be alone again. And I don't think I could survive that.

Momma stopped right in front of them, her hands on her hips, her face a mask of disgust. The boys froze, the rhythmic thwack of the axe ceasin' mid-air. Blythe dropped the kindle he was holdin', the pieces clatterin' to the ground, and Maverick drove the axe deep into the log he'd been splittin', leavin' it there like a grave marker. They both looked super uncomfortable, their shoulders tense, their expressions a mix of irritation and a deep, weary resignation.

"I don't know what you two think you're doin'," Momma hissed, her voice sharp and full of venom. "Lettin' that little whore run around free like she owns the place. You think you can trust her? The first chance she gets, she'll turn on the whole family and destroy us from the inside out. And who knows how stressed and unstable that girl is. You know she could have an episode any moment. And you might think you're equipped for that, but you're not. You oughta chain that bitch back up before she hurts someone."

Blythe took a step forward, his jaw tight, and Maverick did too, his hand restin' at his side. "Now, Momma," Blythe said, his voice low and steady, a clear warning. "We won't have you talkin' about our wife that way. She's kin now."

Momma laughed, a dry, rattlin' sound like stones in a tin can. She looked at him, her eyes full of a cold, dark amusement. "Kin," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear. "We'll see about that."

Blythe took another step, his fists clenched at his sides. "That's enough," he shot out.

Momma just shook her head, and then she slowly walked away, her back ramrod straight, her shoulders held high. She paused at the edge and turned back, her eyes fixed on Blythe. "Blythe," she called out, her voice sharp and commandin'. "Bring more wood to my house."

I watched Blythe as he gathered the wood, and then he turned and followed Momma, the wood a heavy burden in his arms. I watched him disappear towards her house. I felt a strange knot form in my stomach.

I went back inside the trailer, the air thick with the smell of coffee and bacon still. I sat down at the table, and I waited. I waited for anythin' at all. But there was nothin'. Just the silence, a heavy, oppressive thing that seemed to swallow the world whole. And in that silence, I could feel the monster stirrin' inside me, a cold, dark hunger that was just waitin' for a chance to be fed.

The light outside was fading, the sky turnin' a soft, bruised purple, but it wasn't dark yet. The boys came to me, their faces a mixture of somethin' I couldn't quite read. Blythe had a dark green cardigan in his hands, the wool thick and soft, and my boots, the ones they'd ripped off me the night before. "We have somethin' to show you," Maverick said, his voice low and gentle.

I took the clothes, my fingers brushin' against his, and I pulled the cardigan on, the wool a warm, heavy weight against my skin. I slid my feet into my boots. I followed them out the door, my heart poundin' in my chest, a strange, nervous energy coursin' through me. I hadn't seen Blythe since he'd left for Momma's, and I couldn't help but wonder what they were up to.

The crisp night air wasn't too cold, but it felt good against my skin, and I could smell the autumn, the sweet, earthy scent of decay. I followed them, my heart racin', a knot of dread tightenin' in my stomach. I was worried they were goin' to lock me up, that Momma's words had gotten to them, that they were goin' to chain me up again. But I followed them anyway, my trust in them a fragile, foolish thing.

They led me to my trailer. I stopped in my tracks, my breath catchin' in my throat, a sudden, sharp fear takin' hold of me. But then I saw it. Soft, glowin' lights from inside the trailer, and on my porch, my pumpkin was lit from within, its warm, orange light a beacon in the gatherin' dark.

I stepped inside, my boots scuffin' on the newly swept floorboards. The cage was gone. In its place was a small, rickety dinin' room table, with two mismatched chairs. They'd added more lights, a string of bare bulbs hangin' from the ceiling, castin' a warm glow over the room. There was a stack of wood by the stove, my own little pile, and in the corner, they'd built a small, creepy baby bed, the wood dark and stained, with rockers fashioned from the gnarled roots of an old tree.

Maverick led me over to a small shelf they'd built into the wall. On it was a heart. I knew it was Duffy's heart. They'd preserved it, a dark, bloody trophy. Next to it was somethin' else, somethin' small and metallic, a little coil of wire.

I leaned in closer, tryin' to make out what it was. Maverick leaned in next to me, his breath warm against my ear. "That's your IUD," he said, his voice a low, conspiratorial whisper. "We saved it when we took it out."

I looked at him, my eyes wide, a mix of horror and fascination. He just grinned, a wicked, unhinged thing. "We figured it was the only part of you we hadn't claimed yet," he said, his voice a low, nasty purr. "Now we have it all. Every last piece of you is ours, even the little bits of plastic and copper we had to dig out of your cunt."

I just stood there, my eyes fixed on that little coil of metal, my mind tryin' to wrap itself around the insanity of it. They'd kept it. They'd kept a piece of me they'd ripped out, a piece of metal and plastic, and put it on a shelf next to a dead man's heart like it was a prize. It was so fucked up it was almost beautiful.