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She begins to cry, her hands frantically grabbing at Emo’s shirt. The tortured look on his face tightens my throat. Emo hates himself for what he’s forced to do to her every month, but to Rella, it’s a pain they share together, one they have no chance of escaping. She doesn’t blame him, none of us do, but Emo sees it differently.
Despite his part in the monthly rituals, Rella has always clung to Emo. It’s something he’s never understood, but my brothers and I do. She sees the pain Emo endures himself. She knows the pain he goes through along with her.
Emo sits on the bed beside Rella, his jaw clenched. Her fingers are white as she clutches his hand. Trouble hovers behind Emo, worry for his sister all over his face. I hate seeing my friends like this. It makes me so angry that I can’t help them.
“Come on, boys,” Dale says behind us. “Let’s leave them to it and get you two cleaned up.”
Trouble glances up, hearing Dale. Expression pained, he looks back at Rella, not wanting to leave her, but knowing he can’t be present for what comes next. Mae needs to check over Rella for any damage done to her body.
He leans over and kisses her cheek, murmuring something quietly. Her chin wobbles as she nods at him. He says something else that has her face crumpling, and she shakes her head rapidly.
“I want him to stay,” she croaks, her hand tightening around Emo’s. “Please don’t make him leave.”
Trouble looks at Emo, torment contorting his face. After a moment, Emo nods once, indicating he’ll stay. He’d do anything to help Rella, even torture himself more by finding out just how bad her injuries are.
With one more remorseful look at his sister, Trouble comes toward us. I turn away from the door just as Mae begins lifting Rella’s nightgown, but I don’t miss the red on her thighs.
Chapter Twenty-Two
JUDGE
A COUPLE OF DAYS LATER, I twist the knob, open the front door, and step through. Closing it behind me, I turn and take in the dark room.
Emo moved into this house when we came back to change Sweet Haven into Malus twelve years ago. It was gutted and refurbished, just as all of our houses were, but he’s never attempted to make it his own. It’s barren, only holding the bare minimum of items. Chair, love seat, and a television he never uses in the living room. Stove, fridge, and sparse dishes and utensils in the kitchen. There are three bedrooms. Two are empty. The third, which is the one Emo uses, has a king-sized bed, bedside tables on either side, and a dresser.
It’s that bedroom that I head toward. The door is cracked open, the light from the bedside lamp illuminating a small strip of floor in the hallway. Pushing the door wide, I immediately spot Emo sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him.
I sigh and walk over to him. He doesn’t lift his head or acknowledge my presence when I take a seat beside him, pressing my back to the wall, keeping some space between our shoulders. Several feet away, propped up against another wall facing us, is a small brown stuffed rabbit. It’s old, tattered, and the hair is matted in some spots. It used to be Rella’s. She carried it around everywhere with her. The day she died from slitting her own wrists, Emo snuck into her bedroom that night and stole the stuffed rabbit. Trouble knew, but never told his parents. He also never asked Emo for it back, figuring it was something he needed to help him cope with her loss.
My eyes fall on Emo’s hands. There’s a line of crusted scabs over the palm where the bandage used to be. He’s using that hand to gouge straight lines through the skin of his other forearm, the teeth of his key the weapon. It looks like he’s been at it for a while from the pallor of his skin and the amount of blood soaking his jeans.
Both of his arms are completely covered in tattoos, but the designs on the insides of his forearms are fucked-up from all the times he’s sliced through his skin, leaving scars behind.
“I take it Grace is still out of town?” I ask needlessly. I know she’s still out of town because Trouble told me while he and I were at JW’s office today.
“Yes,” he hisses, flexing the muscles in his forearm as he twists the key to dig in deeper. A line of blood rushes from the wound.
“Fuck, Emo,” I growl, my eyes pinned on the red streak. “One of these days you’re going to hit the wrong vessel and bleed out.”
He grunts, like the idea doesn’t bother him in the slightest. Truth be told, I’m surprised he hasn’t already. The thought sends a sharp pain to my chest.
I pull my phone from my pocket. “I’m calling Janet.”
Janet is one of the three women who can handle Emo’s sexual needs, although he prefers Grace.
“No!” he yells, finally lifting slitted eyes to me. “I don’t fuckin’ want Janet.”
“Then I’ll call Grace and tell her to come back,” I declare. “If you can’t get a grip on your shit, then I’ll handle it for you. I’ll be damned if I’ll sit here and let you kill yourself.”
The look he gives me is as black as onyx. I hold his acrimonious stare with one of my own. He can use that look to scare the shit out of people, but it won’t work on me, and he knows it. His eyes finally leave mine and move to the stuffed rabbit, his body relaxing slightly. He’s no longer using the key to slice his arm, but he now has it gripped in his fist, digging the teeth into the healing scabs.
I get to my feet.
“Get up,” I order sharply.
“Fuck off,” he grumbles, but still climbs to his feet. The key gets shoved into his pocket.
I’m surprised when he heads straight for the bathroom. Other than when my brothers, Grace, or one of the other women are around and we clean his wounds ourselves, it never gets done.
