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As he continues to fight, I force him onto his knees and shove his face inches from the bowl.
“Is this who ya wanna be? Is this who ya think Connor would be proud of?” I question, my fingers clutching the back of his neck to keep him down.
“Fuck you, and fuck Connor! He’s fucking dead. I wish you were too!”
I allow him to vent because this is going to get a lot worse before it gets better.
“I’m sorry I left ya, Ethan, but I had no choice.”
“Yer pathetic!” he screams, still fruitlessly fighting. “Yer a coward! I fucking hate ya!”
“Aye, I hate myself for doin’ this to ya,” I say, keeping calm. “I’ll do everythin’ I can to make it up to ya.”
“I don’t want yer help,” he spits, struggling on the tiled floor. “I have all the help I need.”
“From Sean?”
“I don’t know what yer talkin’ ’bout,” he replies, protecting Sean as I knew he would.
Gripping his arm and twisting it back at a painful angle, I look at the tattoo on his wrist, which confirms he’s in so deep, I’m afraid he’ll never be found.
“Ya know what this means?” I ask, bending his arm harder so he answers me.
He screams as I’m hurting him, but I need to be cruel to be kind. “Aye! I’m just like you now,brother.”
A hiss leaves me. “That’s not somethin’ to be proud of, Ethan. I don’t want that for ya.”
“I don’t care what ya want. This is my life, and I’ll live it how I want.”
“Yer happy bein’ Sean’s errand boy, are ya? Ya think he gives a fuck about ye? He cares only about himself. Why can’t ya see that?”
“Ethan, p-please,” Hannah sobs, but her pleas are lost to her brother because he is lost himself.
“Shut up! I fucking hate you! Yer runnin’ to this loser, thinkin’ he can help. He can’t even help himself,” he spits out. “Ye better sleep with one eye open because—”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because I shove his head into the bowl and flush the toilet. He gags on the water, slapping the porcelain in his attempt to get up. But I hold him down.
“Y’ll never threaten yer sister again,” I warn, forcing his head into the water. “So help me God, I will fuckin’ end ya myself.”
“Punky!” Hannah screams, concerned I’m drowning Ethan. But I know what I’m doing.
“From now on, I’m yer shadow, and it’ll stay that way until ya remember who ye are. Got it?”
When he doesn’t reply, I dunk his head deeper.
“I’ll not tell ya again. The choice is yours.”
He nods quickly, slapping the edge of the bowl, admitting defeat, and only then do I lift his head so he can breathe again. He slumps onto the floor as I let him go, gulping in mouthfuls of air.
“So ya do want to live?” I question, peering down at him, unmoved. “Ya were fightin’ for yer life. There’s still hope then.”
Ethan crawls across the tiles, slamming his back against the wall as he attempts to catch his breath. The hatred is still reflected in his eyes, but now, I see something else—fear.
I leave Ethan to ponder on that as I exit the bathroom and raid his room for any remaining drugs. What I find, I tip down the kitchen sink. Fiona is sitting at the table, staring blankly ahead.
“This is yer fault,” she says, numb. “He would have never turned out this way if Connor was alive. Ya failed him. Ya failed us all.”
“Aye, that’s one thing we agree on, Fiona,” I reply, watching the shell of the woman I once knew cup her face and sob into her trembling hands.
