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My heart was unavailable because it belonged to another, and I had no piece of it left over to share. Eddie has been a pauper, a starved beggar when it came to love, but I more than pacified him with my submission—flesh in exchange for an already occupied heart.
I liked Eddie, I’d even once respected him. He saved me from an existence that would have been worse than death. If it weren’t for him, I would be God-knows where. Addicted, abused, trafficked, homeless even. At the time, I would have done anything to escape my brother. And that’s why I took his abuse because it was better than any alternative in front of me.
I know Eddie’s brutality comes from a place of pain that I caused. But I will never sacrifice Heath for him. I will never hurt Heath again. I’d rather die.
“You won’t be doing that Eddie,” I say, turning to face him from my vanity. “Because if you accuse Heath, I’ll tell everyone about you. About your peculiar proclivities, how much you need your little fantasies to perform, how rape and voyeurism are necessary to get you off. How you might even be into an old high school pal, am I right? How you attempt to beat it out of me, the loyalty and love I feel.”
“Shut your goddamn mouth, slut. You love that shit, too. You’re always soaking wet for me and the games we play, so don’t act like you’re above it. Besides, that’s private business between a man and his wife,” Eddie retorts.
“Is it, though?”
He puts his hand up to me, clad in his button-down and tie, and his navy-blue boxer shorts.
“What if I tell them you’re poisoned through and through with jealousy, that you can’t get over a stupid teenage crush and wet-dream threesome fantasy you jerk off to—”
In the blink of an eye, I’m on the floor as Eddie’s fist connects with my face. He holds me down by my trachea like Heath did the night before, and the fresh wound surges to life again. The difference being that when Heath’s hands touched my skin, I felt the burning inferno of desire, I welcomed the pain he inflicted on me, reveled in it as it became one with my need for him.
Eddie’s touch, however, invokes fear and panic. Sometimes, I think he’ll take it too far and accidentally murder me. Other days, I wish he’d pull the trigger and kill me because then I wouldn’t have to suffer the misery of the choices I’ve made. Choices that have become the very bane of my existence. But if given the opportunity, I would do it all over again because my sacrifice saved Heath, and that alone is worth all the years of pain, worth whatever humiliation Eddie throws at me.
“You fuckin’ bitch. After everything I’ve given you, you’re still an ungrateful slut like you’ve always been. Nothing but a pathetic cock whore. A bitch who spread her legs for her own fucking brother. You’re disgusting, Katelyn. I should break your neck and put you out of your misery.”
I push his hands down on my neck, adding to the pressure to my trachea. “Do it, you coward. Do it!” My voice comes out strained, crushed by his hands.
I cringe every time he touches me. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend his hands are Heath’s, and those moments allow me to escape into the past, to a time when my life had meaning and still held the sweet glow of hope.
Eddie’s brow dips in frustration before he howls and stumbles back from me, his eyes haunted like he cannot believe what he’s done. This is what it’s come to—we’re reduced to two dysfunctional people, suicidal, homicidal, covered in the emotional and physical evidence of our fragmented hearts. It’s the same shame-filled look he always gives me after he’s taken it too far, almost past the point of no return, the end of the road, curtains.
I grip my mangled throat, rubbing away the violence he imprinted. Our eyes lock as our chests rise and fall with adrenaline. We’ve come too close to destroying one another. Our game of love and hate will be the end of us someday.
He rakes his hands through his hair, disheveling the loose blond strands from their gelled-back tenure. His eyes connect to mine, bloodshot, angry, welling with tears.
“Why can’t you love me?”
I feel bad for Eddie. I’ve tried to love him. I’ve given it my best shot. But I can’t lie anymore, so I tell him the truth instead.
“You’re not him.”
His impulsive fist sails toward me and connects with my temple; I welcome the numbing darkness.
Chapter 12
Heath
I take a drag of my cigarette as I stare at the English Tudor style mansion that serves as a vault for all of my best and worst memories. Growing up here was both a blessing and a curse, the blessing being the five hundred thousand I inherited from Richard Shaw helped me establish myself in life.
