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And then he passes without another word.
“Wait, your hand?”
He holds it close to him, not even flexing his fingers. “It sounded worse than it is. It’s not broken.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve had many broken bones before, Vi. I’m familiar with the feeling.”
The door clicks shut behind him. Today may have been the first time I’ve ever been in detention but it will also be the last. I won’t test Ronan.
I won’t test or punish the boys.
They’ve clearly been punished more than I can even imagine.
Twenty-Nine
Dee
Dark dry scabs streak across my face now, a little healed but still stinging with pain. Mr. Heethers already came by before I shut off my light, a sorrowful downward tug on his lips wrinkling his weathered face as he explained that Knox’s black eye, his hand, and the bruising cut along my cheek were merely from a small but scary car accident. It was just so lucky we made it out alive.
We are just so lucky.
So very lucky.
Mr. Heethers told the lie as if he believes it himself. Except for the way that his eyes traced over my wound, his lips pursed together, and his whispered, “I’m sorry.” He knows the truth. He helps hide the truth. Probably for a very large sum of money.
I toss and turn under the sheets tonight. The bed far too lumpy, the air too hot and stuffy in this new room. A dim light lingers in my room from just down the hall. Reed must have left his lamp on, on the nightstand. The light a small blimp of reassurance in my otherwise dark room.
I can’t help but wonder if he left the lamp on by mistake or on purpose for me.
Faint, soft snoring tells me he is fast asleep in his room. Something I wish I could be doing at this moment. My mind though is only replaying the silent way Knox took his father’s punishment meant for me.
He was right. I loathe how much he was right. Every ounce of pain that my father put Knox through didn’t feel like something he deserved. It felt like he was out to shatter my own heart too. Watching Knox hurt was more painful than the small lashing across my cheek.
Cool air floods over my body as I toss the comforter off of me. I blink at the ceiling. Knox isn’t in the bedroom. I hid under my covers immediately after I scurried from the kitchen, not wanting to explain the injury to Landon or Reed.
Sleep never came. It’s all just a movie of Knox bending over as our father plunged his fist into his stomach. It’s a flash of black as my head is snapped to the side. It’s pain. So much pain.
Not my cheek though. My chest. My aching, agonizing heart.
Easing out of the bed and down the hall, I tiptoe past the open door to Reed’s room. I have half a fleeting thought to stop. To let my hands graze against his exposed chest as it rises and falls so steadily. Just to feel that exhilarating, earth shaking, feeling of being alive again.
But I’ve played enough today already.
And I won’t do that to them again. I thought I wanted some form of payback.
It’s a game though. And it’s too dangerous to play with their emotions.
As well as mine.
Boards whine underfoot as I pass Landon’s room. The light already shut off. Steadying my hand, I hold tight to the railing as I wander through the black shadows of the house. Light only breaks through from under the kitchen door.
I follow it.
The fridge door is open, propped by Knox’s elbow. A loud shushing noise fills the air as he presses the tip of a can of cool whip to his lips, spraying the whipped sugar onto his tongue. I can’t help but stare at the angle of his jaw, the defining lines of his throat as he tips his head back and swallows it all down. He tenses when he notices my presence, bringing the can away from his face.
“You should be sleeping,” he mumbles, his arm swiping away the extra foam from the corners of his mouth.
