Page 62 of Break You

Ugh. She wasn’t wrong. I was hardly in a position to complain to her, given the amount of shit going on in my life that I hadn’t breathed a word to anyone about.

Me: Point taken. Speak later. LY.

Kik: LYT.

I figured we both had some explaining to do, so at least we couldn’t sling shit at each other—maybe we could just spill our guts, call it even, and move on.

I was again about to pull up Pixie’s number when I saw I had a new voice memo. It was from Xavier, so I decided to listen to that, and then call my brother. I figured we’d be on the phone a while, so probably best to clear the decks first, anyway.

I pressed play, perched on the end of my bed.

“Question #8: What has been the defining moment of your life. The day my mom walked out on us, on me, has been the single most defining moment. I don’t remember the specific day, I just remember the nagging feeling of her not being, there. Like maybe I thought she was on vacation, only nobody bothered to tell me that the vacation was forever.

“I guess when I was tiny, I got attached to different nannies and au pairs... housekeepers, even. But as I got older, I learned that they were only ever temporary, transitory presences in my life. My dad was, and still is, a total asshole to work for, so we went through staff far quicker than most people. Add the fact that once I was at boarding school, I was hardly home, anyway, and there was no time to form attachments, anyhow.

“Once the reality of her absence sank in, I slowly trained myself to feel nothing for anyone. My dad rarely showed any emotion toward me, so he made it easy for me in a weird way. As I got older, I came to see it was simpler that way. I did what I could to keep people at arm’s length—further, even. I lied, cheated, embarrassed and ridiculed people, pitted them against each other, stabbed friends in the back, betrayed everyone who got vaguely close, dealt drugs, you name it. If people were going to hate me for it, I did it. Still do it, in fact. Everything and anything I could to remain unlikeable, and more importantly, unlovable.

“Drew’s pretty much the only person who’s stuck with me through all that shit. I can’t work out if he’s an awesome friend who saw through my crap a long time ago, or a total moron with the thickest skin on the planet. Either way, he’s still here for me every day, so I guess I’m stuck with him.

“But the point is, that all of that was to even up the score between home and the outside world. I couldn’t bear the thought of being liked, or loved, in any area of my life, if it wasn’t going to be that way at home. I didn’t want joy anywhere, if I was going to come back to a cold, empty, loveless house. The contrast was too much. Too stark, and way too depressing. If all aspects of my life were a flatline of joylessness, then at least I could manage the status quo. Otherwise, I couldn’t bear to ride the roller coaster of heartbreak I’d experience every time I arrived home and remembered it was a graveyard where my soul went to die.

And, in reality, I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to truly like, or love me. If my parents didn’t love me, why the hell would anyone else? So, I’d push people away, before they had the chance to do it to me. It’s a habit I don’t know if I’ll ever break, but sometimes, life presents me with reasons why I should at least try.”

Holy shit.

I swiped at tears hovering at the corners of my eyes, and gulped past the lump in my throat. I was just overwhelmed—I’d had so much to take in over the past few days, but still, I felt stupid for feeling bad for a guy like Xavier. He was a self-confessed douche, who apart from gifting me with earth-shattering sex, had made my life hell since the moment he’d unceremoniously barreled into it.

As I sat on the bed, in shock, the phone dangling limply from my fingers rang. This time it was the one person I wanted to speak to most. Pixie.

“Pixie—Jesus, I was just about to call you. The shit has h—”

The picture and voice crackled to life at the same time, and I gasped in horror.

“Nope, guess again, little friend.” I recognized the voice right away. It was the same one that had taunted me on the rooftop of the Swan Club, and from the i8.

Oh my God.

I squinted at the picture, and it took me a few more moments to work out what I was seeing. When I did, I screamed out in distress before clamping a hand over my mouth—I really didn’t want Erykah to come running this time. Tears followed quickly.

“Do what I say, and he’ll survive. Screw it up, and it’s all over, no tricks this time. Get this wrong, and he’s dead.”

The grainy image on the screen showed the same cloaked, masked figures from that night too, forming a semi-circle around what appeared to be a bound and hooded person, kneeling in the center of the formation, with his or her head hanging limply. I squinted at the screen and noted what appeared to be blood on the floor around their knees.

“What’s going on? Who’s that?”

“Who do you think? Didn’t you receive a call from brother dearest? How do you think I got his phone?”

“Oh my God! Don’t hurt him, please.”

“Too late…” He let the words trail off as the camera zeroed in on one of the masked people stepping forward, and kicking the kneeling figure in the side. Hard.

A loud crack, presumably one of their ribs, followed by an agonized groan confirmed what I saw. The body swayed a little, then slumped lower onto his knees, head dangling.

“Stop, please, no more. Don’t kill him.”

“He’ll live. For now. But, if you don’t do as you’re told, that could easily change.”

“I’ll do anything you want. Name it. Just, please, don’t hurt him any more—he’s all I have.” I hated sounding so weak and pathetic, but the thought of losing Pete stripped away my usual bravado like the fragile shell of a boiled egg, revealing the soft naked flesh underneath. I couldn’t have stopped the tears if I’d tried. They slid down my cheeks in silent waterfalls.

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