Page 95 of Riding the Pine

My heart doesn’t just thrash in my chest, it stops dead. My body stops taking in oxygen as my sister comes into focus.

She’s tucked into bed, wearing oversized pjs, and covering most of her body but there are signs that tell me all I need to know.

Her face is swollen, her jaw bruised so dark part of me fears her own skin tone may never come back. She’s got a fragile smile on her face but it’s superficial, her eyes are more haunted than Scott could have prepared us for.

Ares drops a cussword under his breath, and I can feel Artemis tense beside me as we all take in Athena. She’s devoid of all her usual energy, her spunk, her sass, her shoulders are curled forward, and it’s as though she’s using every ounce of her strength to stay upright.

Scott has climbed into bed next to her, he’s not too close, but close enough that her hand rests on his thigh under his. She’s stroking it in a measured rhythm that matches how her chest rises and falls with each breath.

None of us know what to do, how to act, what to say. My breathing has returned, but it’s thready, shaky, and every time my lungs inflate, I get closer to crying.

She types something on a phone making Scott nod. “She says you can come closer; she won’t bite.”

She points to her jaw like she’s making a joke, but nothing about this is funny. She rolls her eyes as we approach her. “If I don’t laugh, I’ll have a nervous breakdown,” she grinds out from a narrow slit in her mouth, then hisses, reaching for her jaw. It’s like she’s stuck half a peach onto her face, but the peach is black.

She pats the bed and without hesitation Artemis surges ahead of the rest of us and sits facing her on the mattress. His back is completely straight. His hand twitches, like he’s contemplating taking her hand, but he stops himself. He’s torn, just like I am. I want to hop into that bed, pull her against my chest and cry uncontrollably.

Then I want her to show me every single fucking bruise they left on her. The way those pillows and cushions are supporting her, I’d say she’s in a great deal of pain, and her eyes agree. She reaches out her free hand and takes his.

When he covers her casted hand with his other, she starts crying. A flood of tears breaks free from her eyes and spill down her bruised face. “I tried to fight them off.” She shakes her head like she’s trying to get rid of her tears without using her hands.

Scott turns his head to the side, but even in profile, the light reflects off his tears too. A sniff to my side tells me Ares is a goner as well, and all the blinking in the world can’t stop the tears that trickle down my face.

She looks like shit, and the very fact she’s telling us she tried to fight them off tells me she feels some level of guilt for what happened to her.

“Hermana,” my voice is croaky, like I’ve just woken up from a fourteen-hour sleep after back-to-back, on the road games. She looks at me, but it feels like she’s looking at my nose or chin instead of my eyes. “Nothing you did or didn’t do made this happen to you.” My voice is as firm as I can make it.

She shakes her head. “It was midnight, I shouldn’t have been out so late.”

I hold up a hand. “This was not your fault.”

Artemis nods. “You should be able to go to the library at whatever time you want and not be attacked, Athena.” His voice is terse, an undercurrent of fury guiding his words from inside his chest. “This was them, not you.”

She’s looking at his chin as well.

Ares speaks up from beside me. “And what’s more, hermana, before this you’d have said that too. Rape happens because of rapists, not because of anything the survivor does.” He doesn’t mince his words, but he also doesn’t call her a victim.

If I know Athena, she’d have launched something across the room at his head had he called her a victim.

She stares at him for a long moment, Scott too, but his stare is much more murderous than Athena’s. After what feels like an age, she nods. “I can’t stop going around in circles in my brain.” She touches her face again, wincing. “Like it’s somehow my fault.”

“It’s not.” All four of us speak almost in perfect time with each other, which makes her smile.

“I don’t want you to do anything to them.” She levels us with that piercing, fire-filled stare we’re used to. “We’re doing this by the book.”

My heart sinks as my bloodlust for vengeance gets doused by her words.

“They have all my samples, pictures… Let the police do their jobs.”

We nod, but I can tell I’m not the only one in the room who doesn’t like this particular instruction. Can’t the police do their jobs,andwe beat them to within an inch of their lives?

¿Por qué no los dos?

Her body sags, muscles relaxing like she’s just run a marathon and is about to collapse. “We’re going to step outside, okay? Let you rest.”

She doesn’t even pretend to fight, she simply nods, and when Scott shifts his weight as if to leave, she grips his arm.

He glances my direction, and I nod an unspoken agreement. He takes care of her, while I try to stop my brothers from hunting down her rapists and making it so they’re never heard from again.

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