Page 17 of Under the Bed

No one knows the truth behind what happened to our family. How my father used his money and influence to hide my attack.

How it drove Kaleb into taking matters into his own hands.

“I bet they’d love to hear all about it. Maybe the major outlets will listen, too. Maybe they’ll go behind their editors’ backs and discuss it on one of the major podcasts out there. You never know,”I told him.

His hands clenched at his sides. His face turned a darker shade of red. Nevertheless, he scrolled his name on the dotted line next to mine.

That same night, during the last summer break, before I started my master’s degree this year, I also tried bargaining for Kaleb’s freedom.

Dad laughed at me. Then he called a couple of judges and one politician to prove his point. They told him it was out of their hands.

My arms wrap around my middle, the wind chilling my bones. I’m standing on the balcony of my new apartment on the first floor, gazing out at the quiet neighborhood.

It’s way colder inside. Where it’s just me, my laptop, and my textbooks. Where it’s so quiet that all I can think of is him.

I’d go outside. The short walk to the main street would do me wonders. I’d see people. There would be distractions everywhere.

I wouldn’t. I hardly ever do. Here, I’m protected. Hidden in this cozy apartment where I spend most of my days. So far, I’ve gone out with my two remaining friends once. Grocery shopping. Driving to campus.

I don’t visit my dad and Kaleb’s mom. After I signed the contract, Dad was done with me. Done being embarrassed whenever my name was mentioned in the tech conferences he attends. By anyone who still remembers that Kaleb and I were ever alive.

Kaleb. I never go to see him, either. He isn’t allowed to have visitors.

Even if he were, I don’t know if I would’ve been brave enough to go there.

Every time I think of my murderous stepbrother, I can’t help the shiver running up my spine. Heat and emotions I can’t wrap my head around swarm through me at the mention of his name.

The breeze grazes my cheeks, and I rub them. I turn to the end table on my balcony, pick up my coffee, hugging the mug between my palms.

That first sip scorches my throat.

It should warm me.

It doesn’t. Neither does the white wool sweater and the thick black leggings I’m wearing.

My soul is frozen. Irreparably so. The day they dragged Kaleb out of the courtroom changed everything for me.

My chest tightens at the memory. It was this month, eleven years ago, that they took away the one person I ever loved from me.

The man I haven’t seen in so long. Who I still care for. Who I need in a dangerous, twisted way like no stepsister ever should.

I haven’t felt this connection to anyone before or ever since.

As wrong as it is.

He’s a murderer. If he ever gets out of the psychiatric hospital, he could kill me.

Every part of me craves him. Every part of me mourns the loss of having him in my life.

Some days, it hurts to want him this badly. Days like today.

I don’t understand it. I’ve been questioning my attachment to him for years.

Having a bachelor’s degree in psychology and throwing myself into my master’s studies hasn’t offered any explanations.

I would’ve gone to therapy, except the system failed me before. The system let those two kids go despite calling what they had done to meassault.

No. One day, when I’ve studied enough, when I’ve learned from the best, I’ll understand why I am the way I am.

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