Page 45 of Bound

Biting my lower lip, I contemplated just turning around and leaving. I wasn't sure how being there was going to help anyone.

Fuck, why did I do this?!

You know why; Zander needs you.

He's the one I'm here for.

Turning off the car, I climbed out, sinking my feet into the dirt driveway. Standing with my hands in my pockets, my face was blocked by my hood, just to keep a certain level of protection to my identity.

Looking around, I didn't see anything that seemed out of place, there was nothing but trees for miles in every direction. There were no strange cars parked on the road when I drove in, no random people trolling the sidewalk.

But, I still felt frozen in place, afraid that there were eyes lurking in the shadows. I had driven around for over an hour already just to be sure no one was following me.

It's been a little while now, they're not expecting me to come back.

Pushing all the air out of my lungs, I jogged up the steps, and tapped the back door with my knuckles as I opened it. “Hello? Is anyone around?”

Stepping inside, I glanced around the entrance. The same small bench my mom had in the house I grew up in was set against the wall on my left, with Franco's shoes tucked all neatly underneath. The wall was lined with portraits of my brother and I when we were kids. A poorly designed wood key holder I had made in junior high shop class was pinned to the wall above the long seat.

They didn't erase me completely.

Taking in a deep breath, I could smell my mother's sunflower scented candles that she insisted on using every day. It was strange, the smell of the air was soothing and up-heaving my nerves all at once.

My muscles twitched with anxiety, fingers shaking subtly by my sides as I did my best to control my body. Being here was enough to get them all killed, and yet I put their safety aside to try and help my brother.

God I hope no one saw me.

Turning to the pictures, I examined them one by one. There was one of my brother smiling as he rode his bike up our driveway, and another one of all of us that my grandmother had taken outside of the beach house we rented every summer on the Cape. There was even one of me with our old dog, Daisy, laying on the floor watching TV.

The memories of my childhood started to flood my mind, and I could hear the sound of past voices, good and bad as they replayed in my ears.

The people in the pictures looked so normal, like this was the home of a typical American family. And for all outward appearance, it was, we were just like any other family on our street.

But that the was magic of plaster and wood. No one could see inside, no one could see the truth. They didn't see the boy who grew up to become a mafia hit-man, they couldn't see how lethal my hands had turned, and how these walls had laid the foundation for a killer.

Running my fingers over the last picture, my mother came around the corner, her eyes swollen and red. She was nervously rubbing her hands in front of her chest, lips turned down in a sullen frown.

Stopping in the doorway, she stared at me blankly as her breathing jumped, and she tryied to hold back her tears.

Furrowing my brows, I quickly walked to her side and cupped her elbow. “What's going on? Where's Zander? I want to know what the hell he did.” Looking around behind her shoulder, my mother suddenly slapped my face without warning.

“Ahh! What the hell was that for?” Scrubbing my jaw, I glared at her.

“This is your fault!” screaming, she hit me again. “This is all your fucking fault!” Slapping wildly, her hits came in hard and fast, an endless barrage of sharp stings I couldn't understand.

“What is? What's going on? What the hell did I do?” Blocking my head, I took a step back, trying to create some space between us.

But she wouldn't let up, stepping forward she smacked me again and again. My mother kept striking me, her hands not really aiming at anything, coming in rapidly and chaotic.

“Why did you come back?! Get the fuck out! You don't belong here!”

Snatching her arms, I held her wrists, trying to get her to focus on my eyes. “Mom, stop! Stop! Tell me what's going on!”

She was shaking wildly, her entire body a vibrating machine in my hands. Yanking her in, I hugged her tightly, trying to stop her from going into full blown convulsions as she started to weep.

Her hands came up, and clenched my shirt, tearing at the fabric. Her face pressed into my chest, rolling side to side as tears flooded down her cheeks, soaking through to my skin.

Rubbing my hands up and down her back, I kissed the top of her head. “Mom, what's wrong? Tell me what happened.”

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