Page 2 of Hate So Deep

It’s ridiculously quiet when I get home. I’m looking forward to a hot shower and my bed.

Buck’s face, purple and bruised, dances over my vision as I ascend the stairs but I’m so tired that my brain can’t truly process what’s happened.

Once I’m in my room, I drop my purse on the floor and toe off my shoes before pulling my blouse over my head.

I used to love this room but now as I take in the bed with my satin sheets and bright white bedspread, everything feels tainted. There’s nothing I can do about it now though and with a silent sigh, I step into the adjoining bathroom.

This is when everything from this morning comes rushing back and I study my reflection in the mirror before holding up my hands and turning right, then left.

Although I have fingertip sized bruises along my upper arms, my skin bears no cuts or serious injuries and searching through the memories of the night before, I come up frustratingly empty.

I puked at Cory’s house and begged Caro to take me anywhere but home, everything after that was a blur.

How did I get home?

Since Caro would know, I dial her number, but she doesn’t answer. She’s probably still sleeping off the drunk fest from last night.

After sending her a text, I move back into the bathroom and pause before the shirt laying in a ball on the floor.

If it hadn’t been for fucking Dirk and his asshole actions, I probably wouldn’t have drunk so much, but I set that shit aside to brood about another day.

Could it be a coincidence that the same night my brother was brutally attacked, I woke covered in this?

I don’t recall seeing him but it’s also a big fucking blur and with a kernel of unease, I grab the shirt from the floor before holding it up.

Whose blood is soaked through my shirt?

The house is quiet when I wake later and after staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, I stop off in the bathroom to brush my teeth and throw my hair in a ponytail.

Although I’m dreading the prospect, I need to see if there’s anything I can do for Mom. She was always closest to Buck, and I can’t imagine how she’s processing what happened.

Knowing her, she’s pushed it into a box in her head and will pretend that everything is okay while I know that silently she’s suffering but won’t let me in.

With a defeated sigh, I smooth a few errant wisps of hair back from my face before touching my ear. The diamond stud in my left ear glints in the light while my fingers roll over nothing on the right.

Fuck.

The matching stud is missing. I never take them off despite knowing I shouldn't sleep with them in. I've never had a problem before, but I guess my luck ran out.

Yay.

I’ll never hear the end of this from Mom because these were a gift from my grandfather and therefore irreplaceable in terms of sentimental value.

There’s nothing I can do about it now though because after searching my bed, which I had already stripped the sheets, dotted with more of the mystery blood, I still can't find it and I hope she doesn't notice I've removed them as I pass Buck's room.

For a moment, I'm transported to just a day ago when my brother came home, turned on his music full blast and proceeded to tear his room apart in a rage.

Now, everything has changed and despite knowing that my family is gone and in its place a parody of ridiculousness that only the truly disbelieving could swallow, I have to focus on my mom.

She's the one who needs me now, except, I don’t know what to do.

Shit.

I don’t think thereisanything I can do.

What happens now? Per the doctor’s my parents have to decide if they’re going to keep him on life support.

I can’t imagine the burden of choosing between allowing him to live, even though he’s brain dead, or letting him die, knowing it was ultimately your decision to pull the plug.

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