Page 52 of Goldrage
Did I crush them? Or did Mother?
The thought coils in my head like one of my skeleton snake tattoos has slithered up my arm and into my thoughts. When did I start letting Mother make all the decisions? When did I become the boy hiding behind his mother’s skirts?
I close my eyes as the world spins. I’m… fuck, I don’t even know how old I was. A kid. Mother was crying in her bedroom—real tears, not the practiced ones she uses now. Father had been particularly brutal the night before. I’d heard everything through the walls.
“Julian, my sweet boy,” she’d whispered, pulling me into her lap. Her face was swollen on one side, purple blooming across her cheekbone like a rotting flower. “You’ll protect me when you’re bigger, won’t you? You’ll never let anyone hurt me again?”
I’d nodded.
“Good boy,” she’d murmured, stroking my hair. “Because Adrian… Adrian doesn’t care. He just watches. He never tries to stop your father. But you’re different, aren’t you? You’re my protector.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Will you do a favor for me?”
I clung to her shirt. “Uh-huh.”
“Such a perfect little boy. My sweet angel. Tomorrow, when your father takes you and Adrian shooting, you must choose the rifle with the dark green handle. Can you remember that?”
“Okay.”
“If your brother tries to get that one, you must get it from him, understand.”
“Okay.”
It had been a simple request, and I’d completely forgotten about that conversation until now. But I remember that day of hunting with Lucian and Adrian. I’d grabbed the rifle with the green handle, just like Mother told me. Adrian was left with one that had a black handle.
When we were out hunting with Lucian, Adrian’s rifle kept jamming, and Lucian kept yelling at him and saying he was an idiot for using it wrong. Adrian also kept missing targets even though he was an excellent shot for his age. I had a sick feeling because I knew something was wrong with the rifle. I thought Mom had been trying to protect me. I thought she knew the rifle was bad and just didn’t want me to use it.
I never questioned how she knew. I was too young to think she’d messed with it on purpose.
Toward the end of the trip, Adrian’s rifle jammed again but then went off suddenly. The stray bullet knicked Lucian’s cheek. He backhanded Adrian. The rest of that week, I didn’t see Adrian much because father kept taking him places. My brother would come home bloodied and bruised.
My stomach churns, and it’s not from the whiskey. For the first time, I’m seeing that incident clearly. Mother did something to that rifle. Whether she wanted Adrian to get beaten and punished, or if she’d hoped Lucian would get killed, doesn’t matter.
How many wedges has she driven between Adrian and me while I was too young and stupid to notice?
I push off the wall and keep walking, trying to outrun the thoughts. But they follow like rabid dogs.
Stop it.
I can’t think of my mother right now. I was thinking of Aurelia.
What if we kept her? The question ambushes me as I pass another identical door. What if I let Aurelia stay after the baby is born? We could be some kind of fucked-up family—her, me, Adrian, and a child who might actually create some peace in this house.
I can see it: Aurelia in the garden, holding the child. Adrian and me on either side of her. Sharing her like we’d shared toys as kids, except this time the toy would create more children for our legacy. She could bear both my children and Adrian’s, and they’d all grown up together.
One big fucked-up family.
I swallow more whiskey.
Christ, I’m more twisted than I thought.
But would it be so bad? To have her here? I know she wants to help raise the child. Adrian and I could take turns with her, keep her satisfied, keep her?—
No. Fuck no.
It’s like I’m forgetting all the shit she’s done. She’d only poison the kid against me. Fill its head with lies. Turn it into another weapon to rip my heart out and humiliate me. That’s what she does—corrupts everything she touches. Look what she did to Adrian. Look what she did to me.
