Remy
The pounding on my bedroom door wouldn’t stop.Bang.Bang.Bang.
“Go away,” I mumbled.
“Fucking let me in or I’m going to rip this door off the hinges,” Dylan yelled.
I stayed where I was, lying on my mattress, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. My body was spent. I was too hollowed out and empty to care. Let him yell and threaten me all he wanted. I wasn’t going anywhere.
Wood splintered, and the door flew open, slamming against the wall. Dylan’s chest was heaving as he stalked across the room. I gaped and scooted back against the wall. The asshole had kicked my door in. “Get out of here!”
His eyes narrowed on me, taking in my red, swollen eyes and unwashed hair, the holey T-shirt and cotton boxers I’d been wearing for three days. Before I could stop him, he lifted me off the mattress and tossed me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. I pounded his back with my fists. Undeterred, he carried me through the doorway, down the hall, and into the bathroom, keeping a vise-like grip on my legs.
“What the hell are you doing? Put me down.”
I pummeled him with my fists and clawed at his back, my shrieks bouncing off the tiled walls. He didn’t care. My brother was Iron Man. Holding me in place with one arm, he turned on the shower and held his hand under the water until he was happy with the temperature. Clothes and all, he unceremoniously dumped me in the bathtub.
The shower curtain snapped shut and he left me sitting there with the water pouring down on my head. All the fight drained from my body, and I just sat there with my eyes closed, letting the water wash over me. Cleanse me. Take away my sins.
“I don’t know what bullshit is going on in your life, but you can’t hide out in your room forever.”
It had only been three days. That wasnotforever. He had no idea what bullshit was going on in my life because he was never home. “Says who?”
“Me.”
“Who made you the boss?” It was childish and stupid. “Who cares if I go to school or not?”
“Icare.” His voice was low and angry, like that was something new and different. These days, that was his default mode.
“It’s not like I’m going to college.”
“You could if you wanted to.”
“I don’t want to.” I sounded like a petulant six-year-old. Why were we talking about college? I had no plans for my future beyond this shitty apartment.
“We only have six weeks until graduation. Six weeks and one day until our eighteenth birthday. You’re going to school and you’re going to graduate with me.”
“Dylan, I don’t care,” I said in frustration. “Can’t you get that through your fat head? I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.”
“Icare. I didn’t do all this, so you could fuck off.”
“Do what?” I screamed. “What did you do? You don’t tell me anything.” I whipped open the shower curtain and climbed out of the bathtub, sopping wet, my hair dripping, my boxers and T-shirt soaked through to the skin. “Tell me where you go at night. Tell me where you get all the money to pay the rent.”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” I screamed, shoving at his shoulders.
“Because I don’t want you involved,” he screamed right back at me. We stared at each other, our chests heaving, the water pooling on the tiles at our feet. The shower was still running, the bathroom mirror fogged up. “Six weeks and we’re done, Remy. We didn’t come this far for you to drop the ball now. We’re in this together and I’m not leaving you behind.” He wrapped his hands around my upper arms and shook me, his stormy blue-gray eyes pinned on mine. “I’m not leaving you behind. We made a promise to each other and I willnotleave you behind. Do you understand?”
“Dylan…” I choked on a sob. It was too much. This was what love looked like. Two kids playing house. Two kids fighting against and for each other. Love was a verb. It wasn’t just a pretty word that got tossed around all too casually. People were so quick to say the words, “I love you.” But what did that mean? For some people, it meant nothing. Mom used to tell us she loved us all the time but she up and left without a backward glance. Dylan… he was still here. Through it all, he was still here when it mattered most. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. His fingers dug into my arms, his grip too tight as if he was afraid to let go.
“I’m not losing you, too,” he said. “I can’t lose you, Remy.”
His voice cracked on the words.
Oh God. Dylan. You would think that a broken heart couldn’t break any more, but it could because mine was breaking all over again.
“Let go of me, Dylan. Please. You’re hurting me,” I whispered brokenly.