Page 215 of Drown Like Heaven
“Mommmm,” I said, plopping the laptop on the counter next to her. “Look at it.”
She stepped into frame and bent forward to show her face in the warped video, making a silly expression for a second before rapidly standing again, going back to whatever she was doing. Cooking dinner, probably.
“Alright,” my father snapped, coming up behind me. He grabbed my shoulder and I winced. “Enough of that.”
“She’s just having fun—”
“Always defending her, huh?” he interrupted my mother’s soft voice, raising a hand like he was going to hit her. He didn’t. He hit me instead, on the back of my head. I cowered away, going out of frame. “Maybe if you stopped fuckin’ babying her she’d listen. She’s got no manners because of you.”
The video ended.
I shut my laptop, all the videos smothered by the darkness of my bedroom.
The memories didn’t dissolve so easily, though. I laid flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, warm tears dripping down my temples.
Every version of me now had stemmed fromher.
The girl who’d loved finally having an older brother; the girl who had no idea what he was going to do to her. Was his mother out of prison now? I didn’t know. I envisioned my life if she’d never been arrested, if he’d never had to come live with his father—our father. Would things have been better?
Hard to say.
They would’ve been different, but I wasn’t surebetterwas the right term. Anthony protected me from a lot of things. Other men, mostly. Slimy managers I had. Our father. Maybe he would’ve tried something with me had Anthony not done it.
But I couldn’t think about my brother. I hated everything he’d turned into. I hated seeing those videos of him being normal, knowing what would happen three years in the future.
I could show you… I’ll be gentler than other boys… You don’t want to regret giving it to someone who’ll leave you like trash right afterward…
I rolled over, grabbing my phone off the nightstand and holding it in front of my tearstained face. Mila had texted me numerous times this week. I did my best to reply, but… Even Quinn had texted me, checking in about our upcoming lab.Gas-Solid-Liquid Fluidization Column.It seemed so fucking strange to be worrying about things as trivial as that now.
My chest was hollow, my heart aching like it was covered in bruises.
I didn’t know if I wanted Mason or Micah. I wantedbothof them.
But neither of them were good for me.
I yanked the comforter up over my head, curling up in a ball on my sheets, trying to imagine what it would be like to lay with both of them. Two heavy male bodies, surrounding me with something thatfelt good. Micah, protecting me. Mason, making sure I didn’t get dragged too far into that forest.
They were opposite ends of the spectrum, and neither end was survivable long term. I couldn’t live much longer going back and forth between them. It was ripping me to shreds.
I looked at the cups littering my nightstand, the laundry all over my floor, the notifications on my phone from missed texts and missing assignments. Dirty dishes in the sink, no groceries in the fridge, my hair in a tangled braid, all the lights off. The TV was on in the living room, playing some random sitcom on low volume because sometimes I got scared here all alone at night. I watched the dim flickering glow from down the hall, changing colors on the carpet.
A few patters over my head told me that it was just starting to rain, and I flopped on my back, listening to the drops on metal as they got heavier.
Mason. Micah. Mason. Micah.
Anthony.
The rain on the roof sounded like static instead of comfort, cramming into my brain and snuffing out my thoughts. How was it possible that the girl in those videos was me? How had I ended up here? What would she think of me now?
?????
Micah didn’t talk much on our drive back from campus to his house after working in his lab, and I found myself wondering what the fuck we were even doing. Was he happy doing these things with me?
I slid out of the truck when he parked, stomping through the garage to the door leading inside. He had enough room in his garage for both cars, and the contrast between the old truck and his Audi was a bit comical, but I never questioned him on it.
Kicking off my boots on the mat, I shrugged out of my coat and hung it on a hook. I was so far inside my head that I jumped when Micah’s palm brushed over my shoulder, spinning around.
“You alright?” he asked.
