He was out of Ambien. Geno found Tylenol PM in Zoe’s medicine cabinet and dry-swallowed two caplets. It was a mistake. The pills did the trick of knocking him out, but they lacked Ambien’s power of suppressing dreams.
He was in the basement again. His hands cuffed, his wrists dripping blood. He yanked at the metal restraints, sometimes trying to get free, sometimes trying to get them to cut him deeper. Slice through skin and sinew, tear open veins and slice off his life. End this already because it couldn’t possibly go on. Yet it went on. And on. And on. Crushing him. Tearing him. Pulling and pushing his body apart. Yanking his head by the hair. Wrapping an arm around his waist and finding the truth.
“Well, look what we have here. Someone’s enjoying this.”
“Nuh,” Geno cried. He cried and cried and cried…
His eyes opened.
Matthew was crying.
Hands were on Geno’s shoulder blades. By their shape and weight, Geno instantly knew they were male. He whipped around, rolled over and sat straight up, a fist exploding. He’d never punched another human in his life, but not a shred of hesitation was in the blow. A straight, expert shot to the jaw with a hurricane of rage behind it. Tom Douglas went sprawling into the dresser. The mirror leaning on its back edge slid behind, straight down to the floor.
Glass fractured.
Matthew screamed from his crib.
Out in the hallway, two little girls cried at the top of their lungs.
Geno stared at Tom, breathing hard. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, asshole,” Tom yelled. “What the fucking hell is wrong with you?”
Zoe came running down the hall, the baby on her hip. “What happened? What happened?”
“Are you out of your mind?” Tom said, getting to his feet, eyes blazing. “Are you fucking drunk? Passed out drunk while my son’s screaming his head off?”
“Tom, stop,” Zoe said. “Stop yelling. Calm down. Everyone, please.” Her voice shook, cracking at the edges. “Calm down.”
“You can’t wake me up like that,” Geno said, on his feet with fists still clenched. “You can’t come up behind me that way. You can’t fucking touch me like—”
“Geno, please,” Zoe said, chugging the baby on her shoulder. “Shh. Shh. It’s all right.”
Geno sank onto the bed, head in his hands. All around him, screaming and crying, broken glass, a family clutching at each other.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice falling apart.
“No no no,” Matthew cried.
Geno looked up. The baby was leaning far out of Zoe’s arms, his fat little hands reaching for Geno.
“Ghee,” he said, reaching. “Ghee. No.”
“He’s talking,” Stephanie said, gulping back her tears. “He said your name.”
Geno’s hands hesitated, then started to reach for Matthew. Tom stepped between them and plucked the baby out of Zoe’s grasp.
“No no,” Matthew cried, squirming over Tom’s shoulder. “Ghee no.”
“Come on,” Tom said to the girls. “Downstairs. Now.”
The crying and protesting dwindled away, down the hall and down the stairs, leaving Zoe and Geno staring at each other.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“What happened?”
“I… I fell asleep. I woke up and his hands were on my back. You can’t do that.”
“All right, it’s all right,” Zoe said, crouching down by the bed. “He didn’t know.”
“How could he not know? What the fuck does he think happened to me down there?”
“Geno.”
“What, does he think I’m making it up?”
“No. No, he just doesn’t…understand.” She put her hands on his knees.
“Please don’t touch me.”
Her hands flew off. “I’m sorry.”
Geno put his face in his palms again. His mouth was dry and his head ached. He could hear Matthew crying downstairs. Calling Geno’s name. It crowded the air in Geno’s ears. He shook with wanting, his arms craving to hold the little boy. He wanted it so bad.
Do I like little boys?
Is this how it starts?
Zoe walked over and closed the door, cutting off the sound. “God, he really loves you,” she said softly.
All my baby boys are loyal to me.
“I need to go,” Geno said.
“What?”
“I need to leave.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can’t stay,” Geno said, on his feet again. “It’s not safe.”
“Stop,” Zoe said. “Tom was just upset. He’s not going to hurt—”
“I don’t mean not safe for me. I mean it’s not safe for…”
Zoe crossed her arms. “For who?”
“Nothing. Never mind. It’s just better if I go.”
“Go where? You’re being ridiculous.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t explain. I can’t explain any of this to anyone, nobody understands, nobody…” He exhaled. “I need to go. If I stay here, it’ll make things tense and miserable. You need to take care of your family first.”
“You are family,” she cried. “You’re my goddamn half-brother. You’re my father’s child.”
“But I’m not your child. Or Tom’s. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re serious about this.”
“It’s just better,” he said, picking up a backpack.
“Don’t… Put that down. Don’t leave tonight. You’re making an impulsive decision after something upsetting. Sleep on it.” Her hand reached to him, then remembered, and she took one of the backpack straps instead. “Please. Don’t leave tonight. Let everyone calm down. Things will look different in the morning.”
He sighed. He let go the backpack. He tried to smile. “All right.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She ran a hand through her hair. Something within her seemed to crumple. “I feel terrible.”
He replied with another weak smile and the truth. “I don’t feel anything.”
He stayed in his room the rest of the night. The light off, to make it appear he was sleeping. Really he was packing. And when he sensed the house was in a deep sleep, he left.