Chapter 26
Max
I’ve been gutted. Disemboweled.
I don’t stop Lacey from leaving even though it’s agonizing to watch her go. I saw everything between us, every last hope of reconciling, shatter before my eyes.
The worst part is I knew it was coming from the beginning. I knew this would happen. It’s why I tried so hard to stay away. I didn’t want to feel this way. But after my first taste of her I was hooked.
Like Chris and his heroin. She was my drug of choice.
I let numbness wash over me. I have more pressing issues to deal with before I begin sorting through feelings and regret.
For one, my dad will be waking any minute. And when he does he’s going to kill us. Quite literally if we give him the chance.
The second Lacey was outside Chris and I overpowered him, holding him in a sloppy chokehold until he passed out on the living room floor. We were bigger than him now. Younger and stronger.
The humiliation of being taken down by his sons so quickly would infuriate him though and the thought sent fresh fear crashing into me. He may not be able to take us both on himself, but he had plenty of guys working for him that would be happy to do the job.
Chris gives me a sympathetic look when I walk back into the room. There’s no way he didn’t hear the entire argument, word for word. Lacey was screaming at the top of her lungs at some points during that conversation.
I deserved it. But seeing my brother pitying me didn’t sit well. She hated me and now everyone in the apartment building knew it.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I bark out, irritated at myself for earning the look in the first place.
“What the fuck are we going to do?” He gestures toward Dad and paces across the living room, each step more anxious than the last.
“We could call the cops.”
“We could also kill him.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I can.”
“It’s not that I can’t. I just…”
He nods in understanding without me having to explain. “You can’t ruin your life. I get it.” He takes his belt off, loops it and looks me dead in the eye. “I’ll do it for both of us.”
I yank the belt from his hands.
“No the fuck you won’t. He isn’t going to ruin either one of our lives.”
“He already has.”
“No he hasn’t and I’m not visiting my brother in prison for the next fifty years.”
Sometime while we were bickering and problem-solving Dad must have woken. The sound of his cackling makes Chris and I both jump out of our skin.
“You boys planning to kill me now?” He laughs loudly again. It’s maniacal and I’ve never seen him so angry in my life. I ignore his taunting and pull my phone from my pocket. I manage to dial 9…1…and he knocks it out of my hand, sending it flying through the air and shattering against the kitchen wall.
“I’m going to teach the two of you a little lesson about respect.”
And then he did.
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By the end of the evening Dad was back in his mansion on the other side of town, very much alive. He knew he didn’t have to worry about us acting out again. We were subdued physically for at least a couple weeks.
Mentally for a lot longer than that.
He reminded us what happened when anyone went against him. Challenged him. Even his own sons weren’t exempt of that.
Chris now sported a black eye, busted lip and a wrist so swollen I wondered if it was broken. He insisted it wasn’t, that is hardly even hurt. I called bullshit but didn’t have the will to argue.
I had two black eyes which had swollen almost shut. I could hardly see shit and I hoped the effect wasn’t permanent. What if he beat me into blindness? I wouldn’t exactly be surprised.
I bit my tongue when I was kicked in the ribs so hard I saw stars. I could taste the metallic blood on my tongue. And I was pretty sure those ribs were broken. At least a couple of them had to be if the sharp pain radiating down my side was any indication.
The two of us lay side by side on the living room floor. Spots of blood speckled the tan carpet. Or at least it had looked like that before my eyes swelled so badly I could barely see a foot in front of my face.
Shadows I could make out. Details like blood on the carpet? Not so much.
Pain throbbed through my side with each breath. I tried not to move if I didn’t have to. My energy was spent. I wished Chris had some of his infamous morphine pills leftover because we could both use them right about now.
I guess I fall asleep. Either that or I slip in and out of consciousness.
It’s dark when I finally come to. Chris moved to the couch at some point and is flipping through channels on the TV. I see the flashing light from the screen but can’t make out what shows are on.
“Ugh. Fuck.” I groan as I move to sit up. Pain slices through my ribs and I curl up on my uninjured side. “My ribs are broken.”
This isn’t my first rodeo with Daddy Dearest. There’s nothing doctors can do for broken ribs besides wrap them and tell me to take it easy for a couple months while they heal.
Movement stirs and I hear pills rattling in a bottle. Water running from the sink.
“Here, take these.”
He places three pills in my limp hand. I toss the pills in my mouth and reach out for the glass of tap water he’s holding. I wash down the pills and don’t even ask what they are. I don’t care as long as they weaken this pain.
The stronger the better. Where was the morphine when I needed it? I realized how hypocritical that thought was since that was all Lacey had wanted too.
“We need to wrap your ribs.”
“I know.”
I dread it. It’s going to hurt like hell and make the pain I’m currently in seem like a paper cut. But if I don’t wrap them they’ll heal fucked up and then I’ll have even bigger problems.
I hear him digging around in my bathroom cabinets, looking for supplies. I have a fully stocked medicine cabinet ready for occasions like this. He comes out with Ace bandages and medical tape.
I gingerly sit upright and attempt to lift my shirt over my head. When I let out a sharp exhale from the excruciating pain Chris helps me pull my shirt over my head without straining my torso.
My brother expertly wraps my ribs, careful not to make the bandages too tight or too loose. It’s like a second skin by the time he’s done.
I don’t bother putting my shirt back on. Doubt I could manage it even if I tried. The pain meds start to kick in and I feel groggy. My thoughts slow and although I still feel the pain in my ribs it dulls to a bearable level.
I know I should probably shower off the sweat and blood caking my face and who even knows where else. But I can’t muster the strength to even think about climbing in the shower and going through that ordeal tonight.
Instead I head straight for my bed and awkwardly lay on my back on top of the blankets. Sleep finds me quickly and provides me with a break from the pain.
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I miss my classes the following Monday. There’s no way I can show my face there. Literally. I look like I got hit by a truck and that the asshole decided to back up and hit me a second time.
My eyes are no longer swollen which helps me study. At least I can keep up with my course material and not fall behind. I’ve missed almost half the semester at this point and that can’t be good.
The next exam is scheduled for the week after next. There was no chance of me getting A’s this semester but I would rejoice in passing grades. Hopefully I’ll have healed enough by then to make it.
Unless Dad decides to come back and finish me off before then. One more kick to the ribs and I think I would die solely from the pain.
My soul felt like it matched my black and blue bruised up face and rib cage. The beating was a stark reminder of what he was capable of if we tried to cross him.
It was all I could think about. I’m sure that was the intended effect.
He had to be stopped.
I knew if the police got involved Chris and I would have to answer for our own involvement. It would be like shooting a hole in a boat the three of us were all floating in. Yes, we would take him down. But we would have to sacrifice ourselves to make that happen.
Chris ran out to get some groceries and run errands which I suspected meant buy some heroin. I didn’t have the energy to fight him on it. I had a lecture ready to spout off when I was back to my full strength.
He tried to do his best to stay clean for a stretch of time. Then he would disappear for a full day, spiraling back into his addiction for days at a time. Then he would swear he was done with it for good. That he was in recovery. And he would do better for a while. Until something-or nothing at all-triggered him and he was back at it again.
Repeat.
A loud knock on the doors draws me out of my thoughts. I decide to ignore it. Not many people knew where I live. It’s probably a fucking Jehovah’s Witness as my luck would have it. Trying to save my already damned soul.
Another round of knocking pounds on the door. It’s incessant and I realize it isn’t going to stop until I answer.
So I do.