Jenna and I weren’t just sisters, we were best friends and as close as two people could get. Being two years older than me, she was my idol and everything I wasn’t: skinny, blonde, and extremely popular. Everyone preferred her, even my parents, which was okay by me because I adored her, too, and looked up to her throughout my childhood. When she began dating Danny at age fifteen, I was jealous of the attention she lavished upon him and naturally disliked the guy, probably sensing deep down just how strange he was.
Danny was the kind of guy you didn’t want around your squeaky clean daughter. He was older, and had just dropped out of school. Jenna told me that he used to hang out with his friends a lot and only met up with her when he felt like it; never when she needed him. The moment she began dating him, I could almost see her changing before my eyes. My once vivacious sister turned her back on most of her friends and transformed into someone who’d spend hours locked up in her room for no apparent reason, or become aggressive, smashing things. I often covered for her so she could meet Danny, and when she returned home from him in the early morning hours, she’d look beat-up and greasy, her eyes unnaturally big, and her hands trembling. I didn’t know he gave her drugs. As a thirteen-year-old you were told of the dangers, but you didn’t know the signs and couldn’t put two and two together.
I don’t know how long this went on. Maybe a few months, half a year tops. By the time my parents saw the puncture marks on her skin and sent her to a counselor, she was an emotional wreck and scared out of her mind. Jenna was hospitalized and remained in treatment for another half year, and when she returned I was naïve enough to believe everything would return to normal.
“It didn’t,” Jett whispered, jerking me back to reality. I shook my head and, realizing my nails were dug into the fragile skin of his arm, I peeled my hand off him. Five tiny red marks remained imbued where I had clutched at him for support. Jett showed no sign that it bothered him. He didn’t even flinch as I brushed my fingers over the indentations, wondering whether it was my nature to hurt people without even realizing.
“Shortly after she returned, he invited us both over to a party. I didn’t want to go because my parents had forbidden any contact with him, but Jenna wouldn’t listen. She told me he was the love of her life, and I believed her.”
I hesitated as I let the memories of the few hours that changed my family’s fate scroll before my eyes like a motion picture. My hands were shaking. My unshed tears sat like a rock in my throat, almost choking me. Sensing my distress, Jett’s grip on my hand tightened but he remained quiet, as though he knew all I needed from him was to listen to the story I had never shared with anyone.
“Jenna made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone. Jenna didn’t come back that night. I didn’t know what happened, so when she wasn’t home the next morning I had to tell my parents, who called the police. We looked everywhere for her,” I whispered, my tears finally finding release, spilling onto my cheeks in angry rivulets that soaked the material of my shirt. “They found her body in an apartment owned by one of Danny’s friends. It turned out she had been plied with drugs, and her body had been sold to several men who gang-raped her. We were told she died of internal bleeding. When Danny was charged with murder, I was the one who had to testify against him. His friends kept threatening they’d hurt my family, and I had no one to talk to.” I stopped, fighting for breath. How could I tell Jett I didn’t have the courage to pull it through? My sister’s murderer walked free because I feared for my and my parent’s life.
“I’m sorry,” Jett said softly.
I shook my head in response. No pity. I didn’t deserve it. Not after the ordeal Jenna went through, and certainly not after the events her death brought upon my family. My tears slipped between my lips. I could feel the salty tang on my tongue, drying out the cave of my mouth. My heart beat so fast it seemed as though it wanted to tear my ribcage apart. The choking sensation around my neck tightened, and yet I wasn’t going to back off from the panic attack gathering inside me.
Jett and I remained quiet for a few moments as I snuggled into his strong arms for support. His handgrip was so tight I feared he’d stop my blood circulation, but the sting was welcome. It kept my mind sane for a few more moments so I could finish what I had started. For once I was ready to share the pain and think about the consequences later.
“My mother never blamed me, but my father did,” I began slowly. “He never got over Jenna’s death.”
“Are you still in touch?”
I hesitated as I considered my answer carefully. No, we weren’t in touch. We couldn’t be. “He killed himself a few weeks later.”
“I’m sorry, Brooke,” Jett whispered into my hair. His arms tightened around me, gathering me deeper into his arms, and I let myself fall into his embrace as I tore down the last shreds of defense I had built around myself in the last twelve years.