13. Colt
13
COLT
Something is wrong.
There’s a weird charge in the air when I get home after another study session. I feel it throughout my body, can almost taste it as I step into the kitchen. Like the feeling before a thunderstorm.
“Leni?” I ask, my voice echoing in the otherwise silent space. “Where are you?”
“Be right out!” There’s a strange sound to her voice. It’s too loud, too bright.
“I brought you something,” I call out, holding up a bag where two pints of ice cream wait to be devoured. “I wasn’t sure what flavor you’d want, so I figured I’d eat what you don’t want. But if you don’t come out from wherever you’re hiding, I’m taking both.”
Finally, she answers from the bedroom. “Be right there!”
Rather than take the ice cream to her, I put it in the freezer for later, wondering why she sounds so off. Maybe I’m misunderstanding. Maybe she is planning something naughty. What does she have in mind? I can’t wait to find out. My cock is twitching as I follow her voice to the bedroom, wondering what she’ll be wearing when I find her.
She’s not in a sexy outfit, waiting in bed. If anything, she looks annoyed when I come in, frowning and everything. “I said I’d be right out.”
Yeah, something’s wrong, and instead of my brain being full of hot, tempting images, there’s nothing but ugliness now. “What’s going on?” I ask, noticing the balled-up sheets in one corner of the room. She’s stripping the bed. Why would she need to do that?
“Stop what you’re doing,” I demand while she pulls the case off a pillow. “Now. Fucking stop.”
She flinches, but does go still instead of continuing with the bed. The pillow she was stripping is now in front of her, with her arms wrapped around it. “What’s wrong?” she asks, still staring at the bed. Her damp hair hangs along the sides of her face. Fuck, she even took a shower.
There are only so many ways I can interpret this.
Everything is starting to go fuzzy. There’s a thumping in my head, loud enough to drown out everything else going on around me—the traffic on the street, the gentle hum of the HVAC system. My pounding heart overpowers it, getting louder with every second that passes without her being able to look at me. She can’t even face me.
Somehow, I’m able to keep my voice soft, asking, “What did you do when I was gone?” Her mouth works, opening and closing, but finally, all she does is chew her lip the way she does when she’s afraid to tell the truth.
“Answer me,” I command. There’s a storm brewing, and it’s not going to be pretty when it explodes. I can barely contain it, but I’m trying. I’m fucking trying, for her sake, to be a better man. And for what? For her to cheat on me?
“I took a shower, and now I’m cleaning a little. Is that all right?” she whispers.
I know I’m not imagining the defiance in her question. Almost like she’s pissed off. At me? What did I do? Another reason I’m sure she’s hiding something from me—she’s never like this.
Swinging the bedroom door shut, I lean against it with my arms folded. “Tell me the truth. We’re not leaving this room until you tell me the truth.”
“Who says I’m not?”
“Why don’t you try looking at me? Why don’t we start there, Leni? Because right now, what I see in front of me is somebody who’s lying to cover their ass. Why are you lying to me?”
“I’m not.”
Fuck, she doesn’t even sound like she believes it. She sounds tired and weak, if anything. But why?
And then I see it. When she goes back to putting the pillowcase on the pillow, the sleeves of the oversized cardigan she’s wearing slide back a little so I can see her wrists.
And the marks around them.
The sight launches me across the room, where I take hold of her arm to pull the sleeve further back. “How did this happen?” I demand. Fuck trying to be understanding, so she’s not scared. I’m tired of tiptoeing around and not getting anywhere.
She doesn’t answer quickly enough, and I shake her a little. “Tell me! Where did these come from? What did you do to yourself?”
“I didn’t do anything!” She almost bares her teeth, yanking her arm away. Her breath hitches as she turns, her face hidden by hair again. “Please, don’t do this. I’m begging you not to.”
“Begging me?” Nothing she’s saying makes a damn bit of sense. “Tell me the fucking truth, Leni. What happened when I was gone?”
Throwing her hair back to glare at me, she raises her voice. “Could you just listen to me for once? Please!”
“Why should I listen to you when I know you’re lying? You don’t think I know you by now? I’m looking in your fucking eyes, and I know you’re lying!”
There’s even more than that. There’s pain in her eyes. Maybe fear, too. Fear of me? The way I’m feeling, she should be afraid. I don’t know if that makes me like Dad or what. I only know my head is going to explode if I don’t get answers.
A soft, almost silent sob bursts out of her when I grab her arm tighter this time. “The truth. What did you do when I was gone? Who was here? And don’t tell me nobody was,” I warn when her mouth falls open. “I know someone was here. I feel it. What, do you think I’m stupid? You don’t know me better than that by now?”
“Please,” she whispers, closing her eyes. “It’s not what you’re thinking. Trust me, it’s not.”
“Until I get an explanation, I’m not going to trust a fucking thing you say. Why are you lying to me? Why?”
Only when she cringes and closes her eyes do I realize I’m screaming. But fuck it. I’ve been trying the whole kind, gentle boyfriend thing, and it’s not fucking working.
Shoving her away from me makes her land on the bed hard. I stand over her, glaring down at her wide eyes, noticing the tears there. There’s something powerful in it, something I haven’t let myself feel in a long time. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed this sense of control. It heats my blood in the most satisfying way. I’m even getting hard, thanks to the way she whimpers and cowers.
It’s her fault. It’s all her fucking fault.
“I didn’t want to tell you!” she cries. When she closes her eyes, tears roll down her cheeks. “I promised myself I wouldn’t!”
“What did you promise yourself for? Why are you hiding shit from me?”
I’m going to lose her. She’s slipping through my fingers while I stand here, staring down at her. The one good thing that has ever been a part of my life, and she might as well be gone.
“Because…” she whispers, so softly I almost don’t hear it. “Because he made me promise.”
“He?” I snarl. I’m losing it, I feel it. I’m going to do something terrible—something I’ll probably hate myself for later. “Who is he?”
Her eyes open, and she looks at me, her chin quivering. “Nix.”
One word shouldn’t have the power to blow a person’s life apart. One single word, that’s all. But that one word is a bomb landing on my ears, tearing me apart inside.
I rock back on my heels, forgetting my anger, staring at her, waiting for the punchline that never comes. “Nix was here?”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “It’s been tearing me apart inside, wanting to tell you. I didn’t believe it at first—that he’s still alive—but he is. He came here tonight. I told him it leave…” She keeps babbling, almost hysterical. “But he wouldn’t go. He… he tied me up,” she admits, and now the tear that falls from her eye stirs absolute fury in me.
He made her cry. He was here; he hurt her, and he made her cry.
He’s been alive all this time and never fucking bothered to tell me. I don’t know what’s worse.
“I wanted to tell you!” she weeps. Her trembling hands cover her face, and her shoulders heave. “I did! But he made me promise not to. I don’t know why he’s hiding—he wouldn’t tell me.”
It seems pretty obvious to me, but that’s not what makes my fists clench. She’s mine, just mine, and now he wants her for himself.
“What did he do to you?” I can’t believe I’m able to whisper. I almost sound rational. “Tell me. I need to know.”
She pulls her sleeves down over her fists, sniffling. “I didn’t want him to, I swear. I begged him not to. I tried to fight him, but…” Her head hangs before she shakes it. “It was no use. He tied me up. Please, I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t make me, please.”
Fine. I won’t. The way I’m feeling, it’s probably better. Just one more thing making me want to hurt somebody.
He’s alive, and I should be happy about it, but goddamnit. Why does it have to be like this? “Did you know he was alive before tonight?” I whisper, fighting for every breath.
“Why are you asking me that?”
“Because you didn’t mention being surprised when you said he showed up here,” I mutter, teeth clenched. It’s the only way I can describe how strange this all seems. When I put that together with how she’s been acting lately—so secretive and distant—it all makes sense.
She releases a ragged breath. “The night you bought me the car. I went for a walk. And… he found me. He…”
When she came in that night, refusing to look at me, crying when I tried to fuck her. How did I not see it? “Tell me everything.”
“He cornered me in an alley and forced me to suck him off. I didn’t know who he was at first, but when it was over, I realized it was him.” I’m still processing this when she adds, “When I said his name, he ran off. But I knew.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“He—”
I cut her off with a wave of my hand, slashing it through the air. “I don’t care what he wanted from you,” I snarl, making her eyes go wide with fear before she tries to creep backward on the bed. Away from me. “You lied to me. What do you owe him that you don’t owe me? We’re supposed to be together, right? A couple? But you kept his secret. He used you, and you let him get away with it because… why?”
My fists tighten a little more with every word, the anger and betrayal growing. “How could you do that? How could you fucking lie to me that way?”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you! I was… I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“That’s pretty fucking obvious,” I growl, ignoring the sob she lets out, ignoring everything. How could she?
How could he?
I can’t even be glad he’s alive—that I was right all along. I hate him for that. He’s taken away my ability to feel any satisfaction in being right, in knowing that he didn’t die, that I still have a brother out there in the world.
He took what’s mine. He hurt her.
“I was only trying to give him time or whatever he needs,” she says weakly.
“Why the fuck does he need time?” I snap.
“He… he was injured,” she murmurs. “He didn’t explain exactly what happened, and I don’t know if he would even if I asked, but the side of his face…” She covers her cheek with her hand. “It’s all scarred up. That’s why I didn’t know for sure it was him in that alley until he spoke—until I saw his eyes. He hides his face. I think that might be part of the reason why. He was there that day, with the explosion and everything. That’s what he’s been hiding, I think. That might be why he didn’t want you or anybody else to know. He’s probably afraid.”
Funny how I don’t care all that much right now. He still didn’t trust me enough to reply to a fucking email. Does he think I would turn him over to the police because of some scars on his face? Doesn’t he know me better than that?
My head feels like it’s in a vise, my skull ready to crack open. My brother is alive, and he fucked my girlfriend. Not that he hasn’t before, but that was different. We were forced to do it back then.
Weren’t we? Am I just telling myself that?
Now I know one thing for sure, at least. That text came from him, telling me to take better care of her. Like he knows anything about it. I’m the one who loves her.
“What are you doing?” Her tearful question doesn’t stop me as I throw the bedroom door open and grab the phone I left on the kitchen counter.
So this is how he wants it? He wants to play games? He wants to hide from me, like there’s anything we couldn’t get through together? He’d rather sneak around and take what’s mine than be a man about it.
Pulling up the anonymous text he sent the night he forced Leni to suck him off in an alley—the thought alone is enough to make my stomach turn—I type out a response.
You fucking coward. You can’t tell me where you are, but you can sneak in here while I’m gone? Why don’t you show yourself?
That’s not even half of what’s on my mind, and by the time I send the message, I already know there’s more to say. Thinking of the way Leni described him, I add:
You hurt Leni. You made her cry, but I’m still open to hearing you out. Whatever happened, whatever you did, we’ll figure out what to do next. Together. But I need you to tell me where you are.
And then I wait, staring down at the phone, willing him to respond. He has to. He can’t ignore me. I’m his fucking brother. I’m the only person who will understand. He has to know that. We’ve been through too much for him to forget it.
But either he has forgotten, or he doesn’t care. Whatever the reason, he leaves me hanging—one minute passing after another with no response.
I’m going to explode. I’m going to hurt somebody. He can’t do this. Not to me.
But he is, and the feeling of helplessness that comes with it makes my hand curl into a fist, which I slam against the closest wall hard enough to leave a dent. The pain in my knuckles is almost welcome. It gives me something else to focus on instead of imagining all the ways I want to make my brother pay for keeping this secret.
And for touching what isn’t his to touch. For seven months, she’s been mine alone.
Knowing I’ve shared her with him puts everything in a different light. An uncomfortable and ugly light that shines on things I would rather leave in the dark.