10. Ten
Ten
Toni
The sun, normally ever-present in the first weeks of July, had been absent for the past five days, ever since that first official day of camp.
It had also been five days since Cole Michaels somehow read my mind.
In that one silent plea, for the first time since I was fifteen, I caught a glimpse of the boy I used to know.
The one who always defended my honour, even when he didn’t need to.
Nor was I subjected to the outright hostility of last summer.
In fact, both Cole and Brennon seemed to be doing their damnedest to pretend Xavi and I didn’t exist.
There was barely ten minutes until breakfast by the time the last kid climbed out of the water.
I didn’t bother stopping by the Village to change, knowing I’d be headed right back to the dock as soon as the meal was over.
Instead, I dashed directly for the dining hall, sliding in beside Michele at the staff table, where I proceeded to inhale three pieces of French toast in record time.
Across the table from me, Xavi watched me, brown eyes dancing with mirth.
We made a point of never sitting beside each other during meals.
The pull to touch was too strong and I refused to give Francis any excuse to hurt him.
Even though my brother rarely appeared at the morning meal.
Brennon did, though. He sat at the same table as us, ate wordlessly, and never looked up from his plate.
His blue hair from last summer was gone, faded back to his natural white blonde.
The unique hair colour, a genetic gift from his asshole father.
Unlike on the docks, it was easier to pull my attention back to real life, thanks to Michele, who happily chatted away beside me. She excitedly explained the mural project she had planned; a whole summer project she was going to have all the creative kids working on.
The meal was followed by three hours of back-to-back swimming lessons.
First with the beginners–levels one through three–then intermediates, and the senior levels right before lunch.
Although my brother might skip breakfast, from the end of the dock, I had a perfect view of the speedboats zipping across the water, towing water-skiers and wakeboarders behind them.
And when the kids eventually fell and the boats stopped, Francis’ angry shouts ricocheted back to shore.
Despite his threats and the unshakable weight of his presence, the realities of camp life had made it relatively easy to avoid my sibling.
During the day, programs and activities meant that there were always people and kids around.
At night, I clung to my friends, keeping them close. So far, that had been enough.
Until two weeks into July, when my luck ran out.
It was a Wednesday morning and with Picked Programs finishing, I was ready to swap my bathing suit for some real underwear, even if it was only for an hour or two.
Once the last kids were off the dock, the guard vests put away, and the safety gate locked, I tucked the keys back into the pocket of my shorts and headed for my cabin. My stomach growled as I got close.
“Hungry, sister?”
There he was, finally tired of waiting for an opportunity, Francis had positioned himself so he blocked my cabin door.
There would be no getting inside without getting past him.
Much as I wanted to change, it would cost me more than I was willing to pay.
I said nothing as his eyes crawled over me, only shuddering when his stare reached my chest. He licked his lips, and I grimaced, because I had played this game far too many times with him, always with the exact same outcome.
Particularly over the last year. I wouldn’t hurt people, and he would.
Too happily. So, I was always the loser in this game of his and my father’s.
“Come here, Antoinette,” he ordered. I didn’t budge from the path that ran between my humble little cabin and his newer monstrosity. He sneered when I didn’t move, curling the index finger of his right hand and summoning me with shrinking beady eyes.
“Come here,” he repeated in a low growl.
This time, I listened. Pushing Francis too far was never a good idea.
On feet that seemed weighted in stone, I stepped onto the small porch that fronted Foxglove, but being within his arms’ reach meant that I no longer had any control.
He squeezed my arm and spun me in place until my back slapped painfully against the bare wood.
Then, he pressed in on me. His face was oppressively close to my own, and as his left hand–clammy as it was–wound down to my hip, he spit, “Enjoying your summer so far? Enjoying this little taste of freedom?”
My heart rate spiked, and my pulse raced, but my voice might as well have belonged to a church mouse as I squeaked, “Yes.”
He ran his tongue along his teeth, frowning as he did.
“How? The bugs, the dirt, the disgusting lice-filled children. I don’t understand why you love this fucking place so much.”
Seeing an opportunity, I took it, “Well, you don’t have to stay Fran. I mean you and Father know where I’ll be. You could go back to West Barrett, and—"
“And let you slut around with those boys?! Is that what you want?” He snarled.
“No,” my voice shook as I tried to get the words out, “No, I swear, I just thought—" His grip on my arm–that up until now, had been punishing–retreated only for a second as his hand moved to wrap around my throat.
He squeezed again, pressing his palm against my windpipe and making it painful to breathe.
He leaned even closer, whispering against the shell of my ear,
“You think with me gone; you’d be free?”
I shook my head.
“You’ll never be free, Antoinette. You are mine. But maybe this is my fault.” He drew back, offering me a brief reprieve, before crowding in again, “Maybe these few weeks, fuck, maybe this whole year, I should have been showing you just how much you belong to me.”
The grip on my neck, and the battle for air made it hard to concentrate on any other sensations, but when his left hand drifted from my hip to the top button of my shorts, my pulse ratcheted up further.
Fear beat against my rib cage, and just like all the times before, tears and shadows battled for dominance at the corners of my eyes.
I was seconds from tears, or a complete blackout and I wasn’t sure which was worse, or what my brother would do to me if it was the latter.
Francis’ whole body pushed against mine, so much that his back was rounded to keep me under his control.
Over his shoulder, I tried to focus on the trees in the distance, the way their limbs swayed in the afternoon breeze, even as I blinked and swallowed the bile that was ever-present when my brother got too close to me.
Then, a voice I recognized, melodic and full, caught the air.
A classic song, of course, ironically titled Rescue Me.
Sure enough, when the tips of her afro appeared over the edge of the hill, I knew my friend was yet again going to be my unknowing saviour.
“Abbi,” I croaked, raising my hand to point in her direction.
Subtlety has never been Francis’ go-to, but our father must have given him some sort of instructions about keeping a low profile, because at the mention of her name he shoved back.
Not enough that I could relax, not even enough to read like a normal conversation between siblings, but enough that the shadows retreated back into the darkest, most cavernous parts of my mind.
I rubbed the skin on my neck where his hand had just been, while he tutted, “It would be best if we kept this little chat to ourselves, sister dear. We wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to your little friend.”
I nodded furiously.
“Good. Because I have no qualms about killing her.” He smiled, like the idea of killing Abbi was his idea of a good time, before spinning on his heels and storming into his cabin just ten feet away. He slammed the door behind him just as Abbs got close enough to shout, “T, ready for lunch?”
Not trusting my voice yet, I went with my new default nod.
“Cole and I decided we’re having a sing-along lunch!”
Even in my worst moods, news of a sing-along lunch should have lifted my spirits.
Despite all the struggles of last summer, I had managed to laugh and sing my heart out during the three we had.
When I was a kid, well, then, they were an all-out celebration.
For me, they were better than Christmas because, away from my father, and later, my brother, I could dance and sing without any fear.
A sing-along meant that Abbi and Cole had spent their morning assembling a playlist. But not just any old playlist. One with the perfect mix of catchy pop, movie soundtracks, and songs heard on the radio so many thousands of times that there wasn’t a person alive who didn’t know the words.
And instead of the everyday craziness of an Agonde meal, today’s lunch would be eaten on our feet.
With the entire camp standing on benches and tables, screaming the words together in chorus.
Xav always hated them. The noise was just too much for him.
But for Brennon, Cole, and I, they’d always been a party.
The second the first notes played over the dining hall speakers, they would abandon their own table and race across the room to mine, where, together, we’d dance and sing like maniacs, using our empty plates as drums and forks as microphones.
Those memories were the only reason I was able to smile at Abbi’s news now. Unlike in my memories, Francis’ presence at the meal today would mean no dancing, no singing, just the undeniable knowledge that my every move was being watched.
Abbs, perceptive as ever, picked up on my discomfort, and with a frown said,
“Alright, that’s enough.”
“Huh?”
Her frown deepened, “The girls and I have been waiting for you to spill it. Whatever is eating at you.”