Chapter 10
Wreckage
Levi
Baseball practice was shit today. How can I coach these players when all I can think of is how I hurt Scarlett?
The one person I have been trying to save is the one whose tears I caused last night through my actions.
Throughout baseball practice, I tried to formulate an apology, searching for words to convey how deeply I felt, but nothing came; no words could express how sorry I am.
Slowly, the door opens, and I see her shuddering in her bed.
I watch as her bed slowly shakes with each silent sob.
I run to her bedside. “Letty… I, fuck. I fucked up. I’m more than sorry.
” Placing my hand on her side, she jerks and hisses in a big breath that comes shuddering out, hitting me like bricks.
I rip off her covers. She quickly moves her hand over her face, a pained whimper spills from her, as she shifts slightly, using the other hand to hold her side.
“Please leave.” Her voice is broken. With her jaw set tight and her eyes staring at the space in front of her, my heart drops to my feet. He broke her, again.
I run my hand through my freshly cut, sweaty hair while turning to pace in her bedroom.
“Show me. Show me what that fucker did while I was away.” I pace rapidly, burning footsteps into the hardwood.
“Scarlett, show me.” She slowly sits up, turning her face towards me, her cheek swollen and reddened, some spots turning bruised and black, making me understand the power of the slap.
She removes her blanket, sliding her legs over, wincing in pain.
As she slowly lifts her t-shirt, redness takes over her sides, with bruised lines wrapping around her ribs from where he made contact.
“Fuck. Letty.” Walking over to her bed, I drop to my knees.
She shakes her head. “D– Don’t do that. Don’t feel bad for not being here.
” Her eyes are like black voids, not even a twinkle of light shining in them.
Her hand reaches out slowly, pulling my own into her lap.
With shaky fingers, she uses her other hand to clamp her hands together.
“I need to start taking care of myself. You deserve a life, you deserve to have fun, and not worry about me, the burden, the reason you're stuck here at twenty years old. I mean, you took a job at my school just to stay close. Just stop saving me, make it easier on yourself.” Her voice falls as she loosens her grip and lies back down as her words register.
“Let him finish the job, let him take my pain away…” Her voice barely whispers.
Rage and torment fill every inch of my core.
“Scarlett, look at me.” She turns her head away, I watch her eyelashes flutter, and her lips wrap around her teeth, an attempt to hold back the tears she so desperately wants to hold in.
“You've got to talk now, it's my turn.” I sit on her bed, positioning myself so that I'm in her field of view, not wanting to tower over her. I lean forward slightly. This isn’t the time for her to feel weak or less than; it’s a conversation that needs to be had amongst others. “You’re right, you do need to start figuring out how to do this. To be strong. I believe you can. I believe you can do anything you set your mind to. You have a fire to you when someone isn’t holding an extinguisher to it.
We both deserve to have fun, and I took that from you, and fuck, I am sorry.
You telling me not to worry about you is like telling me not to breathe.
You're my sister, Letty. I will worry about you till the day I die, and even after. I am not stuck here; I would never be stuck with you. We are stuck with him. That is the difference.”
I place my hand over her trembling fingers, and suck in a deep breath.
“I am sorry I fucked up. The thought of someone putting their hands on you in any way makes my blood boil because, aside from mine, the only hands that have touched you have caused you pain, and that's a messed-up way to think, because you deserve a comforting touch, to be loved endlessly, to be kissed and fawned over, because you matter.
After all, you are worthy. I fucked up, and I am truly sorry.
I'm sorry I wasn't here to bash in Grant’s head; sorry you were alone.
Please don't push me out.” She pulls her hand away slowly.
“I forgive you for the incident at the party, because you're my idiot brother and I love you, but I will not accept an apology for Grant’s actions. You didn’t cause this, and I won't listen to you apologize for living your life. Plus, hating you right now is exhausting.” She lies back down as I bring the blanket over her.
I turn and walk to her door when she whispers, “I love you even when I hate you, and that is so fucking often.” She flips me off, and I close her door silently.
Sleeping doesn't come easily; I toss and turn all night, wondering how I will control myself when I see Grant. How will I not wring his neck or beat him to the point where he no longer breathes, because damn, I want to. I never thought I was a violent man; I don’t peg myself as one.
Yet, every once in a while, these feelings of outrage twist inside me, and all I want to do is hurt someone.
I want to hurt someone the way I have been broken.
The thing about hiding my emotions, being strong, and always having control is that the feelings are still there.
They are gently simmering, slowly heating, until they come to a boil.
And once they boil, and the lid shoots off the top, it explodes, and I rage for blood, for his blood.
I don’t sleep. Instead, I toss and turn and thrash around, silently screaming at myself, my mother, my father, Grant, Spencer. Anyone in the target zone, I am hitting.
“Hey.” Jessica’s soft voice comes over the line. Shit, I probably woke her up.
I clear my throat, “Hey, last night at the party, do you know who took and posted that video on Instagram? I don’t have Instagram, and I’m trying to figure it out.” Waiting for her answer feels like a lifetime.
“Yeah, Ashley took it, and she posted it on her Instagram, Ashley_Captain.” Fury courses through my forearm as I squeeze my phone.
“Tell her to delete it right the fuck now, delete it from her socials and her phone. Or I won’t give her a choice.” I snarl with enmity.
I hear a shift in the phone, and some whispers, “Yeah, she’ll do it right now. What’s going on?” Her inquisitive voice is frazzled, probably due to my hatefulness—nothing like the version of me she had last night, soft and tender.
“Just fucking delete it.” I hang up and throw my phone. Walking back to Scarlett's room, I open the door once more and see her scrolling on her phone.
“Morning, go to Ashley_Captain's page.” Scarlett sits up slowly, squinting her eyes with her movement.
“Oh-kay.” She starts typing on her phone. Then hands it to me.
“Is the video down?” My words come out coarse, with urgency. Her forehead creases, and her eyes dart across the blue-lit phone screen.
“Yeah, how did you make her take it down?” She turns her head to the side, eyeing me.
“She’s Jessica’s friend. I threatened her, and she removed it. I am going to bring you some food.” I stand up and walk away, knowing she’s disappointed in my threatening, but I couldn't care less.
My feet hit the steps as I take a few steps at a time, forcing down my rage, hoping it seeps out of the soles of my feet. Rounding the corner, I am met with the devil himself.
Grant looks down at the paper that sits in front of him. Walking to the pantry, I rip open the door, grab food, and stuff my arms full. “You can eat down here.” His voice is deep, echoing through the kitchen.
Rolling my eyes, I rolled my neck in hopes of keeping myself from becoming a raging monster, and I was so close to allowing the comment to ride. “Got something to say, boy?” I drop the boxes of food before I whip around, finding him a few steps closer.
I heave in a deep breath, “Fucking right I do, putting your fuckin’ hands on her, AGAIN.
Mother always made excuses for your shitty actions, not me.
” My temper is boiling, ready to explode, ready to sink my teeth into his vile black blood and drain the rotten soul from his body. Grant slaps the kitchen counter hard.
“You have no right to speak to me like that in my god damn house! You don’t like the way I do things; leave.
No one is keeping you here, GO!” he yells, his anger is no match for mine, not today.
I take a step closer, my neck strained, as my biceps flex and nail marks dig into the palms of my hands from squeezing my fists.
“I see your rage, you're just like me, son. HIT ME!” He beats his chest like a gorilla, “HIT ME, BOY!” He yells and hits his chest again.
Looking him right in his soulless eyes, deep into whatever darkness possesses him, I bellow back, “I am NOTHIN' like you. I AM NOT YOUR SON, and I'll be damned if I EVER end up like you. I have RAGE for YOU! I would never lay my hand on a woman, fucking coward, hitting women because they don’t hit back, but I do!” I scream in his face, before turning around, grabbing the Pop-Tarts and granola bars, secretly wishing he'd take the first swing.
But it never came, I stomped my way up the stairs, letting my words hit him right in his big-headed ego.
Getting to Scarlett's room, her bed is empty, but the bathroom door is shut. I set the breakfast choices out on her bed and waited for her to return. After five minutes, I knocked on the bathroom door. “You fall in or what?” She hollers that she’ll be right out.
When she emerges, the redness from her tears has faded, her breath is steady, and her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail. “I got you what I could.” She grabs a Pop-Tart and sits on the bed. “Did you hear any of that?” She shakes her head and points to the bathroom.
“I was in there, I can't go to school for a couple days, I’ve got to wait for the swelling to go down, make-up can't cover that. Can you maybe call me out for a few days?” I nod, hating the fact that I will be layering lies on top of secrets.
We spend the day eating junk food and watching awful movies. Spencer texted me a few times, but I told him Scarlett was sick, and I was helping Grant around the house, but we could carpool tomorrow.
The night comes, but sleep doesn’t; instead, my brain runs on a wheel of wreckage our mother caused. It started with her being swept off her feet by a manipulative, drunken man of power, before ending in her quick death and our slow one.