Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Her eyes softened when she realized how far back this story went.
“My sister’s room was across the hall, my parents’ bedroom at the far end. My eldest brother’s room was next to mine. I was dead asleep, drugged so I couldn’t hear anything. Fender was supposed to be home before curfew, but he didn’t make it on time. When he came into the house, he tried to sneak into his room, but then he heard a muffled gunshot. Assuming there was a burglar in the house, he grabbed a knife and went to my mom’s room to wake her…but she’d been shot in the head.”
She inhaled a deep breath, quieting her gasp so she wouldn’t interrupt me.
“When he went to my sister’s…she had the same fate.” I could picture it all without actually having seen it with my own eyes. I still remembered the layout of that house vividly, knew how the house looked at that time of night, the lights from the city coming through the windows to light up the hallway. “The gunman went into our brother’s room, and Fender knew there was nothing he could do. The gun went off. He came to my room…and I was the only one still alive.”
Tears fell down her cheeks as she pictured it in her head, mourning people who’d been dead for nearly fifteen years.
“I was drugged, so I couldn’t get up. So, Fender picked me up and carried me down the stairs. He didn’t make it to the door before the gunman came after him. He raised his gun and fired, but Fender got me out of the house without taking a bullet. We were young at the time and not as strong as we are now, so he dropped me on the stairs. It jolted me awake. I didn’t have time to process what was happening. Fender told me to run, so I did…and we sprinted for our lives, gunshots firing behind us.”
She covered her mouth with both hands to muffle her words. “Dear god…”
“Fender saved my life…and he’s all I have now.” I hoped that would be enough to help her understand the connection we shared, why I did nothing even though I didn’t agree with the shit he did.
“Did you ever find out who did it?” She wiped at her tears, but they just kept coming.
I nodded. “My father.”
She stilled in horror, like the information was too sickening to process, like she couldn’t allow the words to enter her mind because they were so wrong. Her hands moved over her mouth again, and she cried quietly.
It was too hard to look at her, so I turned away. “Shit like that leaves a permanent mark that never goes away. I didn’t have to see it with my own eyes, but he did. He had to discover my mother’s body, my sister’s, listen to the bullet leave the barrel as it killed my brother…and that’s why he is the way he is. It’s no justification for his actions, I understand that, but…that’s why. I have more humanity because I didn’t have to witness it myself, didn’t have to experience that firsthand. His descriptions are my memories. It’s like looking at the sun on the TV. It’s not the real thing, so it doesn’t do physical harm to your eyes like it would if you looked at it directly.” I stared at the TV for a moment longer before I turned back to her. “I don’t condone his decisions, I don’t condone this camp, but he’s all I have. I’ve tried to talk him out of it many times, but he doesn’t listen. And I’m obligated to work here…because of what he risked to save me from our father. We are bound by this event forever. I don’t expect you to understand that because you have no idea how it feels, but I will never move against my brother because of it. I just…can’t. If I kill him, I’m no different from our father.”
We didn’t talk much for the next few days.
She still wanted me every night as if nothing had changed. The passion was at the same intensity, but she did hold me tighter when she slept afterward, practically sleeping on top of me even though it was too warm for that.
I expected more questions about it, but she seemed so upset by the story that she needed time to get past the initial trauma before she could talk about it, like it had happened to her.
I lay in bed beside her, half of her body on top of mine while we reclined under the sheets naked, her bare tits against my body because I’d just been on top of her minutes ago. But I could tell she wasn’t ready for sleep because her breathing hadn’t changed. I usually waited until she was under first before I allowed myself to drift off.