Chapter 9
I spend all day at work, and by the time it gets dark outside, I wonder how I even managed to do that. I’m shaking on the ride home, and when I get in the house, I can barely stand up.
I crumple on the bar stool in the kitchen, and I think of Aiden. He had fun at work for a few days, but the excuses are already starting to roll off his tongue. He’s tired, hungover, inspired – anything to get him out of doing this.
And it fucking hurts to know there’s some truth in Blane’s words. Maybe he really can’t take care of himself.
For some reason or another, Aiden doesn’t come to look at me, and I feel more alone than ever.
But then I have a fleeting thought. I could go in the attic right now. I could look at his painting.
And somehow, that simple thought makes me feel better. Like seeing what Aiden seems me as might negate the fact that I’m a coldhearted bitch.
So I do exactly that.
I tiptoe to the attic, knowing exactly where to step from years of playing in here with my stepbrothers. The stairs don’t creak and I make my way up, carefully opening the latch door when I get to it.
It lets off a tiny sound and I cringe, waiting for Aiden to come storming from his room. But nothing happens. I smile a little and finally climb up until I’m in the room.
The ceiling is slanted and it’s so different than yesterday. It’s dark and gloomy, and kind of scary. It gives me the chills, but I’m not about to back out now.
My eyes find Aiden’s painting, which is covered with a white sheet, and I make my way over to it.
I only hesitate for a moment, knowing he would not want me looking at it. But then I tear the sheet off.
And I stare.
There I am, painted in beautiful watercolour, my hair like liquid gold, my blue eyes glowing like sapphires. But my mouth is twisted in a strange way, and so are my hands. And I’m not lying on the couch, I’m on my knees. And I’m on a leash.
I stare at the painting in horror.
Aiden’s painted me with an expression of such profound sorrow and hurt, it pains me to just look at it. My robe is split down the middle, but instead of revealing my breasts, all there is is a gaping, bloody hole exposing my chest. A leash is leading from my neck to an arm which is tugging me along, and I know it’s his arm.
Aiden thinks of himself like some kind of deranged puppet master.
I stare and I stare and I stare.
And then I hear his footsteps coming up to get me.
And I’m scared.
***
I refuse to look at Aiden when he comes in, all the while hoping he’ll comfort me. We went to bed separately last night, contrary to what Aiden wanted and not what I told Blane at all.
And despite what I’ve just seen, I want him to pretend like it’s all okay.
It’s the first time we’re seeing each other since our kiss, and for once, I long for the touch of my other stepbrother. I want Aiden to comfort me. Make it better.
“Had a nice day?” he asks viciously and I look at him in confusion.
“I’ve been at work-” I start to say, but he doesn’t let me finish.
“Sure!” he interrupts immediately. “I’m sure work was great fun. Just like the drink with my brother.”
I want to argue immediately when I’m hit with the shock – how does he know? – but instead I keep my mouth shut and my head down. Which probably makes me look even more guilty, even though I have no reason to be.
It’s then that his eyes see his painting, the sheet lying on the ground, the fact my eyes are still glued to the scene on the canvas.
“Fuck, Emme!” Aiden yells, slamming his fist into the wall. I look up in shock to see a hole in it, and his hand bleeding. But he doesn’t even seem to notice the pain as he strides closer to me.
Before I have time to get up, Aiden scoops me up in his arms and places me on the couch. He forces my hands apart and I cry out in pain when he twists them behind my back, hurting me.
“Stop it!” I whimper, tears already making their wa
y down my face. “What is wrong with you, Aiden?”
“What’s wrong with me?” he asks angrily, his eyes shooting daggers at me. “What’s wrong?”
With a single movement of his arm, Aiden flicks my legs apart as I gasp when the cold air hits my bare skin. He reaches between my legs and rips my panties in two.
“No,” I whimper. “Please, don’t!” I cry out.
“You’ll always choose him,” he snarls at me. “I take care of you. I protect you. I make it all better, don’t I, Emme?” he taunts me, his hand positioned before my pussy like a warning.
I whimper through my tears and nod, feeling more scared than ever.
But that doesn’t stop him.
With a roar, he forces three fingers inside of me as I cry out in pain. He holds my wrists with one hand while he ravages me with the other, and I cry. I cry so much.
“There we go,” he says triumphantly. “You like that better, don’t you? Is that better than my brother?”
I nod, because it’s all I can do.
When he’s done, he licks his fingers and lets go of me like I’m a piece of trash. I’m shocked and I can’t even cry anymore. I just stare off into the distance.
He tips my chin up and forces me to look at him.
“You know what I’m going to do now, sweet little Emme?” he asks me.
I don’t respond, but he keeps going.
“I’m going to find that bastard, and I’m going to kill him,” he promises me, sealing the deal with a sloppy kiss on my swollen lips.
And then he leaves me on the couch, storming downstairs as I whimper in pain and shock. All the while, the painted image of me mocks me with its disturbing cry for help.
Chapter 10
2 years ago
Only weeks after my birthday, the doorbell rings when we’re sitting down for Sunday lunch. Aiden and I look at each other in confusion, while my stepfather clears his throat and goes to answer the door. The rest of us chatter absentmindedly, while I’m sure all of our thoughts are still on my disastrous birthday party.
I can’t get my mother’s face out of my head, the slap that followed stinging Blane’s cheek. I cringe at the mere thought of my stepfather throwing his own son out, me crying, Aiden comforting me. It was a nightmare.