He studies me, measuring my expression carefully. “So you’re a liar now, too. You lie for him.”
“No.”
He taps the page. “This young boy came into the hospital. Did you know that? He drove his car off the Stormy River bridge. He drowned, but his body was beaten and bruised. He must have been thrown around a lot. Yet, the car didn’t have any damage to show such a thing. The coroner wanted to do an autopsy to confirm the cause of death, but the family stopped us. They didn’t want his body disturbed at all. Strange. . . isn’t it? It was as though they feared what they might find. Feared. . . something.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes. “I don’t know.”
“You knew a boy died. That he was beaten. What does it say here-” Dad peers down at the page, reading the words aloud.My words.“‘Bronson feels so guilty, but I don’t care about the boy. I just want him to find peace.’” When his eyes meet me again, I see absolute hatred blazing through them. As they repel me, piercing into me, I take a step backwards. He sneers as he says, “Then you let him touch you so that you both felt better about what happened? About murder. Is this all true?”
I cover my mouth, shaking my head slowly. The night at the lookout connected us in a way nothing else could, but the way my father simplifies it makes it feel vile. Feeling vomit growing, ready to release with my panic, I try to steady my breaths. “No.”
“You let him touch you that night. . . and then, you let him put a baby inside you?”
My heart hammers behind my ribcage as my eyes burst with tears. I sob softly under his gaze. “No.”
“So you’re not pregnant?”
My shoulders heave while emotions consume my entire being. Filled with fear, I just nod hesitantly. I touch my lower stomach, thinking about the potent excitement Bronson felt. It was undeniably the most peaceful he ever looked. “I’m keeping him.”
Dad glares at me, his features twisting into a dark mask of disgust. “No, you won’t be.” He stands up and walks towards me, tapping the book on his palm. “You’ll be getting rid ofit.”He spits out the word as though it is poisonous.Dirty.“Or this goes to the police.”
No.
Shaking my head frantically, I try to comprehend his words. No, I don’t understand what he’s saying. That can’t- I can’t- “No, please. No,” I whimper, breaking down completely in front of him. My heart starts to tear. I reach for his arm, clinging to him with utter despair of his words. “Please don’t make me do this to him.”
He sneers. “Him?”
“He’s finally got something he wanted,” I cry. “You don’t know the kind of world he was born into. I can’t take this from him. He is his.” I touch my stomach again. “He wants him. He wantsus.”
“He has no idea what he wants! You are children!” He shakes me off; his own daughter disgusting him to the point he no longer wants her hands on his clothes. “You’re just like your mother. You could go to prison for withholding information. And that boy, hewillgo to prison for half his life if you don’t pack your suitcase.”
My suitcase? I try to control my fear and grief, but it swallows me whole. Where are we going? When are we going? For how long? “God.Please, don’t make me do this. I love him.”
I sink to my knees, and my dad steps around me. “That’s the worst part of all, though. . . isn’t it? What does this say about you? Loving a psychopathic boy like him.” He peers down his nose at my crumbled form. “Your appointment is tomorrow. Pack so we can leave straight after.”
Leaving me on the floor, sobbing and cradling my stomach, he disappears down the hallway. Akila is suddenly on her knees beside me, holding me to her chest. She rocks me back and forth, kissing my forehead. She doesn’t fill the gaps between my heaving breaths and violent sobs with words and lies and hope. There is nothing to say.
No hope to offer. I am utterlyhopeless.
As my lungs ache, I wince at the pain in my chest.
The tear in my heart severs it in two.
But when Bronson finds out, his heart. . . his will just die.
Bronson
Present day
The next morning,I leave her to sleep the pain away, to give in to fatigue and welcome the mindlessness slumber can offer her. I hope for nothingness for her right now as I leave my bedroom. Hope it’s peaceful and black behind her beautiful amber eyes.
As I descend the stairs, I think about her playing with my gun. Her anger. Would she have killed me? Would she kill Jimmy if she could? She is beautifully dark when she lets herself be. I missed that side of her. Images of her mouth open, breathing through her orgasm while my gun slid around her wet pussy, roll around in my mind. My cock stirs.
Then I think about the bathtub. Her screaming that she’s alone. Fucking alone?
Where the fuck am I then, baby?
I grin as I picture her body gyrating as I fuck her hard in water stained with her fiancé’s blood. I’m glad the fucker is dead, but I still feel venomous towards Jimmy for the spectacle. If I wasn’t already planning on killing him, that would have been enough to seal the deal.