Torn

by Natasha Knight

  He puts that first one down and picks up the second, discards that as well and when he gets to the third, takes that one.

  “This one’s mine.” He holds it up for me to see.

  “What is it?”

  “The coat of arms you saw on the front door, did you notice there were three smaller ones along the base of the door?”

  I shake my head. I hadn’t looked that closely.

  “See this here,” he points to a mark of some sort with a crescent shape. It means nothing to me. “Second-born. It’s mine. This one here,” he says, pointing to another one. “This is Ethan’s, and this is Gregory’s. Depending on your place in the pecking order, you have a symbol.” He picks up the last one. “This would have been Timothy’s.”

  “Why are you showing me these? What are they used for?”

  “They’re passed down from generation to generation. Each brother has his. This is what Gregory said to me in Gallo’s office. What you were asking about.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You do. But I’ll explain anyway. See, there is a way out. Your aunt took it. If one of the brothers wants to keep the girl, she has to agree to be marked as his.”

  This is insane. Stuff from the dark ages.

  I endured the marking ceremony.

  “It has to be her choice. It can’t be forced. This would have been the brand my great-uncle would have burned into your Aunt Helena’s skin to claim her. See, another way the Willows destroy us. Destroy our family.”

  “You kidnap us. We have no choice.”

  “I’ll give you a choice, Helena.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Do you want him?”

  “What?”

  “Do you want him? My brother?”

  “Are we back to this?”

  “Because he will claim you. He told me as much. It’s why I was sharing you, hoping it wouldn’t come to that. Hoping he’d be happy enough to leave it be. Leave you be.”

  “What?”

  “He’ll take you from me when the time comes.”

  “I won’t go.”

  “It won’t be your choice. Not then. Not anymore. That’s why I’m giving it to you now.”

  “He can’t make me.”

  He laughs outright. “Really? Look around you. Where are you? We can make you do anything we want.”

  I don’t have an answer.

  “He’ll take you and he’ll break you. He swore it.”

  “He wouldn’t…hurt me.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “That’s what he says about you.”

  “Unless I mark you as mine.”

  I hear him. And even though I understood what this was about, it’s different to hear him say it. To hear it out loud.

  “You’ll brand me?”

  Sebastian nods.

  “With that?”

  He doesn’t nod or answer, but I see it in his eyes.

  I shake my head and back away and run up the stairs, tripping, catching myself on the filthy, damp stone. Once I’m outside, I run to the house. I think about what I saw on my Aunt Helena’s neck during my dream. It was the edge of the brand. It explains why, no matter how warm it got, she’d wear high turtlenecks.

  Why she always kept her neck covered.

  She hadn’t wanted to show her shame.

  That she’d loved a Scafoni monster.

  Loved him enough to let him burn his mark into her skin.

  20

  Sebastian

  When we were little, my brothers and I would go down to that older part of the mausoleum to play chicken. We scared the shit out of each other. Gregory in particular was good at it. Even though Ethan was older than him, Greg could still get him.

  Lucinda caught us once. I was ten or eleven and I still remember it clear as day. Hell, that’s one memory I wish I could forget.

  The mausoleum was off limits for us. One of the few things that was. We never let that get in the way though. It was one of the best places to play, especially after dark.

  She only found us because we’d been stupid enough to light one of the torches we’d found for light. It was the first time we got a proper look at the place and I remember the stink of the rat that was decomposing in the corner. We’d found some sticks and were poking at various parts of it.

  I’ll never forget the sound of her heels as she descended the stairs—slow and calculated steps, our fear mounting with each one.

  That was part of the thing with her. She liked scaring the shit out of us. She’d even do it to Ethan and Gregory from the time they could walk.

  She blamed me, of course. That wasn’t anything new. I thought she’d just cane me, like she always did. It hurt like fucking hell, but I knew the risks by then and I manned up when it came time to take my punishment.

  I wouldn’t let her cow me. Wouldn’t let her think she had the upper hand, not even when she lay stroke after stroke down. I never cried. Never made a sound. And it probably only made things worse on me.

  But that night, Lucinda got creative.

  She led my brothers up the stairs but when it came time for me to walk through the gate, she stopped and turned to me. With only a grin instead of words, she closed the gate slowly and wove that chain through, delighting in drawing it out, relishing the fear on my face.

  “Sleep with the dead tonight, Sebastian. See how they like it when you disturb them.”

  I’ll never forget her words. I still shudder at the memory and I understand Helena sleeping with the lights on. I did for a long time after that because that torch we’d lit, it lasted about an hour and I’d still had the long, black night ahead of me.

  I’d been so scared, that at one point, I’d pissed myself.

  I’m not scared anymore though, or I’m too drunk to care. I take my time to collect the irons. They’re heavier than you’d think. I make my way in the dark and head up the stairs. Thirteen. I’ve memorized them. I also know that the smell of earth will cling to my clothes and fill my nostrils for hours or days.

  I walk back to the house, drop the irons on the table on the patio and sit down. I don’t take my eyes off them as I drink whiskey straight from the bottle.

  I want tonight to be over.

  Today to never have happened.

  I want to erase it.

  When I finally I get up, I knock my knee into the leg of the table. Muttering a curse, I go inside, climb up the stairs to Helena’s room.

  “Helena.” I hear myself, hear how I sound.

  She either doesn’t hear me or pretends not to and I’m going to bank on the latter. I hear the shower going in her bathroom.

  She must want the stench of the mausoleum off. I do too.

  I strip off my clothes and drop them on the floor. Without knocking, I go into the bathroom.

  She’s surprised to see me, which I guess surprises me because by now, she’s got to know how I operate.

  I push the shower door open and step inside, take the loofah out of her hands and toss it aside.

  “Why did you run?”

  “I don’t like that place.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not my favorite either.” I look at her, naked, her skin glistening as water glides over it. I cup her breast, weigh it. I can’t get enough of her.

  “You want to do that to me?” she asks.

  I look up at her face and admittedly, I’m way past anything resembling even remotely sober. My reactions are slow, to say the least.

  I press her back to the wall and slide my hand down to cup her pussy.

  “Do I want to brand my mark on you?”

  I’m hard. My brother was right. The thought of branding her makes my dick hard.

  Reaching behind her, I switch off the water and look at her as I rub her pussy. I dip my head down to take a nipple into my mouth.

  “Do you?” she asks again when I don’t answer right away.

  “I can’t get enough of you, Helena,” I say, kissing her. “I want all of
you. I have never wanted anything or anyone as badly as I want you and I just…I can’t seem to get fucking close enough.”

  She swallows, slides her hands over my arms, to my shoulders.

  “Do you want to hurt me like that?”

  “Hurting you gets me off. But it also gets you off.” I pinch her clit and she winces, but licks her lips, arches her back. “Point.”

  I lift her in my arms to carry her into the bedroom. I lay her on the bed, climb on top of her.

  “You said the Willows have a sickness, well, I think we Scafonis are just as sick.”

  I slide into her pussy, watching her as I do. I like watching her face like this, seeing her take me when she’s stretched too tight.

  I kiss her.

  “What’s your sickness?” she asks.

  “I want you. I can’t stop thinking about you.” I grip her hair, tug her head back. “You’re under my fucking skin and I’m destroying my family for you.”

  She watches me, eyes huge, locked on mine like she’s holding her breath.

  “Who ever thought it’d just be the Willows who suffer?” I shake my head, think about the ridiculousness of it all. Wonder if it’s always been this way between the Willow Girl and her Scafoni master. “I’m human. And I want you. I want you to want me. Fuck. Maybe I even love you in some sick, twisted way.”

  Love.

  I grip her hair and force her head back. I don’t want her to miss this next part.

  “You should run like hell, Helena, because when I think about you, your back bared, ready to take my brand, it makes my dick hard.”

  She shoves against me, obviously shocked by what I’ve just said. I grip her wrists, hold them both in one of my hands and thrust in hard.

  “I told you, it’s sick. Twisted.”

  “Sebastian, you’re drunk.”

  I nod, thrust once more before sliding out, getting off the bed, stumbling backward.

  I don’t want to fuck anymore. This is more than that. This night. This day. All of this.

  “My brother’s right. Karma or God or something should deal me my punishment. God knows I deserve it for the things I’ve done.”

  She sits up, takes a nightshirt from under her pillow and slips it over her head.

  I look down at the pile of clothes on the floor. “That smell will never come out. We’ll have to burn them,” I say, walking to the door that connects our rooms. It takes two tries to get my hand on the doorknob, to push it open.

  “Sebastian.” Helena’s beside me.

  “Go back to your own bed, Helena.”

  “No.”

  I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the day, but I can barely stand and flop down on the bed.

  “Go to bed. I’m telling you. Leave me alone,” I say.

  She climbs in beside me, wraps her arms around me. “No.”

  I manage to roll onto my side to face her. “I’m so fucking tired, you know that?”

  “I know.”

  I touch her face with just my fingertips. “I’m going to hurt you. You should go back to your room. Away from me.”

  We just look at each other for a long time and she reaches up to touch my cheek.

  “You won’t hurt me,” she says, burrowing into my chest. “And I can’t sleep without you.”

  My head is throbbing when I wake up. Helena’s gone and the clock on the nightstand tells me it’s afternoon.

  It takes me a minute to sit up.

  I walk into the bathroom, swallow two ibuprofen, then decide on two more. I switch on the shower and step under the flow. I remember what happened last night, what I said, and I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse that I never forget a damn thing. Not one.

  When I’m finished, I pull on a pair of jeans and head downstairs bare chested and barefoot. I see Helena before she sees me. She’s got a fire going and is holding one of the branding irons in it.

  Fuck.

  I’d left them out. Why in hell did I even carry them out of that tomb? I should bury them.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  She startles, turns. Her eyes scan me, hovering over my shoulders and stomach before returning to mine.

  “How do you feel?” she asks with a smug little grin.

  “Fucking rude to answer a question with a question,” I mumble and walk into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee since they’d already cleared breakfast. I drink a big swallow and arrange for bacon and eggs before returning to the patio to wait for the food. I sit in my place at the table.

  “Why do you have that?”

  “It was here. This one’s yours, right?” she asks, pulling it from the fire, pointing to the crescent. It’s so hot, it’s glowing orange.

  “God damn it, Helena,” I say getting to my feet, taking it from her. I walk it out to the pool and stick the brand in the water and listen to it hiss and smoke.

  Helena comes up behind me. “That’s what you want to do to me?”

  I look at her.

  “Will it end things? End the Willow Girl legacy?”

  “No. Even if it saves you, this tradition will continue.”

  She turns away, shakes her head. “But it still makes your dick hard to think about burning this into my skin.”

  I drop the still steaming iron on the ground by the pool. “I was fucked up last night. Said some stupid shit.”

  “You remember?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know. I think it was the truth, Sebastian.”

  “I have a headache, Helena. Leave me in peace.”

  Someone clears their throat and sets my dish down.

  Helena sinks into my brother’s empty chair. I didn’t think I’d actually miss him.

  I sit in mine and pick up my fork.

  “Why did you drink so much?”

  “Because yesterday was a shitty day all around.”

  “Because of your brother?”

  “It’s not his fault. It’s mine. It’s this whole situation.”

  “Why did you take me there? Why did you show me those irons?”

  “I don’t fucking know. I wouldn’t do that to you, Helena. Even if you wanted it.”

  “Even if it means giving me to your brother?”

  My jaw tightens.

  “If I said yes—”

  “No.”

  “But if I said—”

  “I said fucking no. It’s not up for discussion.”

  “Isn’t this the point? Ultimately, doesn’t it come down to this?”

  I rub my eyes, my face.

  “Fine. Answer me another question and I’ll leave you alone,” she says.

  I nod.

  “Why did you test me? With the phone call?”

  I sigh deeply. “It wasn’t so much testing you, Helena. I could see things between you and my brother and I didn’t like it. That’s all.”

  “You knew I’d get angry at him that he didn’t tell me that you knew.”

  I nod.

  “What about him? Did you want him angry with you too?”

  “I think he loves you,” I say rather than answering her question.

  She’s surprised, I can see that.

  “That’s not possible,” she says.

  “Why not? Wouldn’t it be more surprising if he didn’t? I mean, you’re the one who tells me all the time that he’s lonely.”

  “Not lonely. Alone.”

  “Doesn’t matter. This thing, this whole situation, him like he is, with us all the time, me sharing you with him, he’d have to be a robot not to fall in love with you or at least think himself in love with you.”

  “No. You’re wrong. He doesn’t love me. This is a pissing contest. He wants me because you have me. He wants his own Willow Girl.”

  “Do I have you?” I ask, my mind suddenly clear as day.

  She studies me, doesn’t answer.

  “Because I want you, Helena. What I said last night. I remember that too. And I still think you should run like hell from me. From a
ny of us. Because when this is over,” I start, shaking my head as I think, pushing my plate away before I return my gaze to hers. “When this is over, I’ll still want you. I love you. And I’m warning you to run like fucking hell because you’re right. This isn’t going to end well for you. For me. For any of us.”

  She reaches out to put her small hand over mine.

  “You have me, Sebastian. And like last night, you can’t make me go anywhere. I need you. I love you.”

  Her eyes fill up and I watch her.

  “This is what happens. This is what no one counts on. I think my Aunt Helena loved your uncle. I think my Aunt Libby, she may have loved your father. As fucked up as it is, this is the saddest part of all of this.”

  21

  Sebastian

  The next week is about the most peaceful week I have ever spent on that island. Even as a child, it’s always been bittersweet. Too much tragedy, too much grief and hate and death. But this week, it feels different.

  Fall is coming, and the cool air feels good after the heat of the last weeks. The change will be good. We need the change, Helena and me.

  But I feel the loss of my brother more acutely than I thought I would. I think she does too, but neither of us talk about it. Gregory hasn’t called and every message I’ve left has gone unanswered.

  I think about Ethan too. For years, I’ve let what happened sit in the back of my mind, his presence a constant reminder of what I’d done, and, in a way, that was punishment enough. But I’m not thinking of my own punishment now. I owe Ethan. I owe him a better life than one spent under Lucinda’s thumb.

  “Can I try my sister again?” Helena asks as I swallow the last of my coffee.

  I nod, hand over my phone.

  She’s been trying Amy for the last week but, like my calls to Gregory, they go directly to voicemail. A call home confirmed that Amy had done what she threatened to do. She left. No one knows where she is, and her phone’s been offline.

  After a few moments, Helena disconnects the call, disappointed. She doesn’t leave a message this time. She sets the phone back on the table.

  “She probably doesn’t want your parents tracking her. I’m sure she’s fine.” I don’t know that though. “Let’s get out of here for a while. Take a trip. It’ll be good to have a change. Be around people.”