by Nashoda Rose
I walked upstairs and heard a smack come from the living room. I was uncertain if it was Crisis smacking Kite or the other way around.
Dana dumped her bag on my bed then faced me, her eyes wide, mouth gaping. “That’s Crisis. Crisis from Tear Asunder. I swear I peed a little when he answered the door. And then. . . . Holy crap, Kite . . . that tatted-up pierced pack of muscles is a God. I didn’t know which one to drool over first.” She stomped her foot and crossed her arms. “How could you keep this from me? A month I’ve known you and not once did you mention you lived with Tear Asunder.” Her brows lowered over her dark walnut eyes. “Wait a sec . . . why do you live with the band? And they live on a horse farm? That is so . . . well, weird. I expected some mansion downtown or a penthouse at a hotel with raving parties. What’s the deal?”
I shrugged. “I don’t want who my brother is to be all over school and—”
Dana screamed. “Oh. My. God. Who is your brother? Kite? There is no way Crisis is. That guy was looking you up and down like he wanted to tear off your clothes.”
“He looks at all girls like that.” And according to the internet, he did a hell of a lot more than tear off their clothes.
Dana snorted. “No. I’ve seen enough of him on social media to know his looks. Yeah, he flirts and plays them up, but the way he looked at you, even dressed like that, it was different.”
Crisis had never hidden from me that he was a man-whore who didn’t keep it in his pants. And why should he? But, I hadn’t seen any of that. At least not on this tour. Any pictures I’d seen with him and chicks were older.
Dana unzipped her bag and threw articles of clothing on the bed. “So, is it Kite? He’s kind of mysterious and quiet. I could see him as your brother. Anytime he’s quoted, it’s composed and polite. He reminds me of a hot businessman without the suit. I’m betting he’d look hot as hell in a suit and knows how to make a girl—”
“Dana. Stop.” I walked to the bed and shifted through the clothes, or rather the small scraps of material. There wasn’t a chance I was going out wearing any of this. I was showing as little skin as possible. “Ream’s my twin brother.”
Dana dropped the black silk item she’d been holding up to her chest like a top, although to me it looked like panties. “Holy crap. Ream’s your twin?”
I nodded. It was kind of weird him being famous and having a girl freak out over him. The last time we’d been together, we were huddled in an old lady’s shed, starving, dirty and probably smelling like garbage. We ate enough of it that it must have leaked from our pores.
“He is smokin’ hot. Oh, my God, and Sculpt . . . Jesus, that guy is intense and gorgeous.”
“And taken.” Logan made it clear that Emily was his fiancée one night on stage. Supposedly, it had been all over social media within minutes, although he’d proposed to her privately in bed. I knew about it because Kat told me one of those times when I sat outside on the porch and she came and joined me to talk. I listened. “And my brother is too.” From what I’d seen so far of Ream with Kat, he was over-protective and possessive. I had a good feeling he was that way because of what had happened to me. Ream always felt responsible and I knew he carried guilt for not seeing what was happening with Gerard.
But he was finally happy and that was the best gift I could ever receive.
And Gerard . . . I hated him. I wanted to kill him again and again for what he did. For the loss of more than myself. Of a part of me I’d never get back. I wish I’d been able to reach the gun before Ream smashed the statue down on his head. It should’ve been me who killed him, but I’d been pathetic back then.
“Are you okay? You’re shak—”
A hand came down on my shoulder and the violence inside me erupted as I swung around and knocked Dana back with both my hands to her chest. She stumbled backwards, the bed stopping her momentum as she crashed into it.
“Haven?”
But her voice had become another’s, one I hated . . . Alexa. One who locked me up in a cage in the dark when Olaf wasn’t around. Unable to stand, sitting cramped in a metal cage that was at the end of her bed. I was her pet to let out when she felt like it. Of course, I was always released when Olaf was home. He was tolerant of Alexa’s abuse of me because she ‘looked after’ him, but there were limits. I was the one who made them money.
“What’s wrong?”
It was Alexa’s voice again, weeding her way back into me. I knew she was dead, but I couldn’t stop the feeling as if she was holding me down.
Alexa was leaning over me, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she yelled at the doctor . . . oh, God, the doctor. He was here.
I shook my head, trying to clear the vision. Desperate to bury it again, but it was like a movie on fast forward, playing a jittery black and white scene.
Pain. Between my legs, so much pain, but the emotional anguish was so much more.
I tried to get to the door. I tried so hard to get free, but they kept pushing me down into the mattress.
Sweat dripped down my face, my hair plastered to it and eyes blurred as I reached out crying.
“Nooooo,” I screamed.
But strong hands pressed onto my shoulders as I lay screaming and crying. I heard the doctor and Alexa arguing, then the needle came toward me and I fought even harder. I hated needles ever since Gerard. I didn’t want a needle. But the doctor’s hand grabbed my arm and yanked. I cried out as the sharp prick punctured my shoulder.
Then I begged.
Stop. Stop.
Oh, God, I was cracking. I could feel the pieces slipping through and surfacing.
The door burst open beside me.
“Haven.”
Crisis? Crisis. Not the doctor. Not Alexa.
He came straight for me and without hesitation, wrapped me in his arms, pulling me into his warm, hard chest. A soothing hand rubbed down my back. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
I stiffened and went to push him away when I inhaled a ragged breath and felt my starved lungs expand and take in his scent. My mind knew him. My body did too.
He quietly spoke to me, but I didn’t know what he said. I just listened to the gentle tone of his voice.
I closed my eyes and sagged against him.
“What happened?” Crisis asked, but it wasn’t to me; it was to Dana.
“I don’t know. We were just talking about the band and then . . . she started shaking and freaked out when I touched her.”
Crisis kissed the top of my head before he pulled back and tilted his head down to look at me. “You good now?”
I heard the floor creak to the right of us and saw Kite standing in the doorway scowling, but his eyes were filled with concern.
“I’m calling Ream,” Kite said. “Maybe he can get a flight out tonight.”
“No.” I shook my head violently. “Don’t. He can’t know. This has nothing to do with him. Nothing.” I directed my words to Crisis now. “Don’t tell him.” I could deal with this. It was a minor break in my armor.
Crisis had seen my pain, knew I ran to keep the demons away and he’d kept his promise and never told my brother. He understood.
Crisis’ arms stiffened around me and I felt his heart beat steadily but thumping hard against my chest. “Kite, I got this,” he said.
“Man, I don’t think—”
“I fuckin’ got this.” Crisis’ tone hardened, as did his grip around me. “Do not call him.”
I breathed a sigh of relief when Kite lowered the phone and nodded.
“Dana, give us a sec?” Crisis asked.
“Umm, yeah, sure.”
Kite and Dana silently left the room and the door clicked shut behind them.
I pulled from Crisis’ arms, but our eyes remained locked, his narrowed and . . . the playfulness had vanished from earlier and in its place was a combination of determination and disquiet, meaning I was going to have to give him something.
“What happened?”
I was able to block this shit o
ut. What the hell was wrong with me?
“It’s . . . stress.” Not a lie, it was a form of stress.
His brows rose and he braced himself against the dresser, arms crossed. “Stress?”
I shoved a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah, I freaked for a second.”
“Freaked?”
I nodded and ignored him while sifting through the clothes on my bed. I hadn’t realized I was holding the pseudo-panties until I looked down at them in my hand. I quickly tossed them aside.
“Haven, I get this is different now that I’m standing here, but I’m the same person you’ve talked to for months.”
I didn’t say anything because I was scrambling to find my steady. That part of me that I’d built up over the years that meant my survival.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
Not a chance in hell.
“Okay. What do you need?”
“Need?” I turned to face him, frowning.
He shrugged. “I get you don’t want to tell me, but you need an outlet.” He paused, biting the inside of his cheek. “Kat has that ugly pink clown statue in the bathroom upstairs. Fuckin’ thing gives me nightmares. I can’t even piss with that thing watching me from its high and mighty shelf above the toilet. We could smash it with a hammer.”
Crisis knew how to take a horrible moment and make it easier because as the memories faded back, I pictured Crisis with a hammer in his hand sitting on the floor and breaking the clown into little pieces. And there was a cute grin on his face as he did it.
I shook my head and went back to looking through the clothes. “I don’t need an outlet.”
“Bullshit. I know you, even if you think I don’t. I caught you running to the point of exhaustion. I know all you do is study and go to school. You don’t go out. You dress like it’s cold even in the middle of summer and you conceal that scar on your wrist, but often run your finger over your shirt where it lays.” I never expected Crisis to have noticed that. When did he notice that? It had to be before he left, before all the texting. “I’m surprised about Dana. You never mentioned her. I didn’t expect that. But I’m glad you’re making friends.” He chin-lifted to me, expression serious. “Now, are you going to keep bullshitting me? Or should I go on?”
I sat on the end of the bed, shoulders erect, unflinching as he stared back at me. “Maybe I need you to leave me alone.” It was stupid remark, but what I really needed was to forget what just happened and just be normal. The problem was, I had no clue what normal felt like.
He laughed. “Look what happened when you said that last time.” He pushed away from the dresser and strode toward me, one hand in his jeans pocket and the other clenched into a fist at his side. He stopped directly in front of me and I had to crank my neck up to look at him.
“What do you want from me, Crisis?” I was an out-of-control sled, sliding down a mountain and I couldn’t stop the words. “We texted because it was part of the deal, that’s it.”
His brows lowered even further over his eyes and it made him appear hazardous. My stomach unsettled and it wasn’t because I was nervous around him, but because I put that look there.
Crisis crouched like he’d done in the stables months ago, but this time, he put his hands on my thighs. I should’ve moved away, felt uneasy with him touching me, but I didn’t. His hands weren’t groping or prodding; they were steady and calming. “That’s not it. And we didn’t do it because of some goddamn deal. We both know that.”
My breath hitched and his hands tightened on my thighs. Then I caved because it was wrong. What I said was a lie and I’d never lied to him. I’d used avoidance maybe, but never lied.
“Yeah.”
He sighed, stood and gently ran his hand over the top of my head before striding toward the door. “I’ll tell Dana you’re staying in. We can watch a movie and order pizza.”
“No. I want to go.” I paused then added. “I need to do this.”
“Why?”
“I just . . .”
“You have nothing to prove, Haven.” Crisis had his hand on the doorknob, his back stiff. “But if you think you do, then we’re coming with you. Kite can be the DD.”
“No. You can’t.” I didn’t want the attention he dragged with him.
He glanced over his shoulder at me. I did a quick scan of his face. He wasn’t scowling. He wasn’t smiling either. His brows were drawn together and he looked . . . pensive. Contemplative.
“I can. And we are. And don’t change. Nuns are a sweet-ass fantasy of mine.” He jerked open the door and shut it behind him.
I collapsed back on the bed, arms outstretched above my head, clasping the pillow and pulling it over my face. My screwed-up mind was short-circuiting.
Something had triggered the memory. A hand on my shoulder wouldn’t normally set me off, but my emotions were shooting off like pellets and I needed to run again.
The wind pushed against the windowpane and I trembled. Closing my eyes, I sang to myself, the sound muffled under the protection of the pillow.
16 years old
“HAVEN?” THERE WAS a light tapping on my door and my eyelids peeled open. My eyes rolled back in my head before refocusing.
Gerard stiffened, his hands locked onto my wrists, pressing them into the mattress on either side of me. “Answer him,” he spat into my ear. “Tell him you’re in bed already.”
I was too drugged up to refuse, my haze a spiralling spectrum of colors in my surreal dreams. Gerard’s voice was wonky and deep as if he was talking in slow motion.
A sudden hard sting hit my cheek. “Tell the little fuck to go away.”
“Sis? You missed classes again. I need to talk to you. Let me in.”
My head twisted to the side, the pillow easing the burning in my face from Gerard’s slap. There was a loud banging on the door and I stared at it, the wood appearing as if it warped and pulsed with the sound of his fist.
Cruel hands gripped my shoulders and shook me violently. My neck whipped back and forth as if it was attached to my body by a thin layer of skin. “Damn it. Answer him before he breaks down the damn door,” he growled in a low whisper, the heat of his breath wafting onto the spot just below my ear lobe. It tickled and I tried to move away, not liking the feeling, knowing I didn’t like what was happening to me, but being unable to do anything about it. I wanted to go back to the haze, the escape, but Gerard hovered above me, his glaring eyes furious.
I watched a bead of sweat appear at his hairline, dribble down to his right brow then drip onto his eyelash and disappear. His heavy weight lay on top of me and my nightgown was scrunched up above my breasts. The smothering heat of his revolting skin blanketed me and I had to get away, but my limbs were pathetic and weak, as if they were trapped in quicksand.
“Haven!” Ream shouted. One loud bang sounded on the door.
“Ream,” I answered in a soft ragged voice.
Gerard leaned closer, grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head up so that his mouth was against my ear. “Tell him you’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
Pain ripped through my scalp, awakening some form of reality of what was happening. “Tomorrow,” I managed to get out.
“No. Now. Something’s wrong. Let me in.”
Gerard swore under his breath. “Pull your shit together. You have two minutes to get rid of him or he’s dead.” He rolled off me and went into the closet.
I tried to focus, but my vision was blurry and everything was distorted, but I had to let him in before he broke down the door and Gerard came out of the closet and killed him.
“Okay,” I said, but it took me a while to get to the door and I could hear the floor creaking under my brother’s feet outside as he paced back and forth.
I opened the door.
Ream was my twin. We’d been through hell together and even though I tried to hide it, the second he saw my face, he knew. Our mother had the same look. He grabbed hold of my arm, yanked up the sleeve of my nightgown and r
an his finger over the track marks. “Haven?” He let my arm go then cupped my head, thumbs slowly stroking back and forth. “Angel, what are you doing? Fuck.”
I didn’t say anything mostly because I was still fucked up and couldn’t, but there was also the fear of Ream discovering Gerard in the closet. My legs buckled and Ream picked me up and carried me to the bed.
“Why? Jesus, why?” Ream was stubborn, always had been and it was probably why he survived what he did in the basement. “Who did this? Who gave you the drugs?” His voice hardened. “Damn it, what is going on with you?” He refused to stop, his voice getting louder and I heard the rage in it. “Tell. Me.”
I just wanted to sleep. To curl up and go away, make Gerard go away, everything to go away.
“Who?” He came to his feet when I didn’t say anything and that was when he went ballistic. It terrified me. I’d never seen him lose control like that, kicking the old wooden chair in the corner of the room so hard the two front legs busted. He tore a painting down from the wall and put his knee through it. It was one we found in the back alley that had yellow staining on it. But it was a picture of a little girl with a palomino horse nose to nose.
My eyes kept going to the gun on the dresser, Gerard’s gun. Oh God, Ream was going to see it any second and when he did, he’d freak even worse. I had one choice—tell him now while Gerard didn’t have a gun or an advantage.
I reached out my hand and Ream stopped pacing and came over to the side of the bed. He knelt on one knee and I urged him closer. “Please, you have to stay quiet. Please,” I whispered, then said, while raising my voice so Gerard would hear me, “You used to sing to me.” He scowled, but didn’t say anything. I had to make sure Gerard didn’t catch on to what I was saying.
“Remember where you sang to me?”
He opened his mouth to answer and I put my finger over it. His eyes darted to the closet and I nodded. My head spun and it took a second before I could focus again and continue. “For months . . .” His eyes widened and I knew he understood that whoever was in the closet, had been fucking with me for months. Ream and I often finished one another’s sentences; he knew where I was taking this.