Hurt Like Me

by P. A. Brokenshire

  "Who are you, my fucking dad?" She sneered at me and I crushed the straw in my hand, tossing it to the ground.

  "Chill man, she's legal...Barely," he said with a smile, pulling her back into his side and gripping her ass. "You were always such a stickler for the fucking rules when it came to women. Never fucked a girl who was inebriated beyond consent, always made sure they were old enough to know better. Well, except Avery. She was so fucking drugged out of her mind. And you were so full of yourself you didn't even fucking notice."

  He laughed to himself, just the way he used to when I snorted the pills he gave me or watched some girl suck me off. Forever the life of the party, the jester. He lifted the girl's chin.

  "Tiffany here is just fine. Aren't you, sunshine?"

  She giggled as I narrowed my eyes at Trevor. His words about Avery registered as I saw the glaze in this girl's eyes, the way she clung to him, needy. It reminded me of Avery all those years ago in the den.

  "What the fuck are you talking about?"

  I remembered that night clearer than any other night in my teen years. Avery had two drinks, no drugs. She had very much wanted what we'd done, just as much as I did. Although back then I had wanted it for all the wrong reasons. I'd wanted to hurt her. I still wanted to hurt her. Fuck me.

  "Molly, man!" He laughed again, always so god damn amused with himself. "I always put molly in those damn pre-drinks I gave out. Why do you think the girls were always so fucking willing?"

  I'd wanted to hurt Avery, but I had wanted to do it on my own terms, not with her drugged. The music was instantly drowned out by the throbbing of my heart in my ears. The thought of Avery, the sound of her panting in my ear, how hot her skin had been. How had I not fucking noticed? I felt that dark spot inside of me expand, my fingers itching at the thought of Trevor's mangled face. I would make him pay. My fist collided with his too skinny face and the fucker laughed again as he wiped blood from his nose. I didn't give him a chance to recover past that.

  Between one blink and the next I had him on the floor of that fucking kitchen and my fists were flying. Bone cracked under my knuckles. His nose or cheek, I wasn't sure which. The whole world was tinted red. Trevor had drugged all those damn girls; he'd drugged Avery...my Avery. I wasn't sure how long I pummeled that stupid face of his. The shadow didn't care. I was a fucking monster anyway, might as well take out the fucking trash. That's all I was good for. I'd been doing it practically my whole life. I barely registered the screams, and I fought the hands that gripped me. It took two guys to rip me off Trevor and he spat blood when he sat up.

  "You're lucky I owe you for not ratting me out to the cops, Hathaway." He looked at the two guys holding me. "Get him the fuck out of here."

  They dragged me out of the house and into the yard, dropping me in the dark by the truck. It was only when the front door slammed, the music fading, that I took notice of the blood on my hands. It wasn't bright red in the dark, it was nearly black, so dark that it looked like liquid shadows. I could feel it dripping from my fingers and smell the rust with every inhale. It was that smell that touched every awful memory. They came flooding over me, the shadow curling itself around my insides, filling me. I didn't even have time to brace myself.

  Chapter 34

  Garrett- 18 years ago

  Chris was fresh out of the bath. He had left the stopper in, knowing that I would take the opportunity to climb in. Mom would know if I ran the shower or tub. She always knew. Somehow, she knew everything. I sponged myself with the dirty water. It was better than bathing in the sink. Not like it mattered anyway. No matter how much I scrubbed I could never quite get clean. Every hole and bone hurt regardless of how hard I scrubbed. I would always be dirty, filthy on the inside.

  "Where is he?"

  Her voice sent a shock wave through me, my eyes burned. It was too soon- barely eight. She always stayed late at the bar on the weekends. Why was she home so early?

  I considered my options. I could rush to get out of the bathtub, but she would see me in the hall. Her footsteps were already too close. I settled for closing the curtain slowly and sat in the quickly cooling water, hoping that she would give up on her search, knowing in my heart she wouldn't. Her voice got louder, closer.

  "Where are you, you little shit?"

  She yanked the curtain open, and those blue eyes locked on me. Her makeup was smeared, her black hair wild. I scrambled against the wall, but there was nowhere to go. Her lands latched onto my shoulders, digging in.

  "Did you really think you could hide from me?" She shook me and I tried to stop myself from panicking. It would only make it worse. She loved the fear.

  I could smell the alcohol on her, seeping out of her skin. Even at ten I knew the smell of Tequila; it was ingrained into me like the smell of blood and sweat. The men she gave me to were always so sweaty and they liked to make me bleed, every adult in my life just wanted my blood, my pain, and there was so little fight left in me at that point. I tried not to breathe too deeply, to not make too much noise or move, trying to avoid the water. I might be able to take the beating, but that water...She'd done it before, it had started just like this. She'd beaten me within an inch of my life and almost drowned me in the toilet. I was lucky that time. She'd passed out before she could finish the job. This time...this time I might not be strong enough and she might be too far gone.

  "You're always here." She seethed. "Why do you have to be here? You ruin everything!"

  Her tears came out through her screams. She was in hysterics. Crying was always the worst. I'd rather she scream. Tears were dangerous. Tears and tequila. Something about that mix always brought out the very worst of the demon that was my mother. Tears meant she remembered everything that I'd supposedly done to ruin her life, like I'd somehow made Chris' father leave us by just existing. He'd left because he was sick of her, because she was nothing she pretended to be.

  I had been born from a late-night bad decision with a random stranger, but Chris, Chris had been born from something bordering on love. She'd been obsessed with him, thrilled when Chris had been born. Chris' father had taken care of us, all of us. Until the day they'd had some stupid fight and she had attacked him. That's when he found out who she really was, and he ran. A coward who couldn't even bother to take his own son.

  "He would have stayed." More tears, dripping down her face as my head finally smacked into the tile. Just a bit. Rather the tile than the water.

  "It's your fault he left!" More tile. I winced at the pain, unable to hide it. "He didn't want you."

  I knew the water was coming. I should have tried to run. I took deep breaths, preparing myself, fighting through the tears stinging my eyes. My head hurt, but her words made the hate rise in my chest, through the pain.

  "He didn't want you," I said with a laugh. If it was coming, I at least wanted to hurt her, I wanted to earn it.

  "You're such an ungrateful little shit!" She screamed and I sucked in one more breath as she dragged me under.

  The water was cold, her fingers tight on me, nails digging into flesh. It wasn't long until my lungs started to hurt. My brain screamed for me to inhale and the longer the pressure lasted the more the thought of dying was a comfort. I wouldn't have to hurt anymore.

  "Stop! He can't breathe!" Chris. His voice broke through, muffled by water, and I refused to let myself slip into death, despite its promise of peace. I fought then. With my last bit of strength, I fought against the hands that held me, scraping and squeezing as my brain finally won out. I inhaled just as the hands loosened.

  My arms scrambled over the edge of the tub and I coughed on the soapy water that coated my mouth and blocked my airway. I noticed Chris, standing behind my mother where she knelt, his arms wrapped tightly around her neck. He had pulled her off me and I had never been so scared. All the beatings, the drownings, the sleepless nights, the men, and the pain. Nothing scared me more than her hurting him. She separated his arms and pushed him off her like a rag doll before turning hersel
f at the waist to face him.

  "How dare you protect him! After everything I've fucking done for you!" She pulled back her hand to punch him or smack him. Either one was unacceptable. That was enough.

  She could do whatever she wanted to me, but not Chris, never Chris. I jumped onto her, my wet naked body slamming into her back as I wrapped my fingers into her hair and with my recovered strength, I bashed her head into the toilet. Hard. The floor was soaked with the water that had been thrashed out of the tub in my struggle to breathe so when she tried to fight back, she slipped, and I felt as much as heard the even harder "thwack" sound as her head hit the floor. It echoed in the small space and an instant later there was blood, so much blood.

  It was everywhere, and mother was twitching, reaching for me. I scrambled away, catching the towel from the rack as I stumbled, trying to keep myself standing. Chris grabbed onto me and I held on to him, dragging him back as she continued to reach. The gash in her skull was gushing out a steady stream of blood and I wasn't sure if it had been me slamming her head into the toilet or that final strike to the floor, but she wasn't getting up. The air reeked of rust.

  "Do something! Garrett, do something!"

  "No," I said, holding on to my brother. "She deserves it."

  And I meant that. I could have done something. Tried to stop the bleeding, called for help, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to save her or ease her pain. I wrapped the towel around Chris and he buried his head in my chest. It shielded him from the worst of it, the twitching and the blood pooling at the edge of my feet, the way her hand seemed to continue to try to reach, but it did nothing to stop him from hearing the gurgling sound she made in those final moments. I'd never felt such relief from a sound. I didn't want to save our mother from dying on the bathroom floor, covered in dirty water. I wanted her to rot. The monster inside me roared in triumph. I'd finally won.

  "Where are we going to go?" Chris looked up at me, his eyes wet with tears.

  "I don't know, but we'll go together. I'll take care of you." I said, wrapping my arms around him tighter, ignoring the smell that lingered in the air. "I'll always take care of you."

  I pulled on some pants as I dialed 911. An ambulance and several cop cars pulled up not fifteen minutes later. They took Chris and I to some random house and the people we met let Chris sleep in my bed. The guilt started to eat at me as I laid there. Had I ruined him by not calling 911 earlier, would he hate me in the morning knowing that I just let our mother die? The nightmares came when sleep finally took me, when I couldn't fight the droop of my eyelids for another second. We were only in that home for a few days before Aunt Laura and Uncle Robert came to get us. They moved us far away from California and the sunshine and the beach. I was glad for the lack of reminders. I didn't want to be anywhere near where my mother had once breathed. She found me though. Her voice found me in my nightmares and then in my waking hours. My mother haunted me.

  Chapter 35

  Avery-Present

  I headed straight for home after leaving the Hathaway's only to find the place empty. I logged on to Dad's laptop and thanked the heavens when I found the application was downloaded on my dad's latest laptop. Years ago, when he first started up the construction business and hired felons, he'd been smart enough to purchase Lojack for all his work trucks. It was a smart business move. He couldn't exactly afford to replace any of the trucks if they had gone missing. I powered up the program and put in Dad's usual password, Nina0825. My mother's name and their anniversary. It hurts my heart every time I put it in. He missed her so much. I hoped absentmindedly that what I saw between him and Ferrah was real.

  The data came up almost immediately. The map showed that all Dad's work trucks were parked at the warehouse, all except one. Garrett. I recognized the location and my heart plummeted into my stomach. Trevor's house. Was he already drunk? High? Maybe not. I had to believe he was stronger than that, but I would never forgive myself if he fell off the wagon and it was because of me, his feelings for me. I changed quickly before I realized I didn't have a car and the rideshare was long gone. I'd be lucky to get another one. I'm pretty sure he was the only one in Junction and he had mentioned heading home for the night. Of course, I'd returned the rental last week in Harrow because let's be honest that shit got expensive. Garret and I had been going everywhere together for the past few weeks. I cursed myself for being such an idiot and then I remembered. My old car. It was still in the garage.

  I dug through the junk drawer in the kitchen until I found the old set of keys. I clutched them in my hand, infinitely glad that Dad had never had the heart to get rid of it as I raced to the garage. Just before I turned the key, I let out a silent prayer. That old piece of shit had maybe been started four times since high school. Only when I came to visit, and I'd had to run errands while Dad was at work. I pressed on the brake. The engine chugged, stuttered, and died. I swore, loud, smashing my hand on the steering wheel.

  "Please, please, please," I chanted the word, turning the key again and this time the engine chugged several times and then finally came to life. "Yes!"

  I sped through the town, straight to Trevor's parents' pretentious mansion, slamming the car into park as I caught sight of Garrett's truck. There, on the grass, was Garrett. He had his arms wrapped around his knees and he was rocking, muttering to himself. He didn't even acknowledge my presence as I walked up to him, didn't react as I knelt on the ground and pressed my hand to his face.

  "There was so much blood," he whispered. I couldn't figure out why he was using the past tense seeing as there was currently blood on him. His hands were sticky, clutching onto my arms. He started to sob, and I wrapped my arms around him. It was only when I caressed his back with my nails that he responded. He clutched onto me then, pulling me against his body so tight that I could barely breathe. I did my best to soothe him, stroking his hair with my nails.

  "It's okay. I've got you."

  He shook, his fingers pressing hard into me like I would somehow disappear.

  "I'm not going anywhere, Garrett," I said, and it was the god's honest truth. I had already fallen too deep. Nothing he said or did could make me run at this point. High school was 100 years away, Heather and Trevor and every terrible thing he had done was forgotten. Replaced by sitcoms and aprons and soft music and books.

  I said those words that I had wanted to say earlier when Garrett had beaten me to it. The words that I had only accepted on the dock with his hand in mine.

  "I love you...I love you...It's okay."

  He broke then, and an endless string of secrets tumbled out of him. He told me everything as I rocked him in my arms. The things he said made me want to rage or cry and sometimes it made me want to do both. He told me about being raped as a kid and beaten and nearly drowned in a fucking toilet. He told me about all the broken bones and the stitches and finally, finally he told me about his mother's death. He explained how she had died as I pictured it in my mind, a broken naked boy flinging himself at her, dragging her away from his brother. I could see what he would look like, clutching Chris in a towel as he stood over her body and watched her bleed out.

  "I killed her," he mumbled it so softly that I barely heard him. He was still in my hold, no longer crying or shaking. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it was still dark.

  "She deserved it." I felt those words deep in my soul. If the woman had still been alive, I would have murdered her myself.

  He pulled back, looking up at me, and I smoothed back the black waves that covered his bright blue eyes. I hoped he could see the truth in my face, how much I meant those words.

  "I'd kill her a thousand times over, Garrett. Hell, a million times. I'd rip her fucking heart out with my bear hands."

  "You're so fucking violent," he said softly as I brushed his cheeks. It sounded like he was in awe of me and honestly, I was a bit in awe of him. All that pain. All that suffering. It was a wonder to me; he was a wonder.

  "But you like it." I teased.
/>   "No." He smiled, the slightest smirk. "I love it."

  I laughed with tears in my eyes and that stupid snort slipped from me as his lips found mine. He stole my breath with that kiss, dragging the oxygen from my lungs, stroking my hips with his fingers. It was slow and deep, full of this raw emotion. He still tasted like cinnamon, but now it was mixed with the salt of his tears. This kiss was a promise, a healing.

  "I love you."

  Those words passed from his mouth to mine and back again until he dragged himself away from me.

  "Can we go home?" He asked and I nodded, glad for the darkness, the shadows that had hid us as we had talked and cried and kissed. I'd never been so thankful for the shadows. For keeping us safe and hidden, alone.

  We climbed into the truck and I took the keys from him. I didn't care about the car. It had done its job. I didn't need it. Right now, the only thing that I needed was him and he needed me.

  "How did you find me?"

  "Dad's trucks all have Lojack. You honestly think he would work with a bunch of drug addicts and paroles and not put Lojack on his work truck?" I asked. He laughed then, a warm laugh that touched my overinflated heart.