“You read Robert’s journal, right?” I lay my hands, palm down, on the table. She turns her head away, looks at the floor. I can see the color drain from her face. She shuts her eyes. When she looks at me again, her eyes are filled with tears.
“Some of it.” I can barely hear her; her voice is weak and trembling, laced with sadness and pain and uncertainty. She has an idea, but she doesn’t know the whole story.
“Are you sure you want to hear everything right now?” I ask.
I watch as she snaps the rubber band around her wrist against her skin. She does this a few times before letting out a sigh. Why does she keep on doing it? What purpose does it serve? I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since I picked her up that night.
“Yes.” She says, her cheeks stained with tears, her eyes puffy. “I want to know.”
I rub my eyes as pressure builds in my head; my vision blurs once I stop. It takes a few moments for my eyes to readjust, but when they do, Leah’s beautiful face comes into focus and I almost forget what we were talking about. I’m lost in her eyes, the way the morning sun strikes her left cheek, her cherry lips. She’s innocent and pure and I’m no good for her.
“No questions. Not until I finish.”
“I understand.” She takes a deep breath then exhales silently.
“Everything I’m about to tell you, I did it for you. Remember that.”
She sits there, her head slightly bowed but still looking at me.
I run a hand through my hair, take a deep breath, and begin my story, starting with the night I left, the night when everything I thought I knew about my life unraveled—the night it all began.
PART THREE
CHAPTER TWELVE
LUKE
“WHEN I SAID GOODBYE to you that night, I had no idea it would be years until I saw you again.” Leah shifts in her chair and places her forearms on the edge of the table. She pulls the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands so only her fingertips peek out.
I see movement in my periphery. Crouton’s creeping out of Leah’s room and slinking over to us. So much for our agreement. Whatever.
I clear my throat. “I left for my date with Marissa. We were heading to—”
“Save it.” Leah snaps at me as her eyes harden under knit eyebrows. “You were going to fuck her. I get it. Fast forward to the part where you skipped out on me.” She crosses her arms over her chest as she leans back in her chair and stares blankly at the floor beside her.
“Have it your way.” I say calmly as I clasp my hands in front of me. “After I fucked Marissa…” I let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “We had an argument. I ended up coming home earlier than expected. Mom was in the kitchen.”
I take a moment—close my eyes and breathe in deeply. The smell of the bacon I made for breakfast still lingers in the air. I let the breath out softly, slowly. When I open my eyes again, Leah’s staring at me. It’s almost unnerving how intense her gaze is. Her face and eyes are still red and puffy from the tears, and her hair is tied up in a messy bun; even so, she’s still gorgeous. And for a moment, I’m caught up in her beauty.
“I was a little tipsy when I came back, so I wasn’t sure if I was imagining what I was seeing. She had all these bottles and pills and vials and I don’t know what else scattered across the kitchen table.”
A sick feeling begins to well up in my stomach. There isn’t much that phases me, but rehashing buried secrets is one of them.
I should’ve put an end to it then. I should’ve gone upstairs, pulled her out of bed and left, never to look back.
But I didn’t. I was a kid back then. My only priorities were getting drunk and fucking. I wasn’t prepared for shit like this. No one is.
“Well, I kept my distance as I watched her. I watched as she transferred powders and strange liquids to the soup that was cooking on the stove. I’ll never forget the creepy grin she had plastered on her face. The way her thin lips closed tightly together as they stretched into an even thinner smile. There was this wild look to her. Her face had always been pale, but it seemed to glow. Stray hairs fell across her face and the silver locket around her neck swung as she walked back and forth, stirring the soup, adding powders, but never tasting.” My fist strikes the table hard, shaking it and sending Crouton sprinting out from under it and down the hall. “She never tasted anything. It never struck me as odd until that moment, watching her as she prepared your soup.”
I hear Leah sniffle, then watch as she wipes her tears away with the back of her sleeve. She looks up at me with her sad face and her sad wet eyes and I know she knows, but she’s waiting for me to say the words. Maybe there’s a chance it’s all some elaborate joke? A sick and twisted joke, but a joke nonetheless. I wish. But there’s no punch line at the end.
“I don’t know how much of the journal you’ve read, but if you read much of it, you already know what I’m getting at.”
“Say it.” She says. Her voice is brittle and weak, almost unrecognizable. If there were a breeze, it would carry it off before it had the chance to cross the few feet that separate us.
“Judith has been poisoning you.”
“And you’re certain about this?” She asks. Her eyes go glassy and she wrings her hands in front of her. There’s no color in her face, except for her lips. It’s as though all the color from her face has pooled into those rosy red lips. I want to kiss them again, taste their sweetness, but now isn’t the time.
I nod. “Yes.”
“How do you know?”
She doesn’t want to believe it, and I don’t blame her. How could someone do something this fucked up? And for what reason? I’ve asked myself these questions and more many times before, but it doesn’t make sense no matter how I look at it. I wish I could tell her there’s a chance that I’m wrong, that my mother wasn’t poisoning her, that it was only a coincidence she became sick when she moved in with us.
It’s not.
It’s the truth.
I’ve spent so much time piecing it all together. All the way back to my real father.
“When I was 10 years old, we moved to Milton—into the house we lived in together.” He motions between us. “It was a few years before my mother met your father. My real father, Dan, was still alive.” I let out a strained sigh. “Judith hated everything about Milton. She hated being dragged there. She resented my father for taking a job there. She wasn’t happy and she made it abundantly clear.” I study Leah’s face as I take another sip of water. Her face is blank, devoid of any emotion. She’s just sitting there, watching me with empty eyes.
“My father started getting sick, much like how you were.” I nod at her. “It started with headaches, upset stomachs, and then grew into something much worse. Some days he could barely get out of bed.” I look down as I run a hand through my hair, then look back up at Leah. “For a 10-year-old boy, seeing your father—someone who seems invincible—unable to get out of bed fucks with your head.” I’ve never told anyone this. I’ve kept it buried, deep inside me for so many years. “No one knew what was wrong. No doctor could help him. He just kept getting worse until he died—cardiac arrest. Just like Robert.”
I could feel myself heating up.
“She took my father’s life; she took my stepfather’s life; she nearly took yours.” My voice was shaking with rage and I slam my fist on the table again; the water glass tips over, and plates and silverware clink together.
“And there was nothing I could do about it. I was powerless. I had no control. When I confronted her that night—the night that I left—she denied poisoning you. She denied everything. She told me I was crazy, making things up. That everything she was doing was for your sake. To help you. She believed that. Even up until the day she died.” I shake my head. “Things got out of hand and Robert ended up throwing me out. I tried to tell him the truth—warn him—but he didn’t believe me. Why would he? All he could see was a mother trying to help her ailing stepdaughter and an eighteen-year-ol
d who was violent and out of control. He told me I had to leave; I wasn’t welcome anymore.”
“So I left,” I say, shrugging. “I had no other options. I was eighteen. Who was going to believe a crazy story like that?”
“You could’ve taken me with you.” She says in almost a whisper.
“Yeah, that would’ve worked. Two broke teenagers. Sounds like a great plan.” I spit. I didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh, but the anger I felt building just spilled out.
“Seems like it worked out just fine for you.” She snaps back. There’s a hardness to her eyes, a sharp edge to her voice. She had a point, albeit a small one. She doesn’t realize the absolute hell I went through to achieve what I have today, the days when I had no idea if I was going to eat or not. I was lucky—in the right place at the right time. I know this. She doesn’t.
“It wasn’t as easy as you make it out to be.” I sigh. “You were better off staying with Judith and Robert.” She shakes her head with disgust as she folds her arms. “He promised me that he’d protect you, keep an eye out on the off chance that I was telling him the truth. I was trying to help you. Taking you with me would’ve caused more issues than it fixed.”
“Help me?” All the color that had drained from her face earlier is back. “Help me?” She repeats. She peels back the sleeve on her right arm and shoves it toward me. “Look!” Tears fall from her eyes as she yells at me. “Just look at what your help did!”
There’s a scar on her forearm, about midway up. It’s raised and pink and shaped… like an L? I can’t tell. She pulls the sleeve of her sweater back down to cover it. Then she slumps back in her chair.
“I had been cutting for years.” She tells me as she looks off to the side. The reality of it hits hard and disorients me. I never knew she cut—I had no idea. But it explains a lot. “Cutting helped me cope with the shit Judith put me through. And when you left, everything got worse. Her nagging, her passive-aggressive bullshit—everything. I decided to cut the reason for my pain into my arm. A reminder. A warning. Your name.”
I feel gutted, and for the first time in my life I can’t look another person in the eyes. I never realized just how much I meant to her, or how my leaving affected her.
“It was an accident.” She adds, her lips quivering as she tries to hold herself together. “I cut too deep and everyone thought I tried to kill myself. I didn’t mean for it to happen.” Tears are flooding her cheeks now and her voice is rough and cracks as she continues to talk. “I begged and pleaded, but they took me away anyway—‘to get me help.’”
There’s a stabbing pain in my chest and it’s becoming difficult to breath. I take another pill and try to swallow but my throat is so sore and lumpy and tight that I can’t. I can’t swallow a tiny fucking pill. I cough and sputter as Leah continues to stare at me with wet, helpless eyes. The kind of eyes you see from a stray.
‘Help me,’ They say. ‘Love me.’
I don’t know what to say. What can you say in a situation like this? Nothing I could possibly come up could change anything, could comfort or help her. I say the only words I can think of, but as soon as they leave my lips, I know they won’t help.
“I’m sorry.”
And for the first time in my life, I meant it.
I was sorry for not taking her with me that night.
I was sorry for the pain I caused her when I left.
I was sorry that I never made it clear to her just how much she meant to me.
I was sorry that I didn’t protect her like I should have.
I was… sorry.
But ‘sorry’ isn’t enough to fix scar tissue that deep.
I’M 41,000 FEET IN the air en route to New York. The seat next to mine is as empty as the small bottle of scotch in front of me. The only person I’ve ever cared for—loved, actually—is miles away.
I’ve never felt this way about someone before.
I’ve never felt this much remorse.
Luke Hammond has feelings?
Sometimes.
I keep replaying our conversation over in my head. Was there something I could’ve said differently? Some magical word that would change everything? I don’t know.
I told her why I had to leave her years ago, and how I had confronted Judith in order to protect her. I did try to protect her.
I told her everything, and I told her the truth. All of it. But it didn’t matter: she left anyway.
The only place she hasn’t left is my mind.
She’s the song I can’t get out of my head.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LEAH
July 4th, 2013
It’s been a while since I’ve been able to write. Not because I have nothing to write about, quite the opposite. In fact, almost too much has happened in the past few days that I don’t know where to begin. But, I guess I have to start somewhere…
I left Luke after he told me everything. I still don’t know if I believe him, but everything he told me about Judith makes sense.
I only became sick when I moved into that house.
I got better when I left.
My father got sick when I left…
I just don’t want to believe that people like her exist in this world.
That I lived with her for so long without knowing…
That Luke knew about it and didn’t tell me.
Didn’t save me.
He tried to stop me from leaving, but I wouldn’t budge. I needed time alone. Time to think about everything.
I shouldn’t have been so hard on him. He couldn’t have saved me. I know that now. He was a kid and so was I.
Even if he tried to take me away that night, my Judith would be crazy enough to tell the police he kidnapped me after assaulting her. It would be a bullshit sob story, but she’d be convincing. Fake tears and self-inflicted bruises.
I wouldn’t put it past her. Not anymore.
And I can’t blame Luke for what happened to me. I can’t blame anyone else but myself for being sent to Millwood. I was a teenager, prone to theatrics. I made a mistake, and I paid the price.
I probably should have told him that, but I didn’t. I was still so angry with him, with everything he told me.
You can’t ask someone to think rationally after something like that. Oh well.
Even though I was sent to Millwood for a misunderstanding, I see it now as a blessing in disguise. It got me out of the house and away from Judith. I learned other ways to cope and I even started to paint again. It actually wasn’t that bad, now that I think about it. It was a breeze compared to living with Judith.
It feels good to get everything out. I’ve held everything in for so long that I feel as though my insides have twisted themselves into one tangled knot.
Slowly, I feel that knot unraveling. The more I use this journal, the smaller that knot becomes.
I haven’t used my rubber band in days. That’s a first. It’s like I’m throwing away my crutches. I can finally begin to walk again.
Even after the news about Judith, I think things will be better.
How could they get any worse?
I’m meeting with Miles in a few hours. He wants to talk to me about Luke.
I’m hesitant, but I decided to go one one condition: That he returns Judith’s Locket.
I want to destroy something she loved.
Petty, I know. But after what she put me through, I think I can get away with a little pettiness.
Just this once.
IT’S ONLY A 10-MINUTE walk from my house to the dive bar I’m meeting Miles at. 25 if you’re walking at my pace.
I don’t really want to do this. I don’t want to talk about Luke, or hear what Miles has to say about him. But, I have no other choice. I either meet with him now or I meet with him later when he calls me into the station. Either way we’re going to meet.
I just want it to be on neutral ground.
I picked this bar for no other reason than that I could walk to it. I’d never actuall
y been inside because I don’t normally frequent bars. Especially ones like this.
The exterior has seen better days. Maybe. Probably not. Neon signs litter windows. Coors. Miller. Bud. The usual suspects. I’ve never had the taste for beer. I’ve tried it, but I’ve just never liked it. Too bitter. Too… It’s disgusting. That’s all.
I’m a few feet away from the metal door. A large bouncer leans against the building with his back and one foot as his fingers nimbly type texts. He doesn’t bother to check my I.D. He just grunts and waves me by like he’s shooing away an annoying kid as he continues to type away.
This place isn’t exactly hopping.
The interior is about what you’d expect from the outside. A tattooed barman with stringy black hair, a goatee, and a long, hooked nose chats with the only customer seated at the bar. An old man. A regular, I’d guess. The smell he emits as I pass by tells me that he hasn’t showered in days. If he showers at all.
The floor sticks to my shoes as I walk, gummy with spilt beer and who knows what else.
Miles is seated at a booth in the back. He waves me over with a smile and I weave through a couple of pool tables on my way. A man wearing a dark hoody bumps into me hard as I try to walk by him.
“What the fuck?”He just shrugs his shoulder and sits down at a table a few feet away. Some people.
A wave of nerves crashes over me as I sit down.
“I’m glad you could make it. Sorry about—” He nods to the guy I just bumped into. His face is shadowed by his hood, but I can see his mouth curve into snarl before he takes a sip of his drink. There’s something oddly familiar about him, and I get the sense that he’s watching me.
“It’s fine.” I say, shaking it off.
Miles beams at me. His green eyes seem to shimmer in the dim lit. I won’t fall for them again.
“So,” he begins. “First things first.” He clasps his hand in front of him.
“The locket.”
“About that.” He tilts his head as he looks down at the table, then back up to me. “There was no locket.”
Stepbrother: Scar Tissue - the Complete Serial (An Alpha Stepbrother Romance) Page 7