Visibly Broken

by Chelsea Camaron

Home.

  Well, that’s what most people would call it when they come back to the place they grew up. The place my parents live should be home, but it’s not, and I don’t know that it ever has been.

  I jump out of my car and rush to the front, where I pound on the door. My father answers, his surprise visible.

  “Jason.” He says my name calmly as he steps back to allow me to enter.

  “What the fuck did you do with her?”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t you fuck with me right now! I know what you and your council friends did. I know about the money you all filter around and split. I have proof and a backup, so do not fuck with me. Where the hell is she?” I roar, not caring who hears me.

  “Jason, you watch your tone and your mouth. I’ll ruin you personally if it comes to it, son or not.”

  I can’t contain my fury. I can’t hold back. I put my hands around his throat and squeeze.

  “Your days of having any power over me are gone. I’ll fucking kill you, and I won’t lose one bit of sleep. Where the fuck is Lo?”

  He slaps and pushes at my forearms, trying to relieve the pressure from his neck unsuccessfully. He fights to shake his head. He gasps for air, and I squeeze more firmly. He then kicks out, wasting precious energy.

  I back him up to the wall and slam his head into it. “Where the fuck is Lo?” I yell again.

  I let up enough for him to answer. He chokes at first before finally catching his breath somewhat.

  “I don’t know where she is. It’s not my job to track your newest whore.” He looks up at me, my own green eyes staring back at me. “I’ll be happy to show her what a Stanley man is capable of when you’re done with her, though. Missy sure was a lot of fun.”

  I swing, and my fist connects with his face.

  He smiles at me sinisterly. “All those hours at the gym and that’s all you’ve got?”

  I swing and connect again.

  He is off balance and stumbles.

  “That one is for her sister.” I hit him again from the other side, and he sways. “That one is for her mother.”

  He shakes his head. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls, gripping his now bloody nose and tipping his head back.

  “You and your goons killed them all to protect your scheme.”

  He snaps his head to attention. His eyes meet mine once again. “Jason, I’m a lot of things, and none of them are good, but I did not have anything to do with those murders.”

  I grab him as I kick out behind his knees, taking him down before he can realize what’s happening. As I straddle him, I am in control. For the first time in my life, I have the power over him.

  “I didn’t…I didn’t,” he stammers with his eyes as wide as saucers. “None of us had anything to do with the Bosch family murders. Yes, he knew what we had done, and he threatened to out us, but we didn’t have him killed.”

  If he didn’t…if they didn’t…

  My mind races.

  I take his head in my hands and slam it into the tiled floor. It knocks him out, and I don’t bother to care if I did damage or not. I have to find Lo.

  Jumping off my unconscious father, I rush out of the house, not even bothering to shut the door behind me.

  Driving home, I try to focus my mind. I try to call the Bennetts, getting no answer.

  Where are you, Lorraine?

  Once I get to the condo, I pace, trying to think of what to do now, only to find I am making the cats panic as they feed off my energy. I pet Boots as Socks keeps his distance, sitting on a box from Lo’s house. I go over and pick up the cat.

  “It’s okay, buddy. I’m going to find your momma. I promise,” I whisper to the fur ball.

  The box gets my attention. I don’t know why, but my gut says to look inside. The flaps of the box have separated some, and I can see a pale blue notebook at the top.

  Putting Socks down, I sit on the couch, sliding the box over to me. Then I open it and find a sky-blue journal with a detailed peacock feather on the front. I trace the edge of the book before turning to the first page. The handwriting is fluffy, like a female’s, but it’s not Lorraine’s. I have seen her scribble notes around the house, so I am familiar with her handwriting.

  February 12, 2011

  I sat, watching her sleep. I sat there and watched her. There isn’t another person in this world I have ever wished to be except her. I would give anything to be able to be like her.

  Things are not complicated. She keeps her life simple. She does what is expected and keeps to herself. Boys don’t matter; status doesn’t matter; clothes, makeup, hair color, friends—none of those things matter to her.

  I watched her sleep, knowing she hasn’t been burned, broken, or felt battered inside. I envy that.

  I wanted to wake her, but I didn’t. Instead, I walked across the hall, grabbed this diary, and decided to fill it with the story I want to tell her but won’t, because she didn’t go asking for this kind of pain. And although we are twins who have shared everything, I cannot share this, never this.

  I love Ryan. I love him so much. He is generous, giving, caring, and he loves me. He still says it through texts, but I don’t say it back.

  Last week was our one-year anniversary. One year of being the girlfriend of the boy everyone wanted and nobody could have: Ryan Bennett.

  Ryan made plans for us to have a weekend at the river house. It was the first time we would have a weekend alone. No hiding, no need to hurry, a weekend to hold each other and make love without the threat of interruption.

  I made up an elaborate story, and my overprotective parents bought it hook, line, and sinker.

  When he called the day before and said he didn’t think he could make it, I made plans with a friend to avoid arousing suspicion.

  When he sent me a text telling me that he could meet me, I told my friend’s parents I had to get home. I lied and said Lo was having boy problems and needed me.

  When I got to the river house, I couldn’t get out of my car fast enough. I nearly ran up the dimly lit walkway. Then, when I opened the door, I saw candlelight, and the fireplace was roaring. My heart swelled at the thought behind such a romantic setting.

  When I took my coat off and placed it over the back of the couch, I saw him, and I saw a woman on the floor in front of the fire on the bearskin rug. She was naked, straddling him. The noises coming from her made me sick. The way his hands gripped her ass and guided her made my heart break. The things he said to her disgusted me.

  “That’s it. If you wanna fuck me, you little whore, then fuck me right. That’s it, you little slut, you dirty, filthy little slut.” He groaned.

  I covered my mouth to strangle my cry, and then she looked over her shoulder.

  I froze. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She turned around and sat on him backward. I heard his hand hit her ass hard, and she looked up and saw me.

  She didn’t look surprised. She held his dick in her hands, her eyes glued to mine, and she sank down on him. My body trembled, and her eyebrow rose as she fucked him, crying out his name, all the while looking at me.

  I turned and ran out of the house. I don’t even remember driving home. I have no idea how I made it without getting into an accident.

  I don’t know what I am going to do. I don’t know how something like this could happen. And I don’t know how I couldn’t have seen it all along.

  I want to fall asleep, but when I close my eyes, I see her, I hear him, and I feel my heart breaking again.

  My stomach tightens, and my fear heightens. That sick son of a bitch used his love for Hi to fuck Lo when he never loved Hi. No, Ryan Bennett loves his dick and nothing more.

  I’m a fucked-up mess of a man, but this is beyond the realm of pain even I would inflict upon someone I claim to love.

  I dial Ryan Bennett. No answer. I dial Dr. Bennett. No fucking answer. I dial Mrs. Bennett. I come up empty-handed.

  I sit back
with my phone in one hand and the diary in the other. As I turn the page, I fight inside not to completely lose my shit and take out every motherfucker who ever came into contact with the Bosch family.

  February 19, 2011

  It has been a week that I have ignored his calls, deleted his messages, and felt like I existed in a world where nothing was real. In a world where things that never should happen do happen. Things that are wrong, disgusting, and despicable. A world where Ryan and her sleep together.

  He was outside today when I came out of school. He blocked me in and wouldn’t let me out. He got in my car, and he cried. He cried and told me he didn’t understand why I was avoiding him, that he was sorry he couldn’t make it.

  I slapped him across the face and told him I saw him. I saw them. I couldn’t even say her name. I told him I hate him, that he was disgusting, and all six feet of him curled into himself and trembled, right before opening the door and throwing up.

  I told him to get out, to go to hell, to never look at me or speak to me again.

  He told me that, since it started with her, he has wanted to die. The guilt, the disgust, the shame, the lies ended that night. She promised him it would be the last time. She promised him all the photos, videos, everything she held over his head would be destroyed if he would just be with her one last time.

  I told him I saw them. I told him I got a message from his phone telling me to meet him. I told him I heard him and that it was something I would never forget and never forgive.

  He told me he loved me, and if it took him forever to make me forget, he would. He told me if it took him forever to make me forgive him, he would. He told me if he had to die trying, he would do that, too.

  He wouldn’t get out of the car. He looked like hell. He cried, and then he stopped.

  “I was fifteen; she was eighteen. I am so sorry. Forgive me and tell my father I love him. Tell him I’m sorry.”

  He let go of my hand. I didn’t let go of his.

  I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know, but like he said, he was fifteen, and she was eighteen. I sure as hell am going to try, and I am going to make the bitch pay.

  I fight my own need to vomit. Ryan Bennett, who the hell was the girl riding you that night?

  Going on instinct alone, I drive to the Bennetts’ home and wait. I have nothing else to go on. I have to find her. I know something isn’t right. I feel it, and I’m not going anywhere until I have some fucking answers.

  Answers for Lo, for Hi, for me, and for us. Everything is for us.

  Chapter 27

  Lo

  I wake up, fighting to open my eyes. My body hurts, and I can’t move.

  I hear someone whistling.

  I clear my throat. “Help,” comes out weakly, and then I feel a cloth cover my mouth before my eyes are covered, too.

  Jason will worry that I’m not there for the fight. He will think I ran. He will think I don’t love him.

  “Jason.” My cry is muffled.

  “Jason?” I hear a voice chide. “Jason or Ryan? Ryan or Jason? Oh, the choices you had. The fun, the games, the heroes, the villains.”

  “Please,” I cry.

  “Begging must be genetic.” The voice is female. Rochelle. Oh, God. “Your mother begged for her life. Your sister didn’t, shame on her. Your father, he cried like a little bitch as he watched me kill them.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I scream, unsure if she can hear me.

  “I’m doing this because you deserve it.” I feel a sharp blow to my head, and consciousness leaves me.

  —

  I wake sitting up, tied to a chair, and my head is pounding. I am facing a fireplace in a cabin.

  I look up on the mantel and see pictures of Ryan and his family. I’m at the river cabin.

  Why would Rochelle bring me here?

  It’s hot, so hot in here. My throat is dry, and I need a drink.

  “Thirsty,” I croak out, but no one answers. “Thirsty! I’m thirsty! Rochelle!” I yell. “I know it’s you. The Bennetts have security! They’ll know. They’ll find me!”

  I am going to fight. I want to fight. I am no longer afraid. I am going to fight for them, for vengeance. I finally have something to live for.

  Jason.

  “Stop hiding from me! Stop being a coward and face me!”

  “Stupid, stupid, little whore.” I hear her behind me. “Your paranoia makes this so much more fun.”

  I turn my head and hear a burst of laughter from the other side of me.

  “I should be afraid of you, but I’m not. If you’re going to kill me, do it! Kill me, you sick bitch!”

  I hear the floorboard creak and look back, fighting the fear. I cannot be afraid.

  “He loved her. Ryan loved her. He pretended you were her, made you wear a wig and all. How did it feel? How did it feel to fuck your sister’s boyfriend? He never loved you,” she taunts.

  I cringe at someone knowing my dirty little secret, sex with Ryan as Heidi.

  “Face me!”

  “The ugly duckling. The sweet little girl whose family was slaughtered,” she sneers. “A whore! Nothing but a little whore!”

  The back of the chair gets pulled, and tied to it, I crash to the ground. Pain sears through my body. I hold my mouth closed so I don’t cry out.

  I open my eyes and gasp. “Why! Why! Why!”

  From the corner of my eyes, I see her boot coming closer and then feel it connect with the side of my head.

  —

  I wake up in pain. I’m cold, tied to a bed, and I am naked.

  “Wakey, wakey.” I see her standing beside the bed, holding a knife. “Oh, there she is. Do you have a headache, Lorraine?”

  “Fuck you,” I spit out, and the back of her hand immediately connects with the side of my face.

  “Is that any way to talk to the woman hosting you tonight?”

  “Why! Why are you doing this?”

  “Oh, poor little Lorraine. Such the sweet and innocent little thing until you fucked Ryan!” She hits me again.

  “I have no idea what you—”

  Another blow and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

  “I saw you, whore. I saw you and him!”

  “He’s your brother!” I scream at her.

  “No!” She grabs her own hair. “No, he’s not! If we’d found each other before they did, he would have loved me! He would have loved me and not her!”

  I try my best to keep calm. Rochelle is clearly insane, yet I don’t care. I hate her. I hate him.

  Did he know? Did he know she killed my family? Did Ryan know she killed the girl he said he loved? Oh, God. Oh, God, she killed them! She killed them all.

  I feel tears coming. I feel my body tremble.

  Jason. Oh, God, he thinks his father had something to do with my family’s death. What have I done?

  I need him to know. I need to tell him I’m sorry. I need to find a way to get out of this and back to him.

  Tonight, he fights in a cage while I will fight just as hard for us.

  “You’re right!” I cry out. “He would have loved you.”

  “Don’t patronize me!”

  “I’m not!” I yell. I can’t yell. I have to keep calm. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He cares for you.”

  “I know he does! He loves me.” She covers her face. “He loves me, and if you and that man weren’t nosing around, I would have left you alone. I would have, but now I can’t. I can’t, and it’s your fault!”

  “I want to help you. I want to get back to Jason. Then you can get back to Ryan. No one has to know.”

  She laughs maniacally. “I killed your family! Do you think I believe you?”

  Biting back rage, I try to say whatever I can in order to make it out of here alive. “If they weren’t gone, I would have never met Jason.”

  She looks at me curiously.

  Oh, please forgive me, Heidi.

  “Heidi wouldn’t have let me be with a man like
him.”

  Her eyes narrow.

  “She would have hated him like she did anyone else I ever wanted to date.”

  Rochelle nods. “She threatened to tell. She threatened to tell my mother, Ryan’s father.”

  “She didn’t understand,” I say as bile fills my mouth.

  She shakes her head. “She needed to die.”

  I hold back a sob and close my eyes.

  She grips my shoulders and shakes me. “She needed to die!”

  “Okay!” I cry out. “Okay!”

  I open my eyes, and they meet hers. Her eyes are as black as night, her pupils fully dilated. She is fucking gone.

  “He knows,” she whispers and smiles. “He knows I killed them. He hates that I killed them.”

  “I’m sure he hates the position it puts you in.” I cringe inwardly.

  “What position!” she spits, and her saliva hits my face.

  “He loves you, right?”

  “Of course he does!”

  “That position. Putting someone he loves in the position that they”—I pause and try to remain calm through the lie—“kill for love.”

  “I did it for love. I did it all for love.” She steps back and starts pacing. “I went to talk to her. After she threatened to expose us, I wanted to make sure she kept her mouth shut. Your parents came into the room and told me to leave. I hit him over the head with the barrel of my stepfather’s gun. I made them tie him up. Then I made your sister tie your mom. She wouldn’t stop screaming, so I cut your mother. I cut her up good.”

  I close my eyes and try to focus on something other than her voice as she continues to tell me how she slaughtered my family. I don’t know how I manage, but I do.

  “I didn’t shoot them.” She sits at the end of the bed. “It would have been easier, but then Ryan’s father would have gone to jail. It was smart thinking on my part. It all was. No one suspected a twenty-two-year-old graduate student could pull that off.”

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I tell her.

  “No. No, because I haven’t decided what I am going to do with you yet.” She sneers, “I can’t stand the sight of you.”

  “I understand,” I lie. “Can I at least get a drink? My mouth is dry. And maybe a blanket? I’m very cold.”