This Love

Chapter 59

SCARLETT PARKER

Eleven Years Ago

My thumbnail was practically a nonexistent nub as I kept chewing on it between my teeth, listening to David Bowie's Sound and Vision on repeat rather than listening to my brother get his ass kicked down the hall. I had my eyes on the door, barely blinking until I watched the knob turn. That was when I sat forward and yanked my headphones out to hear Seth step inside with blood running from his nose and his left eyebrow.

I could still hear the song playing quietly from my headphones on the bed as I got down on my knees to find my first-aid kit under the bed frame, crossing the room to get to Seth's bed as he sat down with slumped shoulders.

In the silence between us, the kit made a popping sound as I opened it and found gauze to wipe the blood from his mouth. His breathing was slow, but somewhat ragged still, and his eyes were closed. He looked like he was just at war.

"Pinch," I instructed, to which he lazily raised his hand to pinch his nostrils together in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Google taught us that.

While he kept pinching at his nose, I cleaned the cut on his eyebrow and put a beige Band-Aid over the slit there. And because he had blood all over his blue shirt, I picked out another for him so he could put it on after the bleeding stopped. Frank never liked to see blood after the fact. Seth needed to be clean as if nothing ever happened by the next time he came out of our room.

"Okay, let's see," I gently pulled his wrist down, and we were lucky that time to see that the bleeding had ceased. It wasn't always that fast.

As he opened his hazel eyes to meet mine, the look in them absolutely broke my heart. My eyes immediately started to water and my throat started to close up as I swallowed. Out of everything in the entire world, my biggest fear was losing my brother in any capacity, and every time he came dragging his feet into our room after Frank let him have it, I was so scared that he just was one more punch away from giving up.

"I don't wanna do this anymore, Scar," he confirmed my fears out loud, though it was nothing I didn't know. "I'm so tired."

With the kit aside on his nightstand, I stood to let him lay down on his side, looking down at his lanky and frail frame before I pried his sneakers off. I already knew I wouldn't be eating tonight after I skipped ballet class, so I switched the light off and hurried back to jump on his bed. At least my fear of the dark made him chuckle.

"It's not forever," I finally responded. "This is all temporary. One day, we're gonna get the hell out of here and he'll never touch us again. Maybe you'll be big enough that you can beat the shit out of him."

"Maybe," he murmured. "And maybe Mom will starve to death if she just keeps eating nuts and spinach for every meal."

"And we'll dance on their fucking graves," I added with an aggression in my tone specifically to make him laugh again, but I could tell it was painful for him.

"We should find a witch to do some kind of voodoo shit on them," he mused. "We'll stick pins in their eyes."

I covered my mouth to laugh. "I don't even think the devil would want them in hell with him. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, there's a different place for them," he yawned. "I'm sure of it."

A deafening silence washed over us, and although twin telepathy isn't real, I could almost guarantee that he was also picturing our parents in hell or whatever place is worse. The only downside was that enteral damnation would be far too kind.