Hale

by K. Webster

  His words get cut short when Uncle Randy shoves him. Hudson knocks into me and I hit the floor hard.

  When Hudson realizes I’ve been pushed into the floor, he goes crazy and attacks our uncle. Hudson lands a punch, but Uncle Randy is scrappy. They scuffle and run into things. I scream at them to stop, but they don’t listen.

  “Please stop!” I beg through my tears as I scramble to my feet. “Aunt Becky, make them stop!” But she’s gone. Left these two beasts to duke it out alone with me as their only spectator.

  Hudson hits Uncle Randy in the ribs but then takes an elbow to the chin. As soon as I see blood dripping from Hudson’s mouth, I grow dizzy. I stumble and crawl over to where Hudson and I were sitting only moments before. Drawing my knees to my chest, I bury my face to hide from their fighting. Tears stream endlessly down my cheeks. I rock back and forth, hoping for this to end soon.

  Grunts.

  Punches.

  Furniture crashing.

  It goes on forever.

  Until people stomp down the stairs to join us. Police. The police are here. Nononononononono!

  “Hudson,” I whisper.

  Two officers break up the fight and drag the men apart from each other. My eyes clash with Hudson’s and heartbreak flashes across his features. This is the end. It all ends.

  “He’s been fucking his sister,” Aunt Becky yells at them. “She’s mentally ill. He took advantage of her.”

  “No,” I croak out, sitting up on my knees. “No. You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “You’re going to prison for fucking life,” she hisses at him. “Say goodbye to her because this is the last you’ll ever see of her.”

  “No!” I scream and run for him. I throw myself against him, but he’s already handcuffed and can’t hug me back. “Don’t arrest my brother! You can’t take my brother!”

  “Rylie,” he chokes out.

  One of the cops pulls me away from Hudson. Sobs wrack through me as they take him away from me.

  “You’ll never see her again,” Aunt Becky hisses.

  The room blurs as tears swim before me. I fall to the floor and cry hysterically. Aunt Becky tries to console me, but I kick away from her.

  “Don’t do this,” I beg, my body shuddering. “Please.”

  She glowers at me. “It’s been done. He’s sick and now you’re safe. I’ll keep you safe. He’ll never touch you again. I’ll make sure he stays away for life.”

  Her words hit their intended mark and I shut down.

  No.

  I need him.

  “We didn’t do anything wrong,” I whisper, my bottom lip wobbling wildly.

  “He took advantage of you. I’m sorry, Rylie. Someone had to step in.”

  Hudson

  I’m in a zone when I’m booked in the local jail. My thoughts circling around her. RylieRylieRylie. Is she okay? Is she crying? Fuck. I’m bruised and everything fucking hurts, but my heart aches so badly.

  I can’t do time.

  I can’t be away from her.

  “One phone call,” the deputy tells me.

  Blinking away my daze, I follow him to the phone. With shaking hands, I dial a number I’ve had memorized since I was a teenager.

  “Hello?”

  “Amy. It’s me, Hudson.”

  “Hudson? Why are you calling so late?”

  “I need help. I need you to go get Rylie and keep her safe. Look out for her.”

  “Why? Where are you? What happened?”

  I let out a sigh. “I’m at the jail for—”

  “Don’t say anything else,” she interrupts. “Here, talk to Dad.”

  “Hello?” a sleepy voice greets.

  “Mr. Kent.” I pause. “I’m in jail.”

  “Shit, Hudson. What happened? Actually, don’t say anything until I get there to represent you.” I hear him shuffling. “Tell them your attorney is on the way.”

  “I just wanted Amy to check on my sister. I didn’t think—”

  “Nothing else, son. Don’t say anything.”

  Nodding, I choke back my emotion. “Thank you.”

  He hangs up and my heart feels heavy. Rylie won’t take this well. I need Amy to check on her and make sure she’s okay.

  My mind is still a fog and it isn’t until they’ve long shut the door behind me to a holding cell that I let it all sink in. It happened. No matter how hard we tried, the forces trying to pull us apart were stronger.

  They won.

  And we fucking lost.

  Her cries of anguish gut me. They reverberate through the thin walls that separate our bedrooms and rattle their way into my soul.

  They’re dead. They’re dead. They’re fucking dead.

  I’ve only been home for a few hours, but it’s enough to realize Rylie is going to really need me. We lost our parents. She’s already so fragile and broken. It’ll be up to me to look after her because Mom and Dad can’t.

  I think about those times a few years ago when her depression got worse as puberty hit. Mom and Dad were always doing their best to console her. So many times she’d cry in her bed at night—times that used to annoy me. Looking back, I realize it was me who was wrong. In my shitty life where I have everyone convinced I have a plan and a future, nothing lives inside me. I’m empty.

  Rylie’s not empty.

  She’s filled with more emotions than a normal human can manage. Inside of her lives anger and sadness and despair. I should have been left with the happiness, but it would seem it’s an elusive emotion the Hales aren’t privy to.

  Mom and Dad were our happiness.

  Those times when I felt like the pressure was too much, all it took was an encouraging, supportive phone call from Mom. A one or two-worded text from Dad that meant everything. They may not have been rich like Aunt Becky and Uncle Randy, but my parents did everything for us. Their entire world existed to provide us with not only a good, safe home and lifestyle, but also with unconditional love.

  Rylie’s wails grow louder.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Something deep inside of me seems to wake from slumber.

  Go to her. Make her happy. It’s your duty.

  I slide from my bed, alarmed at the way my chest throbs and my bones rattle. The overwhelming need to comfort her and show to her that we’re not alone is pulsating through me. Slipping from my room, I quietly make it into hers as to not wake our aunt, who’s sleeping in the living room. I push into my sister’s room and close the door behind me.

  “Rylie.”

  Her name is barely whispered from my lips, but it’s powerful. It has the ability to turn her wails into whimpers. Her curses to God into prayers for me to hold her.

  Purpose surges through my chest like never before.

  Amy. Baseball. College.

  Nothing has made me feel like I feel in this exact moment.

  I lift the covers and she scoots over to give me room. Once I slide beneath the sheets, she claws desperately at me. Drawing her into my arms, I hug her to my bare chest. Her hair smells like lavender and it’s a soothing scent—so different from Amy’s expensive products I’m used to. I inhale my sister and run comforting circles with my fingertips along her back. Her tears soak my neck and chest, but they’re subsiding.

  It’s up to me to heal her.

  This is something I can do.

  She settles and her breathing evens out. Pride thunders through me. I kiss her hair and hold her tight. In my arms, she doesn’t feel like my sister. She feels like a tiny piece of the Hale heart that’s left. My piece isn’t much bigger now that our parents are gone. But together, we can be something. We can survive and fucking thrive. I just know it.

  Her body feels so frail. I don’t want her to break apart, so I hold her as close as I can, kissing her hair over and over again. We’re pushed together, our bodies touching where they’ve never before touched, and it feels right. I’ve been such a selfish prick keeping my sister at a distance. All along, we could have been gaining strength fro
m each other. I could have felt some peace when my world felt so fucking pointless—all I had to do was hold her.

  As her breathing evens out finally and sleep steals her, I’m aware of how much my sister has grown into a woman. She’ll be eighteen in a few months. It’s strange to me to hold her so intimately. It makes me realize her body isn’t much different than Amy’s. Her breasts are soft pushed against me. Long, slender, smooth legs tangle with mine beneath the sheets. Our pelvises are pressed together, making my cock aware of our nearness. Very much a woman.

  Images of her dating haunt me.

  She doesn’t need anyone in her fragile state.

  Rylie just needs me to hold her. That’s all she’ll ever need.

  My palm finds her ass over her shorts and I pull her closer. Images quick and dirty flit through my mind and it’s a reprieve from the aching sadness I’ve been sucker punched with for the past few hours. As I drift to sleep, I allow myself to dwell in those thoughts. To blame my grief for wondering what our bodies would feel like naked and pressed together. Would we feel whole then?

  My cock thinks so. I’m thankful she’s asleep and doesn’t notice my arousal. I’m dizzied and confused at my physiological response to her coupled with the dangerous path my mind has gone on. Is this what happens when someone loses two people they love? Do they lose their fucking mind?

  “I’m sick.” Her words are sleepy and uttered in a whisper. She grows tense as reality tries to steal her from her slumber.

  I squeeze her ass and rub my length against her stomach, just once, murmuring soft assurances to her. The rigidness from her body melts away and she becomes soft again in my arms. Tomorrow, I’ll blame my curious, needy touches on the despair, but tonight it seems to help make my world not so dark.

  Seeking out her ear, hidden by her hair, I whisper, “I’m your cure.”

  She shivers and clutches on tightly.

  I’m your cure.

  “I’m your attorney. Anything you say to me is privileged information,” Bradley Kent says from across the table. “Tell me all the details. Even the ones you’re embarrassed of.”

  So he’s heard.

  “We got into a fight because they accused my sister and me of incest.” I stare down at the table that’s worn and dirty.

  “Accused? Were the accusations true?”

  My heart sinks. If he knows, Amy knows. Everyone knows. “Nope.” Keeping my word to Rylie, I lift my gaze and pin him with a hard stare. “I fought with my uncle. That much I can’t deny, but the things they’re accusing me of are untrue.”

  His eyes that look exactly like Amy’s widen in surprise. “Okay.”

  “We lost our parents and spend a lot of time consoling each other. But to accuse my sister and me of sleeping together is fucking ridiculous,” I snap.

  He holds up both hands in defense, even though I can see the relief in his stare. “I believe you. At this point, we’re just waiting for them to press charges. You were in their home, so claiming self-defense is a moot point in someone else’s home. But considering this would be your first offense, you won’t be looking for more than a slap on the wrist.”

  I grit my teeth. “And their accusations?”

  “If there were proof, which there won’t be since it didn’t happen, any judge with sense in his head would throw it out. Hearsay doesn’t stand up in court.” He frowns. “However, if there were to be any proof provided or testimonies…” he trails off. “You could be doing some hard time. Both of you could.”

  Nick.

  Fuck.

  He could open up a can of fucking worms just by mentioning his own accusations.

  “No testimonies,” I lie. “No proof.”

  “Good.”

  Rylie

  “It’s been done. He’s sick and now you’re safe. I’ll keep you safe. He’ll never touch you again. I’ll make sure he stays away for life.”

  Aunt Becky’s words play over and over again inside my head on repeat. Cruel and never-ending. For hours she’s attempted to console me, but I want to be left alone. In his space. I pull on his favorite baseball hoodie, curl up on the floor clutching a picture of my family, and cry at the unfairness of it all.

  Every. Single. Last. One. Of. Them.

  All taken from me.

  Aunt Becky comes down a lot to check on me and tries to get me to eat or drink. I can’t answer her. I can’t look at her. All I can do is wonder what I did to deserve a life like this.

  I was happy.

  All the pain and suffering caused by the turmoil of loving my brother when I wasn’t supposed to had come to an end.

  Because he loved me too.

  I no longer had to hide in the darkness of my mind.

  He was there to find me. To hold me. To kiss and make love to me.

  Now he’s gone.

  “It’s been done. He’s sick and now you’re safe. I’ll keep you safe. He’ll never touch you again. I’ll make sure he stays away for life.”

  But what is my life without him in it?

  Can I bear to be driven back into the darkness? A leper because of the way my heart bleeds for someone deemed untouchable? Two souls desperate for the other and life’s the puppet master who says they can’t be together.

  Life’s a bitch.

  A bigger bitch than Aunt Becky.

  If Mom were here, she’d be furious. I wasn’t joking when I told Hudson she’d hit him with his baseball bat. But Mom always protected her kids. She loved us fiercely. I think she would have tried to understand. Dad might have been the one to make her see.

  They wouldn’t have sent the other half of my heart away.

  My parents would have found a way for us to be a family. Just like they always found a way to pay for baseball and doctor bills. They were resourceful and protective.

  Pain, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, makes my stomach seize violently. I’ve long since thrown up the cake from last night. All I can do is hurt and shudder and shiver and beg.

  “He’ll never touch you again. I’ll make sure he stays away for life.”

  Thoughts of Hudson locked away shred my heart. Someone so beautiful and loving doesn’t deserve this. It’s unfair.

  Aunt Becky comes and goes once more, the worry evident in her eyes that match Mom’s, as she attempts to get me to go to bed at least. Eat some toast at least. Drink some tea at least.

  All I can do is stare vacantly at her.

  My tears have no end.

  They just fall and fall and fall.

  And fall.

  “Mommy,” I sob, my finger caressing the side of her face through the glass in the frame. “Daddy.”

  When I look at my brother’s happy grin, the crack that had been whittling itself through my heart finally succeeds. I’m torn in two, my soul seeping out and soaking into the carpet.

  “I’ll make sure he stays away for life.”

  The pain is too much. I’ll never recover from this. I won’t ever move on from him. He’s my one true love and I don’t give a fuck about society. Fucking hypocrites. People lie and cheat on their spouses. They abuse children. Fudge on their taxes. File bankruptcy and don’t pay their bills. They hit the ones they love. Say cruel things to the ones they care about. They want equality for blacks and gays and women and transgenders and immigrants.

  But this?

  They can’t fucking deal with this?

  A brother and sister who are madly in love.

  Sick and healed by one another.

  Not hurting a goddamned person.

  They find this—us—the stain on humanity they just can’t get past? They create laws in Monfuckingtana that say people like us are doomed for prison for a hundred years? For what? Love.

  Fuck them.

  Fuck those hypocrites.

  Liars and abusers.

  Scammers.

  Blind fucking masses who say what we have is disgusting and gross.

  Fuck them!

  I rise on shaky feet and throw a pile of
boxes into the floor. I want to destroy everything. This house. This world. Everyone in it.

  I hate them.

  I hate them for preaching love and not following through.

  If this world is full of them and they won’t let me have the one thing that keeps me here, then they can fucking have it all.

  “Why does our love story have to be a tragedy?”

  “Mom and Dad’s love story was a tragedy. I guess all the good ones are.”

  “Not ours, baby. Ours won’t be a tragedy.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  Hudson. I’m sorry we didn’t win. I’m sorry our love story was a tragedy too.

  Falling to my knees, I sob as I open the small rectangular box. If Mom were here, she’d pull me in her arms and promise she’d fix it all. Her words always healed me in some way. They had power like Hudson’s do.

  Did.

  He’s gone.

  “I’ll make sure he stays away for life.”

  Nine hundred dollars’ worth of metal shimmers in the overhead light. Beckons to me. Reveals an answer.

  “Why does our love story have to be a tragedy?”

  “I guess all the good ones are.”

  Sharp. Brilliant. A way out.

  I pick them up and marvel at them. Slide my middle finger and thumb through the holes to learn the weight of them.

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  I vividly remember visiting Mom at the shop as she snipped away at her clients’ hair, making them go from sloppy to chic within minutes. She took something messy and made it beautiful.

  Running my other thumb along the open blade of the scissors, I gasp. Crimson beads along the slice and I become transfixed on the way the blood drips on my bare thigh. Thighs that only hours ago were wrapped around Hudson.

  I set the scissors down on the carpet and shove both my sleeves up. My arms are pale, but I can see the bluish veins beneath the surface. Is it that easy?

  It will hurt.

  My soul fucking hurts.

  Anything would feel better than that.

  I pick the scissors back up, this time holding them open, my palm digging into one of the blades. The bite of pain stings, but it isn’t the worst in the world. I poke the tip of the other blade into my wrist. It doesn’t puncture the skin, but when I drag it up my forearm, the skin opens up.