by Leddy Harper
I only had to wait a few more years.
But I’d find it.
Talking with my hands would no longer be necessary.
“It’s nice you have someone to talk to, but I think it’d be better if you were around more kids your age. I think Rylee has been an amazing support system for you, and I can see how much she cares. I think you’d be surprised to find more people like her. More people you can open up to and talk with.” She didn’t move away as I locked my sights on her.
I couldn’t wrap my head around what she’d said. I never spoke around her, or loud enough for her to hear. There’s no way she would’ve known…unless Rylee told her. But I trusted Rylee. I knew she wouldn’t say anything. At least…I hoped she wouldn’t.
Elise rolled her eyes and waved me off, as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb in my lap. “Killian, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know you talk to her, more than in written words. I’m happy you can do that with her. I wish you’d talk to me, but I understand. Hopefully, one day you’ll get out there and learn it’s okay to trust other people. You don’t have to be silent all the time.”
My brow tightened and it became harder to breathe through the anxiety coursing through me. This was my secret. No one was supposed to know. Especially her. She’d try to get answers, get me to talk about who killed my parents. And I refused to tell anyone.
Elise moved around the counter until she stood in front of me. “It’s not a secret you can talk, Killian. I’ve heard you before. When you first moved here, you’d cry and talk in your sleep. You’d call out for your dad, beg your mom to wake up. Your words weren’t clear, mostly sobs and heartbreaking cries for help, but you spoke. I heard you. The doctors informed me you were capable of speech, but either you chose not to, or it was the trauma keeping you from doing it. So please, don’t look at me like I have two heads. Just because you haven’t talked to me doesn’t mean I’m unaware you have the ability to. I’ll continue to let you do this at your pace. Speak to me whenever you want, or continue writing everything down for the rest of your life. It doesn’t matter to me. I only want what’s best for you, and I think it’s time you start living in the real world. Around real people. Some good, some bad, some ignorant or sheltered. People will say mean things, make bad choices…but then there are people like Rylee.”
I shook my head, because there weren’t people like her. Only her. She was one of a kind. Rylee was my person, my best friend, the only one I could be me around. No matter what Elise said, she’d never convince me.
I didn’t want anyone else.
I only wanted Rylee.
“Just think about it, okay?” She took the plate from in front of me and carried it to the sink. Despite her cool and calm demeanor, acting as if none of this bothered her, I saw the hurt in her eyes. I could see how my silence and avoidance bothered her. I never wanted to cause her any pain, but I didn’t know how to give her what she wanted without sacrificing what I’d promised.
I promised them I wouldn’t talk.
But I promised myself I would—eventually.
When the time was right.
“I’m going over to Steve’s for a bit. He got a new big screen for his living room and wants to watch a movie. Did you want to go?” Her and Steven were now engaged. Elise still had people over from time to time, but nothing like it used to be. Now, they were couples who came over to play games and have a few drinks. I knew them all, and didn’t mind them being around. Especially Steven. I admired the way he loved my aunt, and I had no problems being around him. I’d even gone to his house several times with Elise, but I wasn’t up to it tonight.
I wanted to be alone.
As soon as she faced me again, I shook my head.
“Okay. Maybe I’ll just reschedule.”
Elise kept notepads and paper in every room, along with pens and markers. We even had a whiteboard on the fridge. So I stood and made my way to the counter next to the phone and began to jot down a note for her.
No. You should go. I’ll be fine.
“I don’t feel right leaving you alone.”
I raised an eyebrow at her and smiled. I’m sixteen. Not six. You leave me alone all the time. What’s different about now?
“I feel like I’ve upset you, and I don’t want you thinking I’m running off to be with Steve instead of you. You’ll always come first, Killian.”
I knew that much. She’d been engaged for almost a year, but they hadn’t made any plans to actually get married, and I knew why. She wanted to wait until I was out of the house, on my own, until she knew I was okay before making that commitment. She wouldn’t let him move in with us to keep me from being uncomfortable regardless of how many times I told her I was okay with them getting married or him being here. I wanted to see her happy, and Steven made her happy. But for some reason, she wanted to wait.
She was choosing me.
And I appreciated that.
Go. Have fun and enjoy the movie. I’ll just watch TV in my room.
“I won’t be out late.”
I huffed out a laugh and shook my head. Stay out as late as you want. Just don’t get pregnant. Make sure he uses protection.
Elise jokingly slapped my shoulder as she laughed along with me. “What am I going to do with you? Trust me, you’re enough for me. I don’t want any more kids.”
My heart warmed at her sentiment, but it didn’t last.
Not long after she left the house, I thought about what she’d said. It made me think about my parents, and I wondered why they never had other kids. Why I didn’t have brothers or sisters. The question sparked anger in my chest. It was a question I’d never be able to ask them, an answer I’d never hear them tell me.
Because they were taken from me.
Brutally.
The more I thought about that night, the hotter the anger became until it festered into a rolling wave of fury. I grabbed the sketch pad I kept under my bed for times like this when I couldn’t suppress the rage and blinding heartache. Before I knew it, I had colored pencils, thin-tipped markers, pens, and charcoal sticks laid out around me, my hands moving along the paper of their own accord.
I’d done this so many times, drawn the same features, same scenes so often, I no longer needed to think about the lines as they formed. It was like autopilot. I’d lose myself in the memories, the pain, the images I’d never be able to forget, until they were brought to life on paper. The colors, the lines, the details visible for anyone to see.
There had been three guys, and I’d never forget their faces. One of them, the one who’d stayed in the corner and reminded his friends I was only a boy, was always the easiest to draw. Maybe it was because he didn’t have any blood on him. I never thought he really had anything to do with it. Although, it didn’t prevent me from hating him.
He could’ve stopped it.
Could’ve told his friends no.
Could’ve kept the one from cutting into my face.
But he didn’t.
He’d only stood there, arguing, but doing nothing to help me or my parents. He didn’t come forward and turn his friends in. He remained silent. Like me. So as far as I was concerned, he was just as bad as they were. However, when I sketched him, I didn’t put in as much time as I did with the others.
The one who stood next to my dad was always second. I spent longer on him than the first one. Each time, his face was always the same. The same scowl, the same dark, angry eyes. His lips tight and thin, his nostrils flared. He had a crooked nose and an earring in one ear. A scar ran through one eyebrow, and after drawing him so often, it now resembled a scar instead of a smudged line. And I always took extra time to color in the blood that dripped from the small knife in his hand.
But I spent the majority of my time detailing the guy who’d left my mom’s side, held me down, and cut my face. He was the one I remembered the most. The one I’d paid more attention to. His sketches always had more color than the others, and not just because of the picture on his shirt. His
eyes were bright blue. Even in the dimly lit bedroom all those years ago, his eyes pierced through the darkness. Evil shone bright within them, the devil peeking out through the narrow slits of his lids. They were distinctive eyes—big and round, although he’d kept them partially closed. It was as if he had too much eyelid—they were too heavy—and it prevented him from opening them fully.
His hair was dark brown and shaggy, wavy, and too long to appear manageable. But his eyebrows didn’t match. They were lighter, noticeably lighter. I remembered thinking over the years about it and wondered if he’d colored his hair darker like my mom used to do. Now, I no longer cared.
It always took more red pencil on his picture, because he was the only one completely covered in the thick maroon. It splattered on his face and neck, smeared next to his eyes. Maybe that was why the hue was so noticeable—the contrast stark against my mom’s crimson blood on his pale skin. He had a gash on his nose, although I had no idea where it had come from. It bled, so I knew it was fresh, and as I’d gotten older, I often wondered if maybe my mom had fought back. With all the gore on his face, it would’ve been indistinguishable, except it was the one thing I’d stared at as he sat on me, holding my head still. I’d focused intently on that mark while pleading for my life.
I’d never forget that gash.
Those harsh blue eyes.
The hideous sneer on his uneven lips.
Sitting back on my bed, I took in the full picture. The one I’d drawn of the man I hated most in this world. I hated them all, but he was the worst. He’d looked in my mom’s eyes and slit her neck, and then stared into mine while cutting my face open.
Evil.
That’s what he was.
Every finite detail of his smug face was carved into my memory like words etched in a tombstone.
I slammed the pad closed, unable to see him any longer. My blood boiled and it became harder to breathe. The room felt as if it had closed in on me. I was suffocating, dying, my pure hatred and blind rage taking over.
I needed out.
I needed air.
After shoving everything under my bed where I kept it, I quickly put on my shoes and left the house. The air was still humid, but it was better than being trapped inside. The neighborhood was dark and quiet; most were probably asleep or in bed for the night. But not me. I broke out into a sprint, needing to release some of this energy and anger.
As I rounded the corner, my house behind me, a car turned onto the street, its lights blinding me. I squinted against the high beams and kept going, ignoring everything and focusing on my feet. My shoes slammed hard onto the pavement, one after the other. I felt it in my heels, my knees, my lower back. I knew I was running too hard, but I didn’t care.
Suddenly, I heard my name called out. Not just my name, but the sweet voice that belonged to only one person. My person. I skidded to a stop and turned around just in time to see Rylee step out of the back seat. She closed the door and stood still, staring at me as if waiting for me to make a move.
Without turning back, she jogged toward me and put her hands on my heaving chest. “What’s going on? Why are you out here so late? Is everything okay? You seem pissed off or something.”
I wanted to look at her, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the car she’d just gotten out of. I knew she had friends, hung out with people I didn’t know, but it didn’t stop the jealousy from wrapping itself around my throat and squeezing until I couldn’t breathe.
The driver’s side door opened and a guy stepped out. “Rylee, are you okay? Do you know him?” His words were white noise in my head. Static. The edges of my vision blurred, and all I could see was his shirt.
A black T-shirt.
A triangle in the center.
A bright rainbow extended from one side.
And my mind instantly went to my last sketch. The guy in my parents’ room. The one with the gash on his nose. His knife. Him sitting on me. The pain in my cheeks.
The scars he left behind.
His black T-shirt with the same triangle and rainbow.
“Killian! Stop!” Rylee’s voice drifted through the muffled sounds around me. It was enough to pull me back just enough until I understood what I was doing. “Killian…stop, please. Look at me. Stop.”
I blinked and the world became clear again. I was no longer across the street. I now stood near the open car door, the driver pressed against the red paint with my hand around his neck. I dropped my arms to my sides and took a step away.
“What the fuck, man?” His question was hard and his voice hoarse while he sputtered and coughed. “You know him, Rylee?”
“Yeah, I do. Please, don’t tell anyone about this. Please, I’m begging you, Ross.”
“He comes at me for no reason and chokes me, and you don’t want me to say anything?”
“He’s not like that. I’ve never seen him hurt anyone before. Let me handle it.” She peered over her shoulder at me, but I was paralyzed. I couldn’t look at anything other than the fuzzy image of the kid in front of me. I was lost in a daze, unable to recognize what went on around me. “Please…let me handle it. I’m sorry. I swear, he’s not a bad person.”
Not a bad person.
I couldn’t stop replaying her words in my head.
The next thing I knew, the car was gone and Rylee stood in front of me, my face in her hands. “Killian, what was that? What came over you? He’s just a friend, I swear. I went out with him and his girlfriend, Malika—she’s a friend of mine. He was just bringing me home.”
She thought I was jealous…which I was, to a certain extent. But that wasn’t why I’d attacked him. Honestly, I wasn’t sure why I’d gone after him, other than the shirt. I knew he wasn’t the same guy from my parents’ room, but I attacked him anyway.
My shoulders deflated and I was finally able to take in a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to her. She couldn’t know what triggered my response to her friend, so I decided to let her believe it was envy. “I don’t like seeing you with other guys.”
“I have several guy friends from school—just friends. You can’t go attacking them all.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” It was all I could say. I didn’t have any other excuse.
“Come on, let’s get you back. We can talk about it there.”
“Aren’t your parents expecting you?”
She shook her head and held my hand before she started walking toward our houses. “I have a little over an hour before curfew. Malika had to be at her front door by ten, so we all left early. We have time. Is your aunt home?”
“No,” I said as I walked beside her. “I don’t know when she’ll be back, though.”
“That’s okay. We’ll just talk.”
We ran as we passed her house just in case her parents were up. Now that we were older, they had an even harder time with us hanging out. Rylee said it was because her mom was paranoid we’d have sex, but I always wondered if it was more. If I scared them and they didn’t want their daughter associating with me.
Once we made it to my house, I led her inside, and then back to my room.
She said we’d talk.
I didn’t want to.
Nine
Rylee
His lips crashed to mine, and I had no willpower to push him away. There was something going on with him, but I had no clue what it was. When we passed him on the road, he seemed pissed off, his feet pounding the pavement like I’d never seen before. Then, when I called out to him, he just seemed lost. But nothing compared to the way he took off, pushing me aside as if I hadn’t been standing in front of him, and went after Ross.
I’d never seen him act like that before. So angry. So full of…hatred. And it didn’t make any sense. He didn’t know Ross, never bothered to meet any of my friends, so his attack confused me.
I wanted answers, but I couldn’t pull myself away from him to ask the questions. The way he held me, kissed me, was like he needed me. It was desperate, which only confused me more.
This wasn’t the first time he’d ever shown me so much eagerness with his body, but right after witnessing his struggle, I knew there had to be more to it.
He pushed me backward until the backs of my legs hit the bed, but he didn’t stop there. He continued to lean into me, and with nowhere else to go, I fell onto the mattress with him on top of me. His arms caged me in and propped him up enough to keep his weight off my chest, although he didn’t take his lips from mine.
Killian moved me up until I had one of his pillows under my head and he was situated between my legs. His hips rolled, his obvious erection pressing against me. I moaned into his mouth as he ran his covered desire along mine. We’d never done this before. Ever since my fifteenth birthday, we’d grown more comfortable with each other, but we always played it safe.
This wasn’t safe.
I was used to him bringing me to orgasm with his hands—always on the outside of my clothes. He never let me return the favor. I’d tried twice, but he told me no because it was messy. He didn’t want to get his “stuff” on me, which didn’t make any sense. There were countless times he’d ejaculate just by touching me—I could feel it through his shorts, or he’d leave a small wet spot on my bed. But for some reason, he never wanted me to.
Now, he was on top of me, moving against me like we were having sex. I didn’t want to stop. It felt too good. But I was scared of where this had come from. Although, it wasn’t totally unlike him to do something out of the blue, much like the first time he touched me.
“Killian,” I whispered between kisses while I ran my hands down his chest. I didn’t stop until I reached the hem of his shirt, which had ridden up with his ministrations. Along with his shirt, his movements also caused the band of his exercise shorts to lower. My fingertips grazed the coarse hair low on his abdomen, and we both stilled with a gasp.
