by Ivy Fox
Of course, my intervention on that little clusterfuck was just another dick move on my part. I had to go ballistic and make a scene, intimidating the fuck out of her, just because I couldn’t handle seeing Snow in anyone’s arms but mine, even if she hadn’t done anything to instigate the prick’s behavior in the first place.
And as if the night hadn’t been shitty enough, fucking Addison had to leave her mark, too. Letting Snow know exactly who ruled Pembroke—and where she sat on the social food chain—by making sure every last fucker at the party was aware of her shitty past.
And did I come to her aid?
Did Ollie?
Did fucking Rome?
Nope.
Like a bunch of assholes, we did jack shit.
I’m beyond pissed at myself and my twin for doing nothing, but I could just kill Rome with my bare hands for the way he let his skanky-ass ex air Snow’s dirty laundry in front of everyone, making sure she was ostracized and shunned before she even stepped foot inside Pembroke High. Rome has never been one to miss an opportunity to put Addison in her place yet when that bitch went after Snow like she was some sort of cockroach to exterminate, he just stood there watching it all go down without a care in the world.
Elle was the only one in our family who showed any heart. No surprise there. She’s always been the best of us and tonight she proved it a hundred times over. I was so damned proud of my kid sister, but unfortunately, with every passing minute that I did nothing, that feeling was eclipsed by the cement brick of guilt placed on my chest.
So what did I do when my girl got up and ran away from that hellish party with unshed tears in her eyes? Got shitfaced, of course.
Yeah, I’m a real fucking catch.
“I think we fucked up tonight,” Ollie mumbles, his eyes lowered in shame. He clutches the marble top of the kitchen island to prevent himself from buckling to the tile floor, consumed by his own remorse.
“You think?” I snarl bitterly.
“Hey, I didn’t want to go down this path. You were the one who texted everyone saying how Snow was persona non grata and ours to deal with. Don’t get an attitude with me just because everyone followed your orders blindly like sheep,” Ollie remarks with a snide, his own pent-up anger bubbling through, reminding me I threw the first stone at Snow’s reputation. “You think this night was any fun for me either? Having Kim all over my junk like we were going steady or some shit? Do you think it’s easy for me, knowing everyone now believes Snow is our fucking sister?” he continues to spew, listing all the things that are eating away at his soul.
He inhales a long intake of air, trying hard to calm himself down. He knows that if both of us lose our minds, we are dead in the water, and right now, he can tell that I don’t have my shit together and am sinking fast. If I wasn’t so fucked up, I’d be the one to carry the weight of this night on my shoulders. It’s what I do. But when Ollie takes two steps toward me and places his steady hands on my stiff shoulders, I recognize that he’s the one stepping up tonight, and it only increases my regret, witnessing how I failed him, too.
“I hate this shit just as much as you, but we could have dealt with it differently. I want Snow in my life, Ash. I need her, brother. If all that is in the cards for us is friendship—because of this screwed up marriage that makes us family—then that’s what I have to aim for. I’m not going to play these stupid, petulant games with you anymore. I can’t, Ash. Otherwise, I’ll lose her for good, and I can’t deal with that idea. Can you?”
I tilt my head to the side, looking at the torment in my twin’s eyes. I don’t have the heart to tell him that he’s lying to himself. He can’t be Snow’s friend any more than I can. To be near her and not be with her will be a slow, tortured death in itself.
I mean, how can someone be next to the person they have given their heart, body, and soul to, and not be able to love them as they want? Like they need? Unable to touch her, or to hold her close to you. To never be able to kiss her lips again when they are right there taunting you to. Or worse, to become a willing bystander, watching someone else have her, cherish her, as you secretly wish you could. It’s just not possible. Not for me at least. Holding onto my hate and anger is the only shield I have to protect my aching heart.
If I admit to myself that hate is the furthest thing I feel for Snow, then I’ll also have to face another truth that, right now, I’m too much of a coward to do. My resentful actions were inexcusable and unjustifiable, and they were the real murderers of any love she could have ever had for me.
Ollie doesn’t want to lose her, but what he doesn’t want to admit to himself is that we already have. Ollie might have lost her when our father signed his name on that wretched marriage certificate, but I have to live with the fact that I lost her on a starless night back at our deserted beach with the malicious and vindictive way I treated her. My brother has the good fortune of being able to put all the culpability on our asshole of a father for his hand in destroying his relationship with Snow.
I, on the other hand, only have myself to blame.
“Do what you have to, Ollie,” I finally answer him, “and I’ll do what I need to.”
“You’re going to regret it,” he murmurs, disillusioned with me.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I don’t keep secrets from my twin. I never have. But that dark night tarnished something inside of me. Something that I can never get back. I know if I told Ollie the depths I went to in order to hurt Snow—the vile things I did and said—he would never forgive me. The ironic thing is that, even if he knew, he couldn’t be any more disappointed in me than I already am with myself.
“Whatever,” he mutters, letting go of me once and for all. “I’m going to talk to Rome. He needs to know that what happened tonight can’t happen again. I won’t allow it.”
“Good luck with that,” I huff out scornfully. But Ollie doesn’t pay me any mind as he turns his back and heads out of the kitchen, his features darkening to take on our big brother—like that will ever intimidate him.
Ollie will do what he thinks he needs to. And when he sees that his way is a road paved with grief and sorrow, I’ll be here to pick up the pieces. If I weren’t the cynical bastard that I am, I’d admire my brother’s gumption. But unfortunately, I know better. When the heart is calling the shots, you’re in for a world of hurt.
I begrudgingly trail behind him, thinking I should just call it quits and lock myself in my room. Having to deal with our older brother is not how I want to end this fucked-up night. As much as I’d like to watch Ollie try and chew Rome out, I don’t want to hear his apologies, I don’t want to hear his theories, and most of all, I don’t want to hear his logic. Rome was the one who planted the seed of doubt inside us in regards to Snow in the first place. Like a snake, it was so easy for him to slide in with his poison, maneuver into our own insecurities until his slick body was able to wrap itself around our worst fears, squeezing them out and making them real.
Rome is a soulless motherfucker, just like our father. I know it. Ollie knows it. But most importantly, so does Rome. He doesn’t apologize for it and, up until a month ago, I never wanted him to. But his bleak view of the world and the people that surround us have made us all a bunch of cynics—even little Elle, no matter how hard she tries to battle against it.
None of us have been immune to the Grayson curse. All of us, in one form or another, have been used and discarded—either for our wealth or our social standing. We have been exploited and manipulated more times than we can count, especially after Mom died.
The only person who ever protected and looked out for us—even though he was just a kid himself—was Rome. He knew our asshole of a father couldn’t give two shits about us, particularly after Mom cut him out of her will. We were left to fend for ourselves, and Rome took charge. He safeguarded us against everyone that wanted a piece of us, including our own father. I loved him for that. But after what happened with Snow, I
hated him more than I’ve ever hated anyone in my life.
Maybe more than I hate myself.
I pause at the staircase, reconsidering if I should just say fuck it and go upstairs, finally putting an end to tonight’s misery once and for all. But Ollie, sensing my hesitation, turns his head over his shoulder and tilts it for me to follow his lead. I look heavenward—begging whatever deity is out there in the universe to give me a cool head to deal with Rome’s bullshit—and follow my twin to the music room as he silently ordered me to.
But that’s the thing about misery—when you think that it can’t consume you anymore, that it has done its worst by chewing and spitting you out, breaking you apart, and using your shattered bones to clean the flesh off its teeth, it surprises you with its insatiable hunger for agony.
I was young when my mother died, but I can still summon the pain I felt when Rome sat us all down and told us she was gone. I remember choking on my own tears as I watched the rain fall on her casket when they lowered her six feet under.
I can also recall how hurt I felt when I understood my father wasn’t like the other fathers that attended their kids’ swim meet or ballet recitals. It wasn’t because he didn’t have time for my siblings or me; it was because he just didn’t care. Behind closed doors, he never hid his animosity when we were growing up, but after Mom died, hostility was his kindest way of treating us.
I can recall with vivid detail all the times I have been overwhelmed by despair and sadness. But combine them and multiply it a million times over and it would never measure up to the suffocating devastation of your soul when finding the girl you love on her knees, destroyed by the man who made you.
This is pain.
Everything else was just practice.
I watch Ollie rush over to her, his features showcasing his own chaotic mental state, while Rome stoically stands up, giving my twin enough room to take Snow into his arms. She lets him hold her, hiding her face in his chest as she releases gut-wrenching tears that feel like razor-sharp blades being thrown directly at my heart. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. My lungs, along with my feet, have forgotten how to work. All I’m able to do is lean my full weight against the door frame, hoping it can keep my wobbly legs steady and afford me some breathing room inside this foul place. The ringing in my ears is as loud as her anguished cries, and I feel like I’m treading a thin line with my sanity.
He touched her.
He fucking touched her.
“What happened here?” Ollie grievously asks, and I’m grateful he directs the question to Rome and not to our trembling girl who remains broken in his arms.
“Open your eyes, Ollie! What the fuck do you think happened?!” Rome shouts, annoyed that my brother could even iterate such a futile question when the answer was so horrifically obvious.
“That’s not possible,” Ollie murmurs under his breath, denial tainting his every word. “Snow? Baby? What happened? Did he hurt you?” he croaks out, his own fear and trepidation increasing my agony.
I watch her cringe in Ollie’s hold and slowly shift away from his embrace—that shit tells me more than anything she could say with words. The horror my brother wants her to relive is something she won’t do. Not even for him. All she wants to do is dig a hole in the ground, wide enough to bury this night away, along with whatever is left of her fractured soul. I hope she makes enough room for the both of us, because if she wants to be swallowed up by the earth instead of dealing with the cruelty inflicted on her, then I have no choice but to follow, even if her destination has nothing but empty darkness.
“You don’t have to answer that, Holland. Not tonight,” Rome orders. It’s the first time tonight I feel gratitude toward him when, just minutes ago, I wanted nothing to do with him. “Leave her be, Ollie. She’s traumatized enough,” he continues.
Ollie nods stiffly, finally taking the hint and giving our girl the space she needs, both figuratively and literally. That Snow is no longer seeking comfort in his embrace is all too telling. She begins to clean her tears away with a white collared shirt that was lying on her lap, and I see her shift uncomfortably when her eyes lock at the crimson stains on it. That’s when my own eyes travel away from her, just long enough to take closer stock of the body on the floor and the small pool of blood next to its head.
“Is he dead?” I hear myself ask, my voice gravelly and thick.
So full of rage, anger, and blind hatred that I feel my molars grind on each other to keep my wrath in check while biting down into the acidic sentiments polluting the inside of my mouth. As I get no answer, I pull away from the doorframe, taking one step inside the hellish room. In reality, all I really want to do is pull Snow into my arms and run away from this place, never to look back.
“Rome! Is the fucker dead?!” I roar, and this time my wrath gives me the adrenaline I need to take two more steps inside. My legs are no longer threatening to collapse at any moment, as my blustering fury is ready to burn this whole house down if I don’t get an answer soon.
Rome turns to me with the same burning question in his eyes, confirming that he doesn’t know any more than I do. I raise my chin up and bridge the remaining gap between us.
“Check.” I seethe, craving to hear out loud confirmation that my father is no longer breathing and on his way to the depths of hell.
“Don’t look, Snow.” I hear Ollie whisper, gently pleading for her to look away from her attacker.
The resolve and fierceness in her eyes kill me even more. She doesn’t want to look, but she can’t bring herself to pull away, either. Just like me, she needs to know he’s gone. Needs to know he can’t hurt her or anyone ever again. Even if that means that he’s turned her into a murderer.
“Rome?” she hushes out, and through my peripheral, I watch my older brother’s eyes soften with his name on her lips.
My hands instantly fist beside me on their own accord, unnerved with the frail vulnerability she’s offering him so willingly. I chastise myself for being a jealous fool at a time when there are more crucial matters at hand.
Rome takes a knee and presses two fingers on the side of my father’s neck. He then bends down closer, his ear to my father’s chest, then back up to his face. Like lightning, Rome strikes back up to his feet at full speed, taking a step away from the body on the floor, keeping his head heavily bowed and unrevealing.
“Rome?”
I shudder when he raises his head high enough for me to witness his amber eyes take on a sinister color. His dilated pupils look like two large, black, empty pools, circled by bronze irises—reminiscent of hellfire flames ready to torch the world to cinders.
“He’s still alive. His breathing is shallow, and his pulse is weak, but he’s still alive,” he informs us bitterly. His nose is flaring, and the bulging vein on his forehead looks like it’s about to burst.
Snow lets out a high-pitched wail, immediately muffled by her clasped hands over her mouth. I’m not sure if her outcry is due to relief that she didn’t kill someone tonight, or fright because she wished she had.
“We need to call an ambulance,” Ollie interrupts my jumbled thoughts, but neither Rome nor I move an inch. “Rome, did you hear me? We need to call an ambulance and the police!”
I shuffle to the side and look directly into the brimstone pyre in my older brother’s eyes, silently begging him to let the motherfucker die. A small weight begins to lift from my chest, letting the first intake of oxygen reach my lungs when he gives Ollie a stern shake of the head. I should have figured that there was no need for words or arguments to persuade Rome in regards to our father’s fate. It’s blatantly apparent he’s of the same mind frame as I am. Or maybe for Rome, this was his end game all along—to stand over our father’s body and watch the life bleed out of him with each passing second, until there’s nothing but rotting flesh.
To my chagrin, my twin—the better half of me—reminds us both of our conscience, obliterating our vengeful thoughts.
> “Roman, please. Don’t do this. Think of Elle. I know he deserves it, but if she finds out you let him die, to her, you’ll be no better than him. None of us will,” Ollie laments on a whispered plea.
Rome looks down at my brother, his thunderous features indignant that Ollie would mention our sister’s name at a time like this. Elle is the very one Rome would kill, torture, and maim for; the one he would sacrifice his own soul for, to protect. Ollie using her to save our father’s life, feels almost sacrilegious.
Rome then pries his stare away from Ollie, shifting it back to the girl who looks lost in her head, no longer aware of her surroundings after she learned her attacker is alive and breathing. His neck snaps back to my twin, pointing a menacing finger at him, and with pure venom in his gaze, he concedes, “If we do this, we do this my way. Is that understood?” It’s all Ollie needs to hear before taking his phone from his back pocket.
“Wait!” Rome hollers, snatching the device from Ollie’s hands. Before he is able to protest, Rome stops him with just one piercing look. He then leans down and places his hands over Snow’s, which are still clutching the blood-smeared shirt as if her life depended on it.
“I’m going to need this back. Is that okay?” he hushes softly to her, and that spiteful feeling crawls up my spine once more.
I try to shake it off, knowing Rome is doing his best not to frighten Snow any more than she already is. Yet, the way her watery eyes clear with his gentle voice disturbs me. She gives him a tight nod, and in turn, he offers her a little smile—one meant to soothe. But to my eye, watching Rome comfort anyone aside from Elle is still a foreign concept for me to accept—one that I don’t want to get used to.
“We don’t have much time, Roman,” Ollie reprimands, and I wonder if my twin is just as unnerved as I am by our brother’s sudden chivalry.
