Page 113 of Wanted

“Which one of you little shits ate the last of your mother’s cookies?”

Jack whimpers, and Dad’s head snaps in his direction.

Two.

“You like hurting your brother, don’t you?” The grin on his face is evil.

He’s across the room in a flash with his hand clamped around my arm as he drags my unresistant body with excessive force. He pushes me into the center of the bedroom and turns my back to the door.

“Strip.”

I drop my cotton sleep-shirt to the floor.

Jack slips off his bed and backs into the corner of the room, covering his ears with his hands as tears track down his cheeks.

Three.

The belt sails through the air, landing with a violent smack across my back. I bite my tongue to keep from crying out and keep my eyes locked on Jack’s.

“I didn’t mean it, please stop!” my brother cries.

The second and third hits rain down on me, but I remain stoic and unyielding. I count the seconds from start to finish, knowing the punishment will end once I finish counting.

Four.

“Please don’t hurt him!”

“Jack, be quiet!” I shush him and squeeze my eyes shut. I count soundlessly to myself as I endure each stroke of the belt.

Jack cries, and the sight of his tears hurts. I might be standing here in his place, but he’s still hurting, and I can’t save him.

Someday, I promise I’ll save him.

I’ll save us both.

My dad lashes me until his arm grows tired, and his palm in the center of my back sends me stumbling away from him.

Five.

I wait until the door to our bedroom snicks closed before I pick up my shirt and crawl back into bed. That night, Jack sneaks between the covers to comfort me.

My hands tremble where I hold them against my thighs.

“How high did you count that time?” Christian asks.

I swallow hard. “Five.”

“Jude, that’s fantastic.” He writes something down on his notepad. “You’ve made incredible progress over the past couple of weeks.”

“Thanks.”

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now. You seem to be holding a lot inside at the moment.”

“Weak,” I admit. “I just wish I could make faster progress.”

“You’re already doing remarkably well. This is one of the more severe compulsions I’ve come across, and the fact we’re already slowing down your counting is something worth celebrating.”

I nod and wipe off my palms. “I appreciate it.”

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