Page 83 of Reckless Vow

A gruesome, gut-wrenching memory that almost feels like a scene from a movie or a book, not a true recollection.

At one point, I can’t stand it anymore and I jump up.

The moon casts a silver glow over the apartment, the dim lights mocking me as I pace, my blood boiling.

Brook speaks in a monotonous voice, void of emotions. Occasionally, she pauses to collect herself.

I don’t know how she can retell this with such aloof coolness, but then she’s lived with the story for God knows how long. How did I not know about this?

I’m still in the first stage of grief. The anger is real, burning at the base of my spine, spreading like wildfire.

When she finishes, she drains the water and puts the glass down.

“Where is he now?” I bark, and hate myself for that, but Brook is completely immersed in her detached persona and doesn’t even flinch.

“I don’t know.”

“But the police got him.” I continue pacing. It does nothing to calm me down.

“I never went to the police.”

I almost tear a muscle as I whip my head to her. “What do you mean?”

She sighs. “I didn’t want to go to the police. And please don’t make me explain why. The reasons are irrelevant after all this time.”

After all this time. She lived with this for… Did she say almost ten years? All my thoughts of revenge and rage come to a halt.

“When did it happen?” I force the words out, but I know the answer.

I know it.

With a clarity that lifts the doubt that has plagued me for a decade.

For years I tortured myself, trying to figure out why she hadn’t come. Why she chose our family over me.

She didn’t choose. The choice was made for her. Was forced on her.

We stare at each other as she nods slightly, confirming.

I fist my hands.

I punch the backrest of the sofa.

I pick up a large lamp from the side table and smash it to the wall.

I holler like an animal, almost losing my voice when Brook’s words cut through all the madness to me.

“That man destroyed enough. Don’t destroy your house because of him.”

Our eyes meet again. Such contrast. A wild, rabid dog to a graceful swan. I need to do something. Anything.

Brook stifles a yawn. She must be exhausted. Fucking hell, I need to get out of my head.

“You’re tired. Let’s get some sleep.” I sound lame, misplaced, even to myself.

“What about the night of orgasms you promised?” She stands up and sheds the robe off her shoulders.

“No, no, no.” I dash to her and lift the robe. “Not right now, baby. There is always tomorrow.”

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