Page 12 of Vicious Sentiments

With shaky hands, I put my fork down and back up. I don’t mean to, it just comes naturally. But within seconds Julian puts an arm down and reaches for me. While I’m surprised he noticed, I hesitate to take it. He’s angry, about what I’m not sure, and while it’s not at me, I’m used to indirect anger being taken out on me.

“You’re fine,” Julian says under his breath, tilting his chin down but he takes a step in front of me.

“Is she?” Cape rears forward, getting in Julian’s face and locking eyes with him. Cape looks smug but his voice sounds threatening. I take another step back, feeling the food turn to acid in my stomach.

“I can protect my girl, unlike you.”

His girl? But before I can make sense of it, Cape throws his body against Julian who then knocks into me. I’m on my ass with my sore rib screaming in pain before I even realize what happened.

“That’s too low! Too low, little bro!” Cape is roaring as he keeps shoving Julian, who is miraculously still standing even though the force of that first shove knocked my tailbone into the marble floors so fiercely that I’m sure it’s going to bruise.

The brothers are both the same height and build, and I shouldn’t worry about Julian, but there is something dark in Cape’s eyes. As if his irises have unhinged from his pupils and left the party. How he’s even related to Julian, I can’t tell. Not with the rage pulsing in the veins in his neck. He went from relaxed to barbarian within seconds.

Even when Julian put Kyle on the ground he was calm and collected, not chomping at the bit like Cape. Cape has a chaos of emotions flitting through him. The veins say anger and his eyes say crazed but his hands, which are slamming into Julian’s chest, are reserved. They hammer with force but shake with clear restraint. He doesn’t want to hurt his brother, I realize.

But I stay on the floor, scooting back on my butt and wincing through the stabbing in my side. He may not want to hurt his brother, but me? Men always want to hurt me. It’s like a pheromone I give off that alerts them that I’m breakable and fun to crumple under their fists.

Like drywall.

My body is like drywall to them, a suitable outlet for their anger that will give easily under their fists, making them feel powerful and strong.

Julian looks down at me from where Cape has backed him against a wall, and I quickly hide my face under my hair from him. He has a concern in his eyes, but not for himself. If anything it seems likehe isn’t fazed by his brother’s temper. Instead, keeping his body loose, rolling with the shoves as if letting Cape get it all out. The concern was for me, a foreign gaze I’m not used to that fills me with embarrassment.

Marney hops off the barstool and walks the long ways around the kitchen island, avoiding the scuffle. She brushes past Margo, who is fiddling with the faucet. Marney rolls her eyes before going up the stairs, a muffin in her hand. I can’t help but think that the thirteen-year-old is braver than me when suddenly I’m being showered in cold water.

“I did not raise you boys to act like children,” Margo shouts, angling the detachable faucet at Julian and Cape. The cold water is bouncing off Cape’s back and spraying me on the floor just a foot away.

Cape immediately turns around, letting go of Julian, and both start groaning.

“Ma!” they grumble in unison. “Stop!”

“No! Get out of my house!” She keeps the water spraying.

“Come on, I just showered.” Julian puts his hands up to try and block the water.

“I don’t care! You’ve pissed me off. Now out! Both of you!”

“Ma, I’m sorry—” Cape starts but Margo flicks her wrist, and the water sprays into his mouth. He sputters, blinking rapidly and putting up a futile hand.

For all the rage and macho man stunt he just exerted, it’s quickly washed away by a little water. He’s gone from red in the face to disarmed in a second and I can’t help but picture a ferocious dog that’s met its match by a hose.

I slap a hand over my mouth to stop from laughing but it’s too late and I snort embarrassingly loud. They all snap their heads in my direction.

Margo and Julian crack a small smile but Cape cocks his head atme, eyes glimmering, irises back intact.

“Enjoying the show, little miss on her ass in the corner?” he says. “Glad I can be of entertainment.” His eyes roam over me. “But I’m not the one in a white T-shirt.” He smirks.

I look down and realize the water has seeped through the fabric of my borrowed shirt and my breasts are basically on display.

Chapter Twelve

Margo leads me to the laundry room and it is as big as my bedroom in Bridgerock. It’s done up with wicker baskets and glass containers full of soaps and beads. There’s little glass bottles with sprays, and plants on floating shelves with cute wooden letters that spell out home. It’s something I’ve only ever seen in magazines and I’m in awe even though I’m shivering.

Julian had tried to help me up from the ground where I sat like a wet cat, clutching my chest, but Margo sprayed him again and told him not to touch me, that he had done enough. The guys skulked out then, shoes squeaking on the floors as they dripped, and Margo reattached the faucet.

“I swear those two are going to drive me to an early grave,” Margo is muttering as she pulls down a fluffy white towel. “Making me look like I didn’t raise them better than that.” Her hair bristles as she shakes her head to herself and then turns to look at me.

“Oh, you poor thing.” She touches my wet hair. “I’m sorry you got stuck in the crossfire.” She scowls. “They know better and Jules shouldn’t have said what he did.” Her eyes unfocus and turn sad for a second.

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