Page 2 of Come Out, Come Out

It was all made worse by the fact that I’d introduced the shitheads who are to blame into her life. To think this all started because I didn’t want to fuck Nate anymore. For me, Nate had been a conquest. Outcast tops star football player and ex-bully. What a fucking highthatwas! And then I got bored. Nate had nothing else to offer besides his body and I didn’t like the idea of being someone’s dirty little secret either. The saddest part was, he didn’t even hide that we were hooking up because he was afraid of the homophobia—he’d finally come out after high school—no, he was afraid of his reputation. He hadn’t changed at all, other than the fact that he finally admitted why he’d relentlessly harassed me for damn near a decade.

It’d been a badge of pride, fucking him, having him wrapped around my finger.Now it makes me sick.

When the tides turned and I finally humiliated him—his words, not mine—he couldn’t handle it. Bullies were always so fucking weak when it came to their own suffering. I tried to be as mature as possible about it when I told him it was over. I’d been ready to put everything between us in the past; I guess you could say I’d fucked all the resentment out of my system. I could have been petty, thought about it, actually. Maybe I should have been. Would that have stopped him from having the balls to go after my sister? I’ll never know, but I can make him pay. I won’t let him have the final point in this twisted fucking game he’s playing. We’re way past petty.

I grab my phone off the floor, careful to hold it off the side of the tub so it doesn’t get ruined. I quickly find Nate’s profile and scroll through the most recent photos. Predictable as ever. He has no worries about laying out his entire life like an open book–the better to show it off. There’s even a photo of him standing outside the same old house he’s been renting with his frat bros since college. Some people really can’t let go of their “glory years.” They might have graduated, but not much about their lifestyle has changed from the looks of it. Luckily for me, he only lives a few minutes away, perfect for a late-night visit.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I find my way over to Becca’s profile. I increase my screen to full brightness and stare at the last photo she ever posted until my vision blurs. Holding my breath, I move on to the reason I’m on here in the first place. I click the comment icon and start scrolling. The first few remind me how much Becca was loved by those she chose to surround herself with, but it doesn’t take long to find what Megan was referring to. The arrogant sons of bitches didn’t even feel guilty enough to remove any of it. Photo after photo I find a stream of vile comments. They attacked her looks, her sense of humor, her relation to me, everything. When I get to about a month before she died, all the comments are turned off on those posts. She’d tried to protect herself, but at some point, she’d given up and let the floodgates remain open. With a barrage of comments under each photo from Nate and several of his friends that I immediately recognize, I can’t imagine how many notifications she was getting a day–how incessant their torment was. And this is just one social media platform. I can’t stomach checking the rest, don’t need to. I’ve seen enough to know that those motherfuckers are going to pay.

I shoot up to my feet, sloshing water over the sides of the tub and onto the floor where my sister’s fluffy lavender bathmat should have been, but it’d been soaked through with blood so it had to be tossed. I take off my sopping clothes, dry off, and dress quickly. I pull on a black cut-off tee and black jeans, then lace up my old, reliable combat boots. I reach under my bed and grab the hidden whiskey I never finished and shove it in my back pocket, ignoring the awkward bulge. Slipping on Becca’s old silver rings that I wear out of habit every day reminds me of one more thing I need to grab. My hand stills only for a fraction of a moment before I take in a lungful of air and step into her room. Her bed is made perfectly, and nothing’s been moved an inch–even the book she’d been reading is laying open. I fight the urge building to let my anger get the best of me and walk straight to what I want. Carefully opening her jewelry box, I reach in with gentle fingers and grab a single silver earring with a red butterfly hanging from it. This pair was Becca’s favorite; I leave one for her. Before the museum of memories locked in here prevents me from finishing what I started, I exit and make a beeline for the front door.

“Aiden, honey, where are you going?” My mother looks over the top of the couch, her brow creased with worry.

“Be back later,” I shout over my shoulder without stopping and grab my keys off the hook by the door. I need to get in the car before I lose my nerve.

Ready or not Nate, I’m coming for you.

He thinks I made a fool of him before, he has no idea what I’m capable of. I’d let everything he’s ever done go. I found it within myself to write him off as being a wayward kid who hated himself so much he needed to take it out on someone else. But then he’d taken one of the most important people in the world to me.It was simply unforgivable.

Flashbacks of those nights when I let him sleep in my bed, his body pressed against mine, made my skin crawl now. There was a brief moment in our time together that I thought I might feel something, there was a part of me that wanted there to be more when he’d subtly bring me back to his room to “smoke” after the party wound down, but it never ended there. He’d clutch at my clothes, pull me into him, smother me with his long-repressed need. For a while, I ate that shit up. Being wanted by the person who told you they were disgusted by you, tasting the sweetness of their desire and lies on your tongue had been a heady experience. It felt like power, but he was toxic through and through. He never claimed me, he never defended me–not that I needed it, but still–and he never touched me with the reverence I deserved. I could never have loved someone like him, could never have given him more than just my cock. And for that little bit of self-awareness, I’m grateful, especially now.

He might not have acted alone, but he was the main reason my only sister, my twin, was dead. It was nauseating that I ever found any kind of pleasure in his company.

I know there’s no sense in dwelling in the past. Hell, I’ve been doing it for weeks and it’s made no difference. The only thing that gives me any semblance of peace is the idea of taking out those fuckers who bullied and harassed her endlessly. In-person. Online. Day in. Day out. There’s only so much one person can take, didn’t they know that?They did, though.Weallinherently know that.They just didn’t care.I remind myself of the painful truth. The clarity affirms my decision as I turn the key in the ignition and make the short drive to the isolated house I’m far too familiar with.

I park a bit down the dirt road, grab the whiskey bottle from where I stashed it in the trunk, and take a few long swigs to keep me warm as I stalk toward the looming house in the distance. Within three minutes I’m rounding the side of the house and creeping past the rear windows. With a final sip, I set the bottle on the cigarette-laden patio table. As always, the back door is unlocked, so I let myself in.

The fall of my heavy boots punches up at me from the dirty wood that’s sticky with beer and fuck knows what else. A death march. I ignore the ominous sound and follow the direction of the obnoxious voices that are accented by the whisper then splash of a lint-covered ping-pong ball sinking into a cup. It reeks in here. Irritability pitches my anger higher. I’m already suffocating under the weight of it, but it’s the only force keeping me going. Without it, I’ll collapse under the agony of loss and never get back up.

The familiar sting of cheap cinnamon and whiskey crawls up my throat and my sister’s ashen face and empty eyes take up residence in the forefront of my mind. It was my lifeline after I lost her, the only thing that dulled the ache threatening to tear me apart. I force the image of her away, focusing on the knife in my pocket that’s as sharp as her razor blades. Between uneven breaths I repeat the names I found most frequently in her comments.

Nate.

Rob.

Richard.

The three pieces of shit I came all the way out here for in the damn-near middle of the night. The historic house has unsurprisingly been poorly taken care of. It gives seriousAmityville housevibes with its prominent balcony and the countless large windows that follow you with curious eyes as you approach it. You never escape its looming presence.

When I round the corner, Rob and Nate come into view. They see me and are confused, then recognition flickers across their objectively handsome faces, their sculpted jaws clenching and eyes hardening.

Nate’s hazel eyes widen as they track the changes in my face after so much time apart. He’s trying to reconcile the Aiden who once stared at his chiseled body with desire with the one standing in front of him who only looks at him with absolute hatred. “What are you doing here?” He runs a hand through his white-blonde hair and swallows nervously–we both know there’s only one reason I’d be here after not seeing each other for five years. His freckled cheeks redden just slightly with distress, but he corrects it with a macho façade that he forces into place. His muscular shoulders roll back and he stands taller. “Get out of my house.”

I snort a laugh; he might tower over me at 6’5” but that’s never intimidated me, even considering the fact that he’s put on quite a bit of muscle since I last saw him. Still, I’m not unaffected by him. The speech I’d rehearsed in my head falls apart on my tongue now that I’m in the same room with him again. I struggle to think straight with the anger and bitter memories thickening the air around me.

“You’re fucking pathetic. Do you know that? What kind of loser bullies a woman?” I stand, blocking the entrance and exit to the kitchen. “You went too far, Nate. You never should have fucked with my sister.”

Rob mimics Nate’s posture. His pale skin is now covered in tattoos and he’s grown a hideous, thick copper mustache, but otherwise, he looks the same. “He asked you to leave nicely. Get the hell out, or we’ll take a little trip down memory lane.” Rob looks over at his friend with an obnoxious smile on his face, but I take note of how his hand tightens around the beer pong ball in his palm. “Remember that one time we tossed him the dumpster in seventh grade?”

Nate’s brow furrows and he shakes his head.

I clap loudly, bringing their attention back to me. “Oh Rob,” I say through a strangled laugh. “As much as I’d like to sit here and take a leisurely stroll down memory lane, I did come here for a reason. Thanks for reminding me what a piece of shit you are, I’m going to really enjoy this.” Staring right into his blue eyes, much brighter than my own, a sneer overtakes my lips. My hand tightens around the knife at my back and with it, any lingering qualms about making them pay are squashed.Theystarted this.Theybrought this upon themselves with every decision they made to keep harassing my sister.

Three long strides and I’m driving the kitchen knife I’d brought from home into Rob’s muscular stomach.

“What the fu—” His words fail him as he falls to his knees.

I pull out my knife with a grunt and catch Nate’s olive-green eyes. “I’ll give you a head start, for old time’s sake.” Adrenaline pounds through me and a maniacal smile spreads across my face. This feels so fucking good. This feels like a release of so much of the venomous agony that’s been poisoning me for half a decade. It’s finally caused the rational part of my brain to become necrotic. I let my murderous intent take over and the reward center of my brain lights up like the goddamn Las Vegas strip. This is the best I’ve felt in years.

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