Page 53 of Peep

He looks bewildered, taking a large step back, hands raised like I’m a wild beast getting ready to attack.

I couldn’t give a fuck, let him complain to my boss. Nothing is more important than getting into Jahmar’s apartment and stopping what’s about to happen.

Should I even be trying to stop it?

If my brother did those heinous things, surely he deserves this…but he’s my brother. He’s loved and protected me my whole life. To my knowledge, he’s never even punched anyone.

Once I’m on Jahmar’s floor, I sprint towards his apartment, each heavy slam of my feet echoing through the empty hallway.

I don’t even knock, fishing for my master keys. The door flies open, and I almost trip over a pair of boots in the entrance.

A scalpel glistens in Jahmar’s trembling hand.

“Stop!”

Jahmar

Anders flies at me, slapping the instrument out of my hand.

“Stop, don’t. Please,” Anders blubbers, his whole body violently shaking.

“What do you mean stop? I have to. He’s the last one.”

I yank my mask down and approach Anders, but he backs off.

“You just have to stop, ok?”

Anders’ eyes dart to Chris’ unconscious body, and he slams his hand over his mouth to smother his sob.

“Anders, what the fuck is going on? Who is he to you?”

He goes to speak, then shakes his head, tears flooding his blotchy cheeks.

I slowly approach him, treating him like a feral cat and softening my voice, “Sweetheart, please, talk to me. Tell me who he is?”

When I reach Anders, he’s backed up against the wall. I whip off the latex gloves and grasp either side of his face. He tries to shove me away. I wrestle with him, pushing him against the wall until he’s trapped with his hands pinned over his head.

I slam my lips against his in a weak attempt to sedate him. His face flips to the side, rejecting me. He continues battling against my hold as frustrated tears pour from him. I pull back, unable to bear the anguish pulsing from him. Nothing but pure sorrow and heartache swim in his ocean eyes.

“Tell me, Anders.”

Painful silence hangs in the air, filling me with more dread.

“He’s my brother,” he says just above a whisper.

My hands fall from his wrists, and I stumble back, heels colliding with the end of the bed.

“Wh-what did you say?”

“Chris, he’s my brother.”

The weight of a thousand rocks lands in my stomach, and my heart batters my chest.

“No, you’re lying. That can’t be true. He doesn’t even have the same last name. You’re nothing alike.”

“He’s my half brother, we have different dads.”

I look at the man who raped me, and like a fucked-up puzzle, it all suddenly slots together. It’s subtle, but some of their features are similar. Anders said he had a much older brother in medicine. Why the fuck didn’t I ask his name? Instead, I rambled on about my family and their medical jobs. If I had just asked his name.

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