Page 19 of Dirty Behavior

I wanted to think that at some moment in time his father had treated him with the same love I had once felt. . .

But that wasn't the look I saw in his eyes.

Twisting my bottom lip nervously, I clutched my ribs. “What happened?”

“My dad stepped forward, his hands dangling by his sides, and his eyes. . .” Pausing, he closed his lids tight. “His eyes were black, Ivy, I watched the color drain from them. And you know what?”

“What?” I asked, watching him like his story was more then just a tale. It was like a bad car wreck, where you know you shouldn't look, but your neck twists anyway. I was curious, I was nervous, but I needed to hear it.

“That was the first and only time I felt fear. Can you remember the very first time you felt fear? Like true, muscle-freezing fear?”

My eyes popped open, voice lost in his question. I didn't know how to answer him. I felt more fear with Remo than any single person should ever have to feel in their lifetime, Dante knew that.

But was it the first time I had ever felt it?

Waving away my chance to respond, he went on. “No one really can, it's usually just something you recognize, something you feel, but it's not new. Everyone has felt that at some point in their life, but to remember that exact moment, it does something to you.”

Hugging myself tighter, I said, “I remember the night Remo came for me, I remember the way he smelled, the way his eyes danced inside his sockets like they were being electrified. I know fear, Dante.”

Scratching his chin, he let his eyes drift up, stealing a quiet gasp from my lips. “That was fear, Ivy, I'm not saying you don't understand it. But that feeling, was it new to you, was it something you had never felt before until right then?”

As I thought about his question, a realization bubbled in. He was right.

I had felt that same fear before, I had felt that same shiver scale my spine, that same stale breath seep into my lungs.

But from what?

That memory had slipped away, it was gone and buried behind one that was so much stronger.

Fear was an emotion that everyone learned was there. Whether you experienced it from a viscous dog as a child or by a dark street that you found yourself walking alone on; it wasn't a new feeling. Fear was an emotion that went dormant, just waiting for the next moment to strike.

But fear was always fear. It didn't matter what level it came at you, it was already built into your mind and body.

“Ivy, I don't want you to think that I'm trying to downplay what you went through, I just want you to think about the feeling as a whole. What did you do with it when it hit you? There's only two options that someone can pick from when it comes for you.”

Fight or flight.

I hadn't ever placed myself on either side of that notion. But having to really think about it cemented in me who I was.

I was the fighter.

Everything I had done just to get here was built off fighting. I never ran from my fear, I never cowered because of my fear. I stood up to it, I embraced it, I survived it.

“Why are you telling me this? What happened, what was in the box?”

Shaking his head, Dante said, “He told me to set the box down.” Pointing to the kitchen, he bounced his chin. “Right there, right on that counter. So I did as I was told, just like he taught me to. I didn't ask questions, I just followed orders. Then he says,'I want you to open the box, Dante, open the box, but don't let it out.'So I peeled each flap open, really slow at first. I didn't know what the hell he was trying to do. My chest was thudding, sweat had started to streak my forehead. I was afraid of what was in there, afraid of what he was asking me to do.”

“What was in it?” The curiosity was killing me. I had to know what was in that box and what his father wanted.

Do I really want to know?

There was bad, there was evil, then there was the unexplainable. Bane struck me as the type of guy who would do things to people for fun, no matter how sick and fucked up it might be.

“Sitting on the bottom of the box was this small rabbit. This small brown bunny, all curled up in the corner, his whole body was shaking, his chest bouncing a mile a minute.” Pausing, he closed his eyes, slowly peeling them back open. “And then my dad says,'Now I want you to kill it, Dante.'Pulling a knife from his back pocket, he held it out to me. My father wanted me to kill the fucking thing, right there.” Holding an imaginary knife, Dante caressed the sharp figment of a blade.

My heart was racing, beating against my ribs, pounding and jumping so hard it hurt. I couldn't imagine someone asking me to do something like that, never mind my father being the one to want it.

“Did you?” The words squeaked out as I swallowed hard.

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