Page 157 of Crew
He'd gotten distracted for a second, and I reached for it, under the mattress.
"I stabbed him. I thrust that knife in as far as I could, as hard as I could--just like he wanted to rip inside me."
He'd knocked my hand away, but I fought him. I rolled too, punching his dick as hard as I could. As he doubled over to the floor, I was on him.
"I grabbed my knife and pulled it out."
I'd raised it above my head, straddling that asshole.
"Then Dad took it from me."
It had been time for his crime.
"I wanted to do it."
He'd taken the knife from me, and with a gentle hand, he'd ushered me to the side. He'd told me to leave.
"He tried to get me to leave. But I knew what he was going to do." I could feel tears in my eyes. I hated them. They were weakness. "He cut his throat, and I watched from the door."
He'd killed him so I wouldn't.
I waited a beat, then asked Channing, "Still think I'd benefit from hearing how I should be in prison and not him?"
My father went to prison for a crime I should've committed.
The silence was thick.
Weak. Vulnerable. Exposed. I was all three of those, and I hated it.
I reached for my knife, and as soon as I felt it, everything off balance centered again.
"Were you going to kill him?" Channing asked.
I'd expected the question from Cross, so I looked over. He already knew.
