Page 31 of Little Liar
I think he’s saying my name. I can’t understand him. I try to focus, to slow down my breaths, but then I give in, slipping into the darkness of the void where I belong.
7
Malachi
Staying away from Olivia has been hard since the camping trip.
While she’s awake and aware anyway.
I usually slip into her room when she’s asleep to lie with her, walk with her to practice from afar, or watch her on my one remaining camera that points right at her bed. Sometimes I think she’s left it there intentionally. She wants me to watch her, to see the way she touches herself night after night. It’s like an addiction now, watching the way her fingers slip between her thighs, her red-painted nails circling her clit while she stares right at the lens.
I want to fuck her. So damn badly.
The decision to step back wasn’t my own. I mean, it was, but it also wasn’t. If it was fully up to me, I’d grab her in front of our parents and show them just how unlike siblings we can be.
I don’t want distance from Olivia, not in the slightest. But it’s for the best. I’m losing myself—even my friends have beenconcerned. Mason texts me more often to meet up on our bikes, and asks me constantly how I’m feeling and if I’m going to off myself.
Obviously not—imagine leaving this world without Olivia?
She’d need to be dead already for me to willingly leave this earth.
The thing is, the moment I realized I had to put myself first was when Dad found me losing my shit that night of the camping weekend. I passed out from lack of oxygen, woke up a few minutes later, and we sat in silence in the woodland for hours. He didn’t tell Mom because he knows she’d want me to do the therapy and medication crap again. Dad knows I hate it, that I’d never stick it out. It would be a waste of their money and everyone’s time.
Dad asked me what happened to trigger the attack, but as has been the case for months, I couldn’t answer. Even signing to him would’ve made me look weaker than I already am. He has an idea of how messed up I am from when I was younger. My diagnosis solidified that I wasn’t mentally wired the same way as the rest of the Vize family. Still, they kept me under their wing despite being afraid of me, of the dark thoughts I’d get.
Honestly, I have no idea why they didn’t throw me back into the system.
I certainly deserved it.
I’m the son they never wanted, and they’re all stuck with me. I think Dad is starting to catch on to the way I am with Olivia. That he was right when we were younger. The obsession I have with everything about her is unhealthy and wrong.
I’ve noticed him watching us a lot since the camping trip, and he definitely knows something is up. Me and Olivia don’t communicate—I only look at her when she isn’t looking, and I don’t follow her around like a lost puppy anymore.
Even if he does find out my true feelings, there’s nothing he can do.
They can dope me up with meds, force me into an institution, try to cleanse me of my fucking sins. I’ll still be living and breathing for my sister, waiting for her to choose me. It’s been too long since I was so damn close to touching her, kissing her, claiming her, and I’m dying to communicate with her, but this is more fun.
She’s in the bathtub right now while I lie on my back on her bed. Usually, when her music stops, I’ll leave before she comes out or slip under her bed and vanish when she’s fallen asleep.
Keeping my balcony doors locked, knowing when she’s having a nightmare and seeking me out yet ignoring her, has been hard. But when she does pass out, I’m always sliding into her room and watching her sleep.
It’s kind of creepy.
My friends would have my balls if they knew what was going on in my mind.
My eyes fall on the glass of water filled with ice sitting beside her bed. The little frozen cubes are nearly gone. I decide to make myself useful and change it while my sister takes forever in the tub.
When I’m in the kitchen emptying the glass, Mom walks in and huffs, “You left the garage door open again, and there are marks on the driveway from the wheels of your bike. Do you ever listen?”
I ignore her. Her voice grates on my nerves—like nails on a chalkboard.
She opens the medicine cabinet and grabs a bottle of pills, taking two out. “I usually only have one, but I need to be in a deep sleep for the next twelve hours. Don’t ask me for anything until I resurface.”
Is she drunk or something? When do I go to her for anything?
She swallows the pills with water, her eyes focusing on me, narrowing as if she wants to talk to me more, to ask me something, but then she rolls her eyes and puts the glass into the sink and walks out.
An idea comes to the forefront of my brain at my mom’s words. Her pills. The idea is depraved and wrong, but I don’t know how much control I have left. If I don’t do this, I might have to kiss Olivia while she’s awake, and it might ruin everything if she pushes me away or even fucking slaps me for attempting to kiss her.
