Page 52 of Little Liar
Malachi lowers to his knees, his hands behind his head, and I can still feel his burning gaze searing into the back of my skull—he wants me to look at him, but I can’t.
All I can do is slide back, smearing the blood on the marble ground, while my dad is surrounded by medics.
Malachi is read his rights while being handcuffed—there’s no resistance or fight, but as soon as I hear the clicking of the cuffs, I know his only form of communication is gone, so I look at him.
Our gazes clash, and I feel everything within me shrivel to nothing—he’s not even blinking as his eyes stay on me, even when he’s dragged to his feet and pulled away from me.
It’s Malachi, yet it’s not. I have no idea who’s looking back at me. Emotionless, with no humanity, he turns his head to look over his shoulder at me when the officers lead him out, and for some reason, I wish I could scream at them to let him go.
I want to cry for him—the brother who was always misunderstood and left behind, silenced, in need of so much help, yet I’m the one who breaks eye contact by closing my eyes and letting the tears fall.
The car door shuts in the distance, an engine roars, and I know my brother is gone forever.
Why, as I sit here with my father’s blood all over me, with paramedics working hard to keep him alive, am I filled with so much regret, I wish I could vanish?
This morning, we were happy—we were going to take the next step in our lessons, and I was going to teach him how to say my name. I was even going to tell him that it was never about teaching him but because I loved him. It was perfect, the dynamic we had. It was fun, exciting, and I was happy.
Now I feel empty.
An officer takes my arm and pulls me to my feet—they’re saying something to me, but I can’t hear them. Another one appears, shining a light in my face, and then I’m taken out of thehouse just as my mother speeds into the driveaway and throws her door open.
“Olivia! What’s happened? Are you okay?” She reaches me and pushes my hair from my face and looks down at my body. “Is that blood on you?”
But when my dad is wheeled out on a stretcher, the scream she lets out nearly blows my eardrums, and she runs to him. She’s crying, demanding answers from the medics and officers as they load him into the ambulance.
More sirens blare, and my body starts to shut down, drowning out the sounds surrounding me. I don’t think I even blink as I trap my mind away, trying to wake up.
I need to wake up.
This is a bad dream—Malachi will be lying beside me when I open my eyes. He’ll hold me close, promise me that we’ll be together forever, and this will all be a dream.
But I never wake up.
13
Olivia
Mom calls my name, but I don’t respond. I keep my eyes on the mirror while I apply my lip gloss as slowly as possible, as if taking my time will make the day pass, and I won’t need to walk out of the door and ruin my brother’s life.
It’s inevitable that my mom will come into my room in a matter of minutes and yell at me for what I’m going to say.
She's looking for me—I can hear her opening the main bathroom door, then the walk-in closet.
“Olivia!”
By the tone of her voice, she isn’t happy. Ever since Dad woke days after his surgery, Mom’s been on a mission to control everyone and everything. I’ve become the target of her anger, so I’ve been keeping my distance.
After all, Malachi did nearly kill our father, and she did overhear me begging my comatose dad to forgive him. I was crying, pleading for him to help me get his son the help he so desperately needs.
I wanted my dad to live but secretly hoped that the brain damage the doctor spoke of after his MRI meant he wouldn’t remember the truth.
The thought of losing him was worse than him waking and remembering what happened that night a month ago, then cutting ties with me forever.
Luckily enough, Dad had some brain damage and only remembers being on the phone to me that night. And flashes of Malachi hitting him, but that’s all. My statement probably solidified Malachi’s confinement. I couldn’t lie about who attacked Dad. Malachi was covered in blood, his knuckles cracked, scratches down his face from my nails, and didn’t even try to deny anything.
He could have run out of the backyard and got away, had time to himself before this all struck, but he just stood there, silent, staring at me like he was committing me to memory.
Emotionless—gone from reality, even when the cops and paramedics barged into the house. My heart slowly breaks, remembering the betrayal I can never take back—I should have protected Malachi.
