Page 91 of Unorthodox
Screaming.
Oliverscreamed.
For the first time in his life, he made a sound that wasn’t a whimper or a groan or a cry.
He fucking screamed. I’d never even heard him laugh, but I heard those screams.
They cut deep.
They fucking hurt.
And I tried to get to him, but I couldn’t.
All I could do was watch. Watch whatIcaused.
I hadn’t hid him. I’d been exhausted, always on the lookout. Watching him, hiding him, taking his punishments so my father didn’t kill him.“A useless fucking retard.”My father’s words, over and over, every day, at least once. A reminder of the son he hated.
But he never loved me, either.
I don’t know why. I’m not sure what we did to make him hate us so much, but god, he did.
“Max,you are not him.”
Mamie’s words are jarring. I hate her for the pity. I hate her for all of it. For knowing my deepest secrets. The private moments that no one was ever supposed to see.
Most of all, I hate myself for keeping the evidence. For not being able to let it go.
My father was a monster in every sense of the word, and he had cameras in every room of our house.
When I went back to kill him, I learned they existed from a guard that wanted me to spare his life—I didn’t—I retrieved the ones from my bedroom, and the film, too.
I still have them, on a thumb drive in my office, locked away with my most important files in a safe that’s bomb proof, hidden under a floorboard.
Under my bookshelf.
I haven’t watched them yet. I don’t want to get rid of them until I do. Until I face it.
What I really am.
Nothing.
What I really did to save Oliver.
Nothing.
“How did you know?” I ask her, the only question that I can voice. “How did you fucking know? How did you—”
“You had me change the code to the safe.”
“You’re lying.” I would’ve never done that.
“It was over ten years ago. You had me change the code.” She steps even closer but doesn’t reach for me. “It was three in the morning. You were…” She shakes her head, runs a hand through her dark hair. “You had been up for three days straight. I knew you weren’t…quite right. But you were exhausted, and you couldn’t even get out of bed when you called for me. You had me change it, and I had to shove the bookcase aside, find the right floorboard.” She takes another breath. “And they were just sitting there, splattered with blood.”
My own father’s blood, still warm on my hands.
“You watched them?” I ask her, incredulous. I don’t feel the anger. I feel…nothing. Numbness. “Youwatchedthem?”
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, but she doesn’t look at all sorry. “All this time I’ve been with you, Max.” She bites her lip, puts a hand over her mouth.
