Page 56 of Crawl
“Yes,” I say.
He wraps a blindfold around my eyes, tying the black sash at the back of my head, then leads me to the sofa. He sits me down, then walks away, each step calculated and even. The closet door creaks open, and a heavy object crashes into a person’s body. The person—a man—whimpers, the sound hollow. Chills erupt all over me. I know that whimper. I knowhim.
The person is dragged across the office, then stops in front of me. Cash circles the sofa, standing behind me, his hands on my shoulders.
“I told you I’ll do anything for you,” he says. He pulls the loose end of the sash, and the fabric flutters to the floor. I blink, letting my eyes focus.
Light brown hair covers the person’s head, some patches thin, others thick. Bloodshot blue eyes. The man’s face is still tan, but it’s weathered with age now, like leather. Fish and ginger waft from his pores.
My stepdad.
Everything inside of me strains with fury. “What is this?” I hiss.
Cash chuckles, patting my shoulder. “You said this is what you wanted.”
My stepdad’s lip is bloody and puffy and a crust of blood circles his nose. Frustration rumbles in my chest. Did Cash punch him? Why is he doing this?
But then something else trickles in, mucking up my thoughts: flattery.
Or is it pride?
I don’t know who Cash is, but I know he did thisfor me.
But I’m not supposed to be pleased like this. I’m supposed to be repulsed.
“Why are you doing this?” I stammer, my heart beating rapidly. “You hurt him, Cash.”
“I don’t know what you need,” he says with an edge to his voice, frustration building inside of him. “But I’m offering your freedom.” He squeezes my shoulders harder than before, but then lets go. “Kill him, Remedy.”
My stepdad’s chin quivers, his hands tied behind his back. His head hangs down, and for some reason, that irritates me. He can’t even look at me; he can’t face what he’s done. For so long, I’ve hidden myself from the world, from true love and affection, because I know that anything can hurt me. Even gentle people can hold power over you.
Maybe that’s why I like Cash. I may not know who he is, but I know what he wants and is capable of. And he listens to me.
Like when I told him I want to kill my stepdad. He brought him to me.
But can I actually do it?
“You know what he did once he left?” Cash asks. He stretches his fingers into the shape of a gun and taps it on his temple. “He found another family. Another teenage daughter to abuse. You and I both know a piece of shit like him never changes. But you want to be mad at me for punching him in the face?”
My throat constricts. I can barely swallow. It’s what I’ve always been afraid of. If a man like him gets away with it once, he’ll do it again, and again, andagain.I hold my abdomen, the pain swirling inside of me. Sweat beads on my forehead. A faceless young girl clouds my vision. I should have done something. I should have protected her somehow.
How can he do this to us?
“Is that true?” I whisper.
My stepdad’s mouth hangs open, but his lips don’t move. He won’t answer me.
“Answer me, Alan. Is it fucking true?”
He flinches at my words, like I’m being too harsh. But he stays silent.
And to me? That’s enough.
Cash holds up a knife, smooth and unblemished, the metal gleaming in the dim light. The handle is a deep maroon, the color of wine and deoxygenated blood. He offers me the handle, and my fingertips tingle as I clench the grip. It’s lightweight, like it may not do any damage. Like this is all a dream.
But it’s not. Nausea bubbles inside of me, thinking of the times I’ve had to fake an orgasm. Every time I leave my body so that I’m not reminded of him. I think of the guilt. I think of being a failure. I think of letting my mom down. How even a hug or a touch on my shoulder can make my skin crawl.
I didn’t know it then, but I know now that I will never be normal. He stole that life from me.
