Page 44 of Crawl
My head pounds, flickers of light blurring the edges of my vision.
“No one knew?” I ask.
“I tried to tell my mom once. But she didn’t believe me, and when my stepbrother, Brody, overheard, he said that he would kill me if I suggested his dad did anything like that again. And you know, Brody still hurt me, but I could handle the pain. It was easier to process. Easier to make sense of it. But my stepdad? He never stopped untilhewas done. And I felt like I couldn’t tell anyone, you know? Why try to get someone in trouble when they’ve technically never hurt you?”
Rage boils inside of me, a tingling sensation that makes my scalp itch. I’ll be the first to admit that I abuse my power over others, including Remedy, all the time. I hurt Remedy, just like her stepbrother did. And honestly, I don’t care that her stepdad warped her sense of healthy affection, because that happened to me too. It gives us an understanding of each other. I’m not a stranger to that kind of fucked up ‘love.’
What pisses me off the most is that her stepdad used a connection likefamily,forcing her to believe that it was okay. He used it to silence the passion inside of her.
And that kills me.
You don’t get to choose your family. They desert or destroy you. And Remedy’s family?
They ruined her.
The water sloshes along the rock barrier lining the edge of the restaurant, and the moonlight illuminates the choppy waves. A tear runs down Remedy’s cheek, disappearing into the darkness. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer to me. She smells sweet, mixed with the salt from the ocean. I’m supposed to frame or kill her, but all I want is to destroy anyone who ever hurt her.
I’m the only one who hurts my little cure.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I told Jenna. And even though my mom didn’t believe me at first, Jenna did, and she helped convince my mom. It was so stupid. How could my mother believe my best friend, but not me? It’s like she didn’t trust me. Damn it.” She clutches an arm around her stomach. “It still makes me sick to even think about it.”
I grip the glass of scotch so tight it almost breaks in my hand. I would have let the glass slice through my veins, but I need to hear Remedy’s story. I need her to trust me, and that includes listening to her. That way, I can destroy her too.
But it’s not only that. I want to absorb every gory detail so that I can kill them all.
“Someone like that deserves to die,” I say, the anger leaking through each word. Remedy turns to me, her eyes wide. I guess it’s strange; people rarely talk about who they want to die. Or perhaps she’s confused that I would care, when I abuse my power, just like her stepdad and brother. But I don’t hide behind false claims like ‘family.’ Remedy knows exactly what she is to me: a victim of blackmail.
“What do you mean?” Remedy whispers.
“Your stepdad hid behind these false ideas of respect. Family. Kinship. You’d think people like that would put up a fight, but they don’t.” I shake my head. “They’re pathetic. Fucking cowards. They’ll do anything to survive.”
She fidgets for a second, running her fingers along the sides of her glass, wetting her fingertips with the condensation.
“But didn’t you do the same thing to Jenna?” she asks, her words quiet.
I lock eyes with her. I want her to understand every word I’m about to say.
“I use people, Remedy,” I say. “I’m not going to lie about that. But I’m always upfront. When it comes tousingpeople, I give everyone choices, just like I did with you.”
“What choice did you give Jenna?”
“You can ask her.”
She furrows her brows, suddenly frustrated. “But you spanked her. And she’s not like me. She can’t deal with that kind of stuff.”
“I’ve done much worse than spank you.”
She lets out a haggard breath, the guilt filling her up with tension. This is why she hateswantingme, because of what it means when it comes to her best friend.
“Don’t you wish you could kill him?” I ask.
Her eyelids flutter, surprised by my blunt honesty. Though she doesn’t agree with me verbally, I can see the desire shimmering in her eyes.
I press the highball glass to my lips.
“Hey,” she says, reaching for the glass. “Don’t drink that. I saw the bartender lick the rim of it or something.” She takes the glass from me, dumping it out over the railing, the contents splashing down below, muted by the waves. With a gleam in her eyes, she tilts her head at me. “I can make you a better drink at my house anyway.”
