Page 68 of Sweet Lies

Stepping around her, she stomps down the stairs to find the others.

* * *

REBECCA

After the meeting, Claire and Elijah decide to have a drink. I slip away, having no desire to play happy families. Andre is a few steps behind and follows me toward my room.

His voice softens. “Are you going to be all right?”

I hate the concern in his tone. Of course I’ll be okay. I always am, right?

“Yes.” I blink at the sharpness of my tone.

He stands in the door frame, and I fear he’ll say more. Then he takes a step back and shuts the door behind him. Huffing, I sit on the edge of the bed. It’s hard, and not as comfy as I remembered. Time makes all things hard and rough that used to be soft. I feel a kinship to the damned thing.

Unlike the bed, the rest of the room appears unchanged, except for the paint on the walls. It used to be a light pink, but it’s faded now. Maybe I’ll go to the store and get some white to cover it up. Claire said the other families had used the house off and on as an extra guest house, but it doesn’t seem like it was, given the cobwebs and the long-dead potted plant on my bedside table. I would say it was through guilt for killing one of their own, but there’s less than a snowball’s chance in hell they feel any semblance of responsibility.

Wiping my hands up and down my knees, I stand, trying to get my nervous energy out. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around these people.

It only takes a few steps to reach my bookshelf. My fingers run over the spines as I read the titles:The Great Gatsby, To Kill a Mockingbird, Little Women, Oliver Twist, Alice’s Adventuresin Wonderland. All show signs of age like the rest of the room, but they comfort me. Dust covers my fingertips, and a chuckle escapes as I spin in the middle of the room. I made my bed the moment I shot Elijah; it’s time I slept in it.

I find the cleaning supplies in the kitchen under the sink, and after two hours of deep-cleaning the room, I’m exhausted enough to attempt to fall asleep.

My sleep starts in blissful darkness, but slowly, the darkness takes form. The room flashes in and out, as if someone is flipping the lights on and off. The feeling of their hands on my body is constant. The warmth of their breath against my flesh has my skin crawling—the light to the sign turns on, and the dirty mattress in the basement forms. Coldness envelops my body at the dampness in the air.

In this dream state, I still feel my rising panic. It isn’t just a dream; it’s a memory. This is the room I’d stayed in during my first few months with Levi. The silence of the room is deafening until my screams fill the space, though in time those stopped—when I learned there was no point in screaming.

I watch myself from above in the dream, dreading the moment to come. I try to warn my dream self, but no words come out; instead, I’m just forced to wait.

The dust falls off the bottom of the wooden steps as they tread down each one.

Three more stairs till they reach the bottom.

There are two men, both grinning as soon as they see me standing in the middle of the room. Sometimes there would just be one; other times more. I wish I could say it made a difference, but one man could be as cruel as five.

The men look me up and down as if I’m a piece of meat. They’re both skinny with dark shaggy hair. Their clothes are covered in paint and dust.

Slowly, they move to opposite sides, eyeing me as if I might run away at any moment. I have nowhere to run, but they seem to get off on the hunt, even if only in their heads. They pounce in unison, one in front, one behind.

Hands press against my body, and I lose track of whose limb belongs to who. In sync, hands shove me down, and I land soundlessly on the mattress. There’s no point in fighting gravity, much as there’s no point in fighting the men.

The lighter of the two men quickly joins me at my right side, his hands pinching over my body. Enjoying the pain, he causes. Getting off the more he hurts me. The one still standing removes his clothes slowly, as if he’s hoping it will entice me—a striptease. It does nothing but make my stomach clench. He grins sadistically, and I know I’ve found the sicker one of the two.

His friend continues to fondle my body, moving quickly from one spot to another, before he slides to the other side of me. Unlike his friend, his hands dig into my flesh. Before I realize what’s happening, the one to my right flips me to the side, and pain radiates through my body.

* * *

ANDRE

“The house looks the same,” I mutter, entering the kitchen to find Elijah filling a glass of ice with soda.A lemon-scented candle is burning next to the stove. Claire hoped the smell would add some freshness to the house, given that it hadn’t seen people in a year.

“Not sure how I feel about that. It’s a little eerie. I keep expecting Dad to come down here and yell at us to turn down the TV.”

Sadness enters his eyes, and I regret saying anything.

“We had some good times here.”

“Yeah, we did. I hope we can again in the future—if all this works the way I want it to.”

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