Page 20 of Dark Ink

“Eithne,” he cooed, his breath hot and foul against the crown of my head. “Eithne, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I tried not to flinch away from my brother. Tried not to gag at the stench of his body odour or squeeze away from the dampness of his dirty shirt. I tried not to sob myself as his tears travelled down my scalp.

Stewart mumbled on and on, repeating my name, repeating his apologies, repeating that he was committed this time, no matter how hard it got for him. Not for me. Him. Stewart went on, but I lost focus. My mind went back to being pressed up against a different wall. By a different body.

I couldn’t help but think of Rian. Of the way he crushed me to the blackboard. Of the weight of him. Of the presence of him invading my air. He’d wanted to give to me. To make me feel pleasure, to feel pain. To lavish on me. In taking from me, he was giving to me. He pulled me against him not because he needed to be held. But because he wanted to hold me.

My lips trembled as I remembered and I hoped Stewart hadn’t noticed.

It took every ounce of will inside of me to lift my arms. To place my hands gently against his slick back. To comfort him as his fingers caught painfully in my hair.

“It’s okay, Stewart,” I whispered. Whispered because we were so close. Whispered because I didn’t trust my voice not to crack if I spoke any louder. “It’s okay. You’re going to be alright. We’re going to be alright.”

I’d given in to temptation, in to Rian’s siren call, but I’d been thankfully spared. I’d seen the light. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. I’d again devote myself to helping my brother. I’d refocus on classes. We’d get through it. We’d be okay. We’d maybe even be happy. One day.

This was right. Yes, this was right. This was what I was supposed to be doing. This was right.

Stewart pressed even tighter, almost too tightly. I could feel his ribs against mine. My lungs didn’t have enough room to expand. I gasped for little, shallow breaths.

“I’m going to get better,” Stewart said, and I felt his lips move against my hair, felt his teeth scrape against my skull. “For you. I love you. I’m going to get better for you. I love you, Eithne. I love you. I love you. And for you, it’s for you that I—it’s for you. For you. I just need a little money.”

I’d dreaded this moment. They say that fear is just the unknown. But that’s bullshit. Because I knew this moment was coming. Knew it like the back of my hand. Knew it like the sun rising in the morning. Knew it like a cold pit in my stomach. And yet it scared me each and every time. And it scared me again. Scared me to death.

I knew it wasn’t best to let the silence stretch on too long. It built hope in Stewart’s scattered, frenzied brain. It made it worse. And yet I had to build courage. Like a car gaining speed before a jump over a canyon always too wide. You had to gain speed, you know? Before plummeting into a fiery crash.

I sucked in what little breath my caged ribs would let me and said, with manufactured firmness, “Stewart, I can’t.”

All of Stewart’s movements stilled. As if he’d just been switched off. His clammy fingers stopped stroking my hair, stopped tearing it when they got caught. He stopped squeezing my head tighter to his chest like a child drawing a blanket closer and closer beneath their chin to stave off nightmares. He stopped speaking and seemed to even stop breathing.

We went back to silence. We went back to that frozenness. Neither of us moving, neither of us breathing. Then Stewart’s ribs scraped against mine as he began to laugh. Bone against bone, I thought I could even hear it, that horrible scraping. Like nails on a chalkboard.

“Stewart, I’m only trying to help you,” I insisted futility as he pressed himself away from me.

He shook his head. His neck was bent like a doll’s, toppled over with his chin against his chest. And he shook his head back and forth, back and forth. It was almost like an animal shaking himself dry after bathing. But Stewart was not clean. He shook his head back and forth and chuckled darkly and I braced myself.

We were still plummeting, the two of us. Falling…falling…falling… There was no escaping the burning. It was just a matter of different flames.

“You really get off on this, don’t you?” Stewart said. “You really fucking get off on this?”

I pressed my palms against the wall behind me to steady myself as Stewart finally lifted his head. He was both too far and too close to me all at the same time. Out of reach, but within a tight enough space that I’d never get a head start. Too far to see the flicker of pain in his eyes as his detoxing body rebelled against him, but plenty close to see his cruel smile. Too far to shove him away from me. And too close to hope to block out his words with my fingers shoved deep into my ears.

“Stewart, please,” I pled.

It was of no use. But what else was I to say?

“Does it get you wet?” Stewart said with a twisted snarl. “Putting me down like this? Putting me in my place? Lording yourself over me?”

There was no use in arguing. No point in trying to be reasonable. Fighting back only made him more vicious.

Stewart laughed again and said, “Like mother, like daughter, eh, Eithne?”

I’d heard the words before. I even knew what was coming next. It was like a record that just kept playing and playing. And yet it cut to the bone without fail. I never seemed to grow numb to it. Everything else in my life, everything good and loving and hopeful had dulled, gone grey, lost volume as if I were going deaf. And yet Stewart’s tirade when he was in pain never did. It was him and Rian. Pain and pleasure. And nothing in between.

“You’re a whore, Eithne,” Stewart said. He was no longer laughing. I’d never been. “Just like her. Just like dad always said. A whore.”

Maybe I said, “Stop.” Maybe I said nothing at all. It didn’t matter.

“Sleeping around. Fucking other men whenever, wherever. Making yourself cheap. Getting on your knees for a stranger’s dick because you like it,” he ranted, gaining momentum. “Because you can’t help yourself. Just like her.”

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