Page 21 of Little Stranger

I glance up at Malachi; he lifts his hands then drops them and shakes his head, turning away from me.

6

Olivia

Malachihasn’tspokentome in weeks.

When he’s mad at me, he punishes me by silencing himself around me. When we eat breakfast or lunch or dinner, he won’t look at me, and when we go out on family days or nights, he either cancels, or he keeps his face in his phone.

His balcony door is locked every night, and he doesn’t sneak into my room at all.

I don’t know what to do.

I invited Parker over, thinking he’d at least sneak into my room to strangle him, but I just sat awkwardly next to Parker and pretended to enjoy his company while the cocky wanker spoke about his family business and practically sold himself to me, since he knows I still need to choose between him and Adam.

Malachi didn’t show up. If anything, he’s been more absent.

Abbi wanted me to go to a party last weekend, but I stayed home in the hopes that Malachi would get drunk and need me, need me to hold him in bed or even to watch me pretend to sleep—but even though I didn’t go out, he didn’t come.

My mind likes to play tricks on me. The voices tell me that he regrets what happened in the tent, that he feels disgusted that he watched his sister masturbate before trying to kiss her.

But tonight, my worst nightmare is happening.

Malachi is on a date.

My brother, who’s had zero interest in anyone since forever, hasn’t ever had a girlfriend or boyfriend, and spends all his time in his room or smoking on his bike or at parties with his friends and taking drugs, is out right now with a girl.

I wouldn’t say I was a possessive person, but something about him hugging someone else makes me uneasy. I try to picture him watching someone else fuck themselves with their fingers, and my stomach recoils.

What will they even talk about? Does she know sign language? Will they be able to have a conversation? Will she be nice to him, unlike the way people talked behind his back while he was still in school?

Maybe there won’t be much talking…

I bury my head into my pillow to try to banish the image of my brother kissing, touching, or sleeping with someone else. I know he’s at an age that he’ll be doing that stuff. I mean, he’s no longer in high school. I’m about to graduate—people our age do things.

We technically did things.

Things our parents would kick us out for.

I groan to myself and grab my phone, checking my messages from my friends. Everyone is either studying or with their boyfriends. Yet, here I am, in my bed at nine and worrying about Malachi.

I open his messages. He’s ignored every single one I’ve sent since the night in the tent. Even while he lay in the sleeping bag beside me and I texted that I was sorry, he ignored me.

Me: How’s your date going?

Then I slap myself on the forehead. He’s on a date—why would I message him at all? Mom told me that in confidence, since she saw him looking dressier than usual and asked him where he was going.

He told her he was going on a date, and she was so happy. One, because he’d replied to her for the first time in months. And two, because her son was going on his first date.

I felt sick when she came to my room to tell me with the biggest grin on her face.

I think he told her on purpose. To fuck with me.

But I’m being hypocritical, right? Mom has been forcing me into dates for the past six months with boys who either want their dick sucked or want to get laid.

Getting out of bed, I puff and look around my room. I’ve already stress cleaned, my cheerleading uniform is ready, and my gym bag is packed. Even my vanity table is goddamn polished to perfection.

I walk into the bathroom and fill the tub, making sure it’s extra bubbly. Then I hunt through my bookcase for something steamy and settle on the monster romance Malachi turned his nose up at when he found it on my bedside unit one night.

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