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Just the thought of living with that woman makes me look at my sister for alternatives as I shake my head.
“We’ll leave. We can make it on our own.”
I want to believe her, but my sister can’t even make curfew. How will she ever make a living at fifteen to support us?
She brought her consequences on herself. I don’t know how many nights I heard her begging him to stop the punishment she earned only to go out and do it all over again the next night.
She begged the therapist he brought to the house to help her.
She begged the man next door he enlisted for help even though we were always warned to never be caught alone with him. It’s the same man that looked at me when he was here last week and asked when Dad expected that I’d need his help. My father telling him soon has kept me on my best behavior.
Nothing has helped her. She’s determined to break any rule set in front of her.
“I have to shower,” she says, the blood on the front of her shirt drawing my attention.
“Don’t leave me down here,” I beg, but she shakes me off when I reach for her.
“I’ll deal with it when I’m out of the shower.” Her voice is flat, emotionless, just like the many times it has been after Dad brought a visitor home.
I can’t be fooled into thinking she’s sorry for what she’s done because she never is.
Her shower goes on forever and ever, and she’s only making things worse. The longer she takes, the more we’re going to have to clean up.
Pain shoots through my head, and I know it’s probably because I haven’t had the chance to eat, but it isn’t the first time I skipped a meal to avoid the risk of being seen by my dad while arguing with my sister.
I don’t want to be called a disappointment the way he calls her.
I close my eyes, wishing it all away, but when I open them again, I’m no longer on the couch.
I feel weightless as I try to blink away the steam filling the bathroom.
Liana is there, her hand running over her lower belly, and I don’t understand. She’s probably sick to her stomach from what she did, or maybe it has to do with the red welts on her back and bottom. They look like they hurt.
I keep quiet because she’d be so upset with me if she knew I was in here with her. She’s always complaining about having no privacy to both Dad and me.
After plugging the bathtub, something I find very weird because she has the shower running, she climbs into the tub, letting all of it pour over her.
My first thought when I see the knife in her hand is that Dad is going to be pissed. We aren’t allowed to take any dishes out of the kitchen, but then I remember that he’s dead. She won’t get punished for it.
I gasp when she drags it from her wrist to the inside of her elbow, but she doesn’t hear me. It’s as if she’s transfixed on the rush of red that blooms on a wave.
She doesn’t stop there. She’s not content with one arm. I scream when she does the same to other, noticing how she’s already growing weak from the injuries as the knife doesn’t cut as far the second time.
I’m locked in place, unable to go to her, unable to help her the way I did Dad earlier today.
The knife falls from her hand, not making a sound as it sinks to the bottom of the rapidly filling bathtub.
“Pitiful, isn’t it?”
I jerk my head toward the voice, but it doesn’t make sense. Liana is somehow in the tub but also standing beside me.
“What have you done?” I scream.
She doesn’t wince or tell me to keep my voice down.
She smiles, her eyes locked on her body in the tub. She’s started to turn that weird gray color that Dad turned after he stopped twitching.
Tears burn my eyes. I know what’s happening. I know this means I’ll be left all alone.