Page 63

I still need to get him off me.

“Get off me, Wes. You’re drunk.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want my turn.” His fingers dig into the grooves on the side of mywrist and I wince. “What the fuck is so special about you, Delilah? Why do you get to be his golden child?”

“Weston, you’re hurting me.” I’m whimpering but I don’t care. I need him off me so I can breathe. So I can think. “Weston, please.”

My words fall on indifferent ears, and he reaches between us, tugging at his belt before tossing it somewhere on the floor. The belt lands with a little thump against my rug that makes my heart rate triple.

Weston shoves my legs open with his free hand, manhandling me when I close them again and again.

“Fucking stop it, Delilah.”

A sob gets stuck in my throat when he rips my nightgown off my torso, exposing me more than I’ve ever been in my life.

This isn’t happening. He’s my brother. Why is he doing this?

We’ve never been close, but I never imagined he’d be capable of this. Of violating his baby sister while he’s too drunk to stand up straight.

My wrists burn from his cruel grip and my lungs burn because I’m not breathing anymore. I lie there, stiff as a board, hoping against hope that he’ll stop.

He doesn’t.

“You think you’re fucking suh-spesh…ul?” His slurred question echoes in the room.

I’m all out of words, so I lie there, needing him to tire himself out from taunting me. Maybe if he talks long enough, he won’t do?—

“Wouldn’t it be funny if pops went through all this trouble to find you a husband and I took y-your virginity before they could?”

He jerks against me with brute force until a sob rips out of me.

“Shut up, Delilah. Your tears don’t mean shit to me.”

Weston pries my legs open again, his fingertips crawling up the inside of my thigh...

A shiver rushes downmy spine, pulling me back until reality eclipses the recollection.

Rubbing my hands up and down my arms, I peer out of the big window on the furthest wall, enchanted by the swaying trees as always. But part of my mind is still clinging to that nightmare. Stuck on replay. The one time my memory doesn’t fail me, and it has to bethat.

My period was the thing that stopped him that night. He was more disgusted by the unexpected blood staining my underwear than what he was about to do to me.

The minute he stumbled out of my room, I ran to my bathroom and cried over the sink, but not too loud because I didn’t want to wake up my dad. All my life, I’d adjusted to walking on eggshells because his room was right next to mine and everything set him off.

That night was the first time I’d ever been relieved by the surprise Aunt Flo brought every month. It took forever to calm the tremble in my hands so I could clean myself up and go back to bed.

Walking through the dark room, I’d tripped over Weston’s belt and started crying all over again.

If it hadn’t been for the soft notes of the piano floating up the stairs last night, there’s no telling how much more of a mess I’d be this morning.

Talking to Adonis scrubbed everything from my mind. Ididn’t have room in my head for the torture of my subconscious when he was revealing so much of himself to me.

When I first called out to him, I could have sworn there was torment in his eyes when he looked at me. But that look softened into something else the closer I got to him.

We shared that bench last night as if we’d been doing it all our lives. And I soaked up his words because I didn’t know the next time he’d let them flow so freely.

It feels like betrayal admitting that the past week hasn’t felt like captivity. Something subtle in Adonis is shifting. Something I haven’t been able to put my finger on yet. But when I do…

My eyes slide shut as I try to recall every detail about the moment.