Page 61 of All the Things We Buried

“Dorian.”

Dad stormed inside, grabbing Dorian by the neck and ripping him off me. His mouth was still slick with my taste on his lips, blood smeared from the blows, and he laughed.

Laughed at him.

Even as Dad dragged him across the floor, shouting, Dorian’s voice cut through.

“Now she’s mine, Father.”

The door slammed. Silence swallowed everything after.

I didn’t move.

Tears streaked down my face, but my body still trembled, and it was not from fear. And my lips curved upward.

They shoved each other in the hallway, bodies crashing into the walls, and as I finally pulled myself together, I rushed out of the attic.

“Get out!” Father shouted. His voice was thunder. “Sinner!”

Then his eyes turned to me. The fury in them burned.

“Sinner,” he spat again.

Before I could react, Dorian lunged at him. They grappled, stumbling toward the top of the staircase. And then, Father grabbed Dorian by the shirt as he fell.

They both went over the edge.

I watched, frozen, as their bodies tumbled down the stairs. Then came the sound, flesh hitting wood, bone cracking, and finally, silence.

My heart nearly stopped.

I ran after them, and when I reached the bottom, they lay tangled in each other, broken, in a pool of blood.

“Dorian,” I whispered, but my voice barely worked. My hands trembled as I reached for his face. It was pale. Still.

I screamed.

I dropped beside him, pressing my ear to his chest. Nothing. I pushed down on his heart with both hands, again and again, my palms stained with blood.

“No, no, no,” I whispered. “Please, Dorian. Please.”

I sealed my mouth over his, trying to give him air, trying to pull him back to me. But he gave nothing in return. His body was heavy and quiet, and my sobs tore through the stillness.

At the front door, Vivian stood frozen. Two men came behind her, one in a police uniform, the other dressed like a mechanic. She didn’t move.

But I couldn’t look at her.

All I saw was Dorian.

I kept trying. Chest compressions. Mouth to mouth. Anything. My hands were shaking. My dress was soaked with blood. I couldn’t stop.

“Dorian, please… please, wake up.”

Then footsteps. The creak of boots. Hands grabbed me from behind.

Vivian finally moved. She stepped forward, her face was hollow.

“Do whatever you want with her,” she said, her voice cold and flat. “She’s not important.”