Page 22 of Almost Ravaged

As he releases me, I know. It’s not a question ofif. His decision has been made.

Swallowing thickly, he refocuses on my brother. “She’s right. Puking would leave too much evidence. Go say goodbye to your mother, both of you. Don’t touch anything. I’ll meet you outside.”

I grasp Tytus’s arm, willing him to look at me.

He doesn’t.

Whether it’s because he can’t or he won’t, I don’t know.

Tears well in my eyes. I don’t want to leave him. I can’t stand the thought of him doing this alone.

“Go,” he hollers.

The man on the floor—his dad—grunts and rolls slightly.

Atty takes off like a shot, like he can’t get out of here fast enough. He doesn’t look back. I don’t blame him. I don’t want to be here, but the last thing I want to do is go back out to the kitchen and stare at our mother’s body floating in a crimson pool.

With his back to me, Ty says, “I told you—”

“I’m not leaving you,” I grit out. “You’re not doing this alone.”

His dad coughs, then lurches in an attempt to sit up.

Ty steps back, forcing me back in the process.

“We can’t get our prints on anything,” he says, his voice resigned. “If you think you’ll have better luck getting into the safe, go find a pair of gloves.”

I move through the house on autopilot, unable to think or feel, unwilling to even inhale, fearful that the stench of blood and violence mixed with the smell of the chocolate frosting my mom was no doubt making for Ty’s birthday cake will infiltrate the thousands of memories we’ve created here.

When I come back to the study, Ty is right where I left him.

So is my dad.

My dad.

Closing my eyes, I suck in a breath through my mouth and hold it.

I fetch the gun safe off the floor, then crouch near my dad’s body and grasp his hand.

It’s heavier than I expected.

So heavy. So heavy. So heavy.

The gloves help. Without feeling my dad’s skin, I can avoid fully connecting to the hands that used to hold me, wipe my tears, or turn the pages of my favorite books.

I position his thumb just right, and when the safe opens with a click, I ease his arm to his lap again, then carefully lift out the gun.

Tentatively, I come to stand beside Tytus.

“You did your part, Sawyer,” he murmurs without looking at me. “Please go.”

I let him take the gun out of my hands, but I can’t move. Every cell in my body screams that I can’t leave him to do this alone.

His dad coughs.

“God dammit,” Ty curses, his body shaking. “Just go.”

Tears flood my eyes as I back away, making it almost impossible to get one last glance at my dad. But I scurry to the door as instructed.