Page 53 of Atone

Again.

Again.

“Alex.” Her tears become my battle cry, even if she’s begging me to stop. “You can’t. They’ll kill you.”

They will, but at least he’ll be gone because our parents will never protect her from this man if I don’t.

Dad is too busy focusing on me, while Mom fumbles with her rosary, excusing and ignoring the seams splitting apart our family.

I’m all my sister has.

My knuckles meet bone, and my hand breaks. But I’m numb to the pain.

To this.

His face is nothing when I finally sink back on my heels. No eyes to watch me. No tongue to judge.

Patience hugs her legs to her chest, rocking back and forth in the corner of the room. Her golden-brown eyes are fixed on mine. The silence is only broken by our breathing and the occasional spit of a candle flickering.

My hands ache, radiating pain through my arms and up into my shoulder. The knot where my spine meets my skull throbs.

Patience’s sob cuts through the quiet. Rattles in my chest. Pulses behind my ribs. Once she starts, she can’t stop. And the quiet cries might as well be screams ricocheting between my temples.

Until the sound of bootsteps comes from down the hallway. It’s muffled through the door, but when the handle rattles and it swings open, my sister recoils against the wall.

Like there’s any hiding what I’ve become.

“Oh, Alex, my son.” Dad steps into the basement, pausing beside the mangled body in front of me.

He toes one of the limp limbs before neatly resting his foot just outside the pool of blood.

“Your sister makes you compassionate.” Dad hums, and it’s not a compliment.

Patience tightens her arms around her legs, not saying anything. Rocking back and forth. Her eyes are sealed shut as she tries to clamp down on the faucet of emotion. No doubt willing the tears to stop.

But she can’t blink away this reality. It’s who we are.

Lancasters.

Bringers of pain, power, and death.

“Clean up. Both of you.” Dad frowns, his gaze skipping to my sister. “Patience, your mother requires your assistance. And Alex, we need to talk.”

No acknowledgment of the body.

No care for the sob Patience fails to muffle as he turns to leave the room.

Because, unlike her, he expects this.

When he’s finally gone, and his footsteps have faded, Patience dares to look in my direction, even if she won’t meet my stare. “What did you do?”

My body jolts, and my eyes snap open. A dull ache radiates through both arms as I grip the sweaty sheets. Darkness dances with moonlight on the ceiling, mocking me.

Turning my head to the clock, I see it’s only four thirty. Two hours of sleep doesn’t sound like much, but it’s better than the hour and thirty minutes I’ve been used to lately.

It takes a moment for me to stretch my fingers. To leave that candlelit basement and return to my body.

Sit.