Page 19 of Blood Ties

Kai

I lie in bed that night and think about killing my brother.

I walk through the steps in my mind: I can grab the knife I keep under my pillow, tiptoe to his bedroom, ease the door open.

Put the pillow over his face, then stab the knife right through it.

Maybe it will be easier if I don’t have to look into his eyes.

But I can’t know for sure. I’ve never killed anyone before. Do I really have the guts to kill my own brother?

And what if it goes wrong? If he’s not asleep, if I hesitate, if he turns the tables on me... well. I sure as shit know that Knox won’t have any moral hang-ups like I do.

Even if I succeeded, what would I do? Where would I go?

Dad’s room is right down the hallway, and I swear he hears everything in this house.

Then I’d have to walk right past Uncle Frank’s shack to get the bolt cutters to free Riley, steal one of their cars.

.. there are so many ways it could all go wrong.

Too many ways I could get myself killed, leaving both Riley and Momma without anyone to take care of them.

Whenever I think about how trapped I am, it feels like the walls are closing in on me. My ribcage shrinks around my lungs, making it harder to breathe with each passing moment.

I shut my eyes and think about Riley. Riley with her big blue eyes, so small and fragile when I held her in my arms. I wanted to kiss her so badly.

I wanted to do so much more than kiss her.

But that would’ve been fucked up. This whole thing is so goddamn fucked up, even for my family, but it would’ve been especially fucked up for me to touch her after my brother. .. After he went to the basement and...

God damn it. Now I’m thinking about killing him again. Back to the same cycle. I think about stabbing Knox, and Riley on her knees. Knox’s blood. Riley’s hand undoing my belt buckle.

I hate my brain. I hate myself. I just want my thoughts to shut up long enough to fall asleep.

There’s one surefire way to do that, but I hold off as long as I can, tossing and turning until my sheets are a sweaty mess around me.

Finally I whisper a curse and reach into my nightstand.

I’m quiet as I sneak down the stairs, avoiding the places where they creak.

I slip out the front door onto the porch and take out the cigarettes and my lighter.

I light up, take a long drag. Another one. The nicotine is a cool breeze on my fevered mind, but it’s not enough.

I put the lighter away and pull my shirt up over my stomach. I lower the cigarette, and press the red-hot end into the sensitive skin just above my waistband.

The pain makes my eyes water. I grit my teeth, stifling any sound, and grind the burning ash into my skin. When it goes out, I toss the remains of the cigarette aside and go back to bed.

With pain filling my head, I finally manage to sleep.

*

N OW THAT KNOX IS INVOLVED , Riley’s precarious situation has grown even more dire.

If I was smart, I’d stay away from her to prevent myself from getting any more attached.

Someday I’ll walk down those stairs and find her cold and stiff with bruises around her neck.

How many times have I heard Knox say he got carried away again while I drag a body out to the barn? Too many times.

The first time Knox brought a girl to the basement, it was Dad who killed her. Then came the fight, the screaming, the scar on Knox’s cheek. Ever since then, my brother has always dealt with his girls himself, sooner or later. I’m sure he intends to do the same with Riley.

But I can’t stay away. There’s something about her that keeps pulling me back.

The feeling has only grown now that I know my brother wants her too.

The thought of him down there in the basement makes me angry and jealous and almost protective.

I remember the way she whispered I’m yours and it sparks heat in my chest. She’s not really mine. .. but I want her to be.

I think about her the whole time I do my chores.

My mind goes through the motions — feeding the chickens and the pigs, collecting eggs from the coop and slabs of salted bacon from the freezer, cooking breakfast for the family — while I think about her.

Trying to think of how I can make her life a little bit easier. How I can keep her safe from Knox.

My brother shows up as I’m finishing breakfast, thumping down the staircase in his boots and loose jeans, still shirtless. He nudges a shoulder into mine and steals a thick strip of bacon straight out of the pan, hissing at the sizzle of hot fat against his skin. He eats it anyway.

I have an urge to hit him. Instead I focus on the throb of the burn under my shirt.

“Breakfast is ready,” I call out.

“No shit,” Knox says, grabbing a chipped plate from the stack.

“Not talking to you, asshole.” I don’t even look at him as I stand against the counter and wait for Dad and Uncle Frank. The best thing I can do right now is pretend not to care. But when I dare a glance at my brother, he’s smirking like he knows exactly what I’m doing.

Uncle Frank comes in next, sweating and stinking of the slaughterhouse. He doesn’t even bother to clean his hands before grabbing a plate, but I know better than to say anything.

Last comes Dad, who barely spares me a glance.

I only get my food when everyone else is digging in.

I scrape out the last of the eggs and a couple slices of bacon, the burnt ones.

I’m just grateful there’s anything left at all.

Dad insists we live off of the land as much as we can, but lately it seems to produce less and less.

Like the blood has soaked into everything and turned it as rotten as we are.

I eat quietly and quickly, but not quite quickly enough to prevent Knox from stealing a slice of bacon off of my plate. I almost snap at him, but Dad is looking at us, watchful after our scrap yesterday, so I keep my head down.

I eat slowly. They all leave before I’m done, Frank heading back to the slaughterhouse and Knox and Dad to the scrapyard.

I wrap my remaining piece of bacon in a napkin, along with some of my remaining eggs.

I steal a bite leftover on Knox’s plate before taking my paltry offering down to Riley in the basement.

I’m far from full, but I’m used to the hunger pangs.

“Here,” I whisper, dropping to a crouch beside her. She’s still lying on the mattress, but she’s awake, her eyes wary as I approach. “I can’t stay long, but, uh. Breakfast.”

It looks sadder than I remember when I unfold the napkin to present it to her. She looks at it, and then at me. There’s a faint curl to her lip that I think might be disgust, but then she sits up and takes it.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll be back later,” I say, and rush up the stairs.

I feel a little bad — usually I save my leftovers for Momma, not Riley — but she’s probably still asleep anyway. Maybe I can scrounge something up for her for dinner.

After breakfast, I clean. It’s a constant fight in this house, especially since nobody else seems to pay any attention to the mud or blood or whatever else they’re trekking inside.

My cleaning supplies are getting low, too, so I mix some of my last remaining bleach solution with water to make it last longer.

I don’t look forward to having to ask Dad for more.

He already claims I don’t pull my weight around here.

The jobs I do handle — cooking, cleaning, minding the animals, whatever chores nobody else wants to do — used to be Momma’s jobs before she got sick.

Everybody gives me shit about doing women’s work.

But better they aim the venom at me than at her.

By the time I’m done with today’s task — the kitchen — my knees are sore from resting on the tile and my hands sting where bleach has seeped into the scrapes. I straighten up with a groan, and then go rigid. Knox is leaning against the doorway with a plastic bag over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says.

I ignore him.

“You still pissed at me?” He walks over. “Don’t be like that.”

I jerk away as he tries to ruffle my hair. “What do you want, Knox?”

He chuckles. “To give you this.” He pushes the bag into my arms.

I peer down into it suspiciously, and then back up at him.

“It’s for Riley,” he says. “Give it to her. She’ll like it. Promise.” Then he turns and walks away before I can say anything, calling over his shoulder, “Might even get you laid.”