Page 52 of Dark Notes

My mom stares up at Shane, her gaze softening for a calm moment before it slashes through the room and lands on me. “You took everything from me.”

My throat tightens and burns.

She steps toward me, scratching at her scrawny arm. “I wish you were never born.”

Tears prick my eyes. It’s just the drugs talking.

Another step, this one stronger, more sober, her eyes hard and clear. “I hate you, you selfish little bitch.”

Moisture blurs my vision, and even though she’s told me those words a thousand times, I still try. “I love you, Mom.”

She launches toward me, screaming, but Shane catches her with the hook of his arm around her waist.

“I hate you. I hate you.” She bucks in his hold, trying to get to me, her boobs bouncing and falling out of her flimsy nightie. “You ruined my life!”

“I know, Mom.” Shane drags her out of the room. “I’ll get you what you need.”

She doesn’t need the drugs he’s about to pump into her. She needs a job, a passion, and a goddamn backbone.

I curl up with Schubert and focus on the tongue and groove ceiling, trying to stop the tears from escaping. Maybe I need a backbone, too.

Her screams echo through the house and eventually ebb into sobs. “He loved her more. He took from us, Shane, and gave it all to her.”

My heart shrivels in my chest, and the tears fall, hard and fast. I wait for the couch to bounce beside me, and when it does, Schubert scrambles from my arms.

Lorenzo’s hip bumps my feet with his movements. He leans over and forces me on my back, the sinews in his neck rippling the Destroy tattoo. “You think you can avoid me forever?”

“That’s the plan.” I push against his chest as a renewed stream of tears tickle my ears.

His black eyes grow impossibly darker. “So fucking pretty.”

He shoves a hand between my legs, but the cocoon of blankets protects me. For a fleeting moment, I imagine the front door opening and Mr. Marceaux standing on the threshold with his terrifying eyes. I bet Lorenzo would be scared of him, maybe enough to leave me alone.

But Mr. Marceaux won’t be returning to Treme. Not tonight. Not ever.

In a surge of anger, I kick and shove, hitting Lorenzo’s ribs and trying to free the blankets in my attempt to escape. He grabs my knees and holds them immobile. I scratch at his arms, my lungs panting with the race of my pulse.

The heavy thump of Shane’s tread sounds his approach, and we both freeze.

Lorenzo removes his hands and faces forward just as Shane enters the room.

“Sitting too close, dickhead.” Shane smacks the side of Lorenzo’s head. “Move.”

I exhale a huge breath and adjust the covers around me.

“I’m heading home anyway.” Lorenzo stands and exchanges a palm-slapping, knuckle-tapping handshake with Shane.

When the door closes behind Lorenzo, Shane plops down on the couch beside me and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

Adrenaline lingers in my veins, strumming my nerves. “I don’t want him here.”

“Shut the fuck up, Ivory.” He lights the cigarette and lounges against the back of the couch.

I decide to try out a new word. “He rapes me, Shane.”

His face reddens then turns darker as he stabs the cigarette in the direction of the door. “That guy saved my life in Iraq.” His volume grows louder, his arms shaking. “I wouldn’t be here, breathing, if it weren’t for him. So while you’re prancing around in your little shorts and teasing him with your fucking tits, remember that. Remember that guy is the reason I’m alive.”

I’ve heard the story, but saving someone’s life doesn’t give him the right to have sex with their sister. And aren’t brothers supposed to defend their sisters? Maybe he doesn’t think I’m worthy of that kind of love.

I pull the blankets tighter around me and say quietly, uselessly. “I don’t prance, and I don’t have a lot of clothes. They’re Mom’s shorts.”

“Yet another thing you take from her.”

Maybe he’ll hit me, and maybe Mr. Marceaux will report the new bruise, but dammit, I can’t let this go. “I pay the bills. Not you. Not her. She hasn’t once asked me about school or where I get the money. But I’m out there, working my ass off to make sure we don’t lose this house.”

He takes a drag on the cigarette, his expression tight. “Yeah, I bet you’re working your ass. Where do you get the money?” He casts me a sidelong glare. “You fucking whoring?”

Shame piles up in my throat. I shake my head. God, if he knew? I don’t want to find out what he’d do.

“Fuck this.” He stands and flicks his ashes on the floor. “And fuck you.” He strides to the front door, opens it, and glances at me over his shoulder. “Mom’s right, you know. Dad sold our future to buy yours. He did love you more.”