Page 40 of Liam (Preston Brothers #4)

Liam

The space between consciousness and oblivion is dark, filled with irrational thoughts and void of the consequences that come with them.

It’s been a while since I’ve been here—emotionally and otherwise.

The bedroom door opens, and the thud of footsteps has me pressing my back harder against the cold wood.

My eyes drift shut as Lachlan’s words fill my ears.

“He’s not in here.” His voice is cracked, still in sleep mode.

I’d heard his phone ring a few seconds ago, and I knew it wouldn’t be long until he’d be here—on the other side of my dark space.

“There’s a bunch of shit on the floor,” he says.

“I think it came from the closet.” His footsteps approach, and my eyes shut tighter when the closet doorknob rattles, then stops abruptly.

“ Don’t open it?” … “Okay, yeah.” His footsteps fade, but don’t go far.

“Hey, Liam?” I hate the uncertainty in his tone.

But more, I hate that my little brother is here to witness my undoing.

“Lincoln’s on his way, but I’ll just be here if you, uh… if you need anything.”

I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes, pray he can’t hear the heaviness of my broken breaths.

There’s a ringing in my ears, high-pitched and unforgiving, but all other sounds give way to the loud thumping of my pulse.

I feel it beat against my rib cage, each sign of life ricocheting off my flesh, and I wish I could peel away my outsides until?—

Until I’m nothing but bones.

There isn’t enough oxygen in my lungs or the tiny, dark space of the closet.

I hear the front door burst open, slam shut, and the tension in my jaw eases, just a tad. Lincoln rushes up the stairs, stops just inside our bedroom. “Thanks, Lachy,” he breathes out. His heart rate matches mine. Beat for beat. I can feel the waves penetrate the atmosphere.

“I didn’t really do anything,” our little brother murmurs, “but sure…”

The bedroom door clicks shut, and a moment later, I’m knocked forward the tiniest bit when Linc matches my position on the other side of the closet door.

I envision Lachlan back in his room now, at his desk, drawing this moment in time. Me, sitting against the closet door, covered in darkness, and Linc on the other side, shrouded in light.

Seems fitting.

“I hate this,” I whisper.

“I know,” he responds.

It’s the exact same words we shared when Linc found me that day, cowering behind a dumpster in the alley behind the pet store. It was the first time I’d done anything without him, and I don’t know who of us regrets it more.

I’d question how he knew where to find me, but the answer is obvious. At least to us.

I’d never felt that level of shame before—having to see the tears in his eyes as they traveled down my face, my entire body.

I was beaten, bleeding in places he couldn’t see, but I’m sure he felt.

My limbs were heavy—dead weight—just like I was.

He wanted to call for help, but I wouldn’t let him.

I didn’t want anyone to see me in that state, so we waited.

We waited until the shops closed for the evening and the streets were empty, and then he helped me to my feet, held me up so I could walk.

When we finally got home, I hid out in the tree line, battered and bruised, until I watched the lights go out inside. Then he came out and got me.

No one saw me enter that night.

But my dad was waiting for me in our bedroom.

“I had to,” Linc said, and I already knew as much.

“Who did this to you, son?” Dad asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.” Then I went into the darkness of the closet and fell into its depths.

The first time I’d done it was the day I found out my mom had died. I didn’t know what to do with the overwhelming emotions, but I knew I needed to be alone—in the silence of grief. In the stillness of my surroundings. It was the only thing that seemed to calm me.

It’s still the only thing that calms me.

Lincoln was the only person to see me in the days after the beating. He made sure of it. Because even though I knew, deep down, that my brothers loved and cared about me, that they would burn down the world for me… shame?—

Shame broke me down into tiny pieces.

Tore my existence to shreds.

And created irrational thoughts, void of the consequences that come with them…

I wanted to die.

And in a way, I think a part of me did.