Page 30 of Van Cort

BEFORE

RHETT – AGE FIFTEEN

One of the staff told him his father wanted West in the study. Rhett turned back along the corridor, looking at the clock as he went by. Nearly six. That meant there had already been several hours of drinking time.

He looked upstairs towards the bedrooms. If he stood a little slacker, and smirked on entry, and tried all the things he knew about his brother, then maybe his father wouldn’t recognize the difference. Maybe.

He sprinted upstairs to change into one of West’s T-shirts, shrugging it into place. He didn’t look like West in his own eyes, but a few movements in the mirror, and a slight ruff of his hair, and the exact resemblance was there for the rest of the world to see.

Sighing, he backed away from the mirror and turned for the stairs. This would be the second time this week, and it was only Wednesday. More would come by the weekend.

Within minutes, he was at the door that his father would be behind. He took a deep breath, brightened his face into something that West would wear, and knocked. Something crashed inside the room, followed by another crash of sound.

“Come.”

Walking in, he was immediately met with a father pouring a tumbler full of something down his throat and the room almost trashed.

Rhett swallowed and closed the door behind him, quietly.

He instantly regretted the change his face must have given away because his father sat, smirked – just like West’s smirk – and lounged back.

“I’m not a fool, boy,” he slurred.

Rhett nodded and frowned his usual frown. “No, Sir.”

“Where’s the son I do want?”

“In town.” West wasn’t in town. He was in the woods somewhere with Lara.

“The hell is he doing there?” Rhett couldn’t think quickly enough for a decent answer. There was no reason for him to be in town. They didn’t shop, or get groceries, or have any reason to be there other than inquisitive meandering.

“Getting something for cook.”

“For cook?”

“Yes, Sir.” His father refilled his glass and threw the drink down his throat again, staggering forward.

“She’s paid to get her own things! I’m not having my own fucking blood doing her errands and-” Rhett tuned it out.

All of it. It went on and on, and his father started throwing things around the room in a rage about nothing.

He got closer to Rhett, shoving him for no reason as he walked by.

Rhett waited, knowing what was coming one way or another.

There was no getting away from it – never was.

But this way, at least West didn’t get it.

He made sure of that now. He put himself in the firing line. Always.

He watched closely as the rage built, and the broken things multiplied, still unsure why he didn’t just run.

He could. He could outrun the bastard any day of the week, but he didn’t.

He stood and took it – he always took it.

It wasn’t respect, and it wasn’t love. No, it was some kind of fear that had woven its way into him about this being his penance.

The first punch to his face landed as he was glancing out the window.

Lara was walking by the deck at the bottom of the lawn.

He fell back against the door, not even trying to brace.

What was the point? It didn’t help make it feel less painful, and the quicker he seemed exhausted, the quicker it ended.

“Look at you. Fucking useless,” his father spat.

Rhett lowered his stare and stood up again. “Yes, Sir.”

“If only I could sack you like I’m about to sack that bitch.

” He was slapped that time, several times in fact, as his father belittled him and told him he was pathetic and pointless.

He asked him why he was ever fucking born, why he didn’t die, too.

“You fucking killed her, boy. You and that other spawn.”

Rhett nodded. “Yes, Sir.” It all came down to this.

Every time he got beaten, something more about his mother came out of his father’s mouth.

It wasn’t a lie. The birth had killed her.

And in some perverse way, Rhett got some comfort out of these beatings.

He learned more about her some days – the colour of her hair, the knowledge that she loved singing.

They were secrets only he knew. They were his alone.

And they were part of the reasoning for him taking the beatings in place of West every time.

Another punch, and another, and eventually Rhett was on the floor against a wall.

He lay there waiting for the kicks to come. They did.

He wheezed on the fourth one, barely able to contain the tears that wanted to come out, and curled up into a ball.

His father stopped kicking and spat on him instead.

Liquid started pouring into Rhett’s face.

He’d never tasted whiskey before, but his father’s fingers gripping his chin, hauling him up the wall and pinching into his cheeks to open his mouth, meant that the sour taste exploded on his tongue.

He coughed and spluttered, swallowed, and felt his panic starting to rise.

Drowning felt like this. He remembered it from learning to swim.

“You think you’re so fucking perfect, don’t you?

Both of you.” Rhett tried shaking his head, but his father wouldn’t let him.

“Drink it, boy.” He just kept feeding the whiskey into Rhett, slapping him occasionally to make sure he drank.

“You’re my son after all. You’ll know what alone feels like soon enough.

And you’ll never find anything of hers. You hear me, boy?

It’s all hidden from you because you don’t deserve her.

Never.” Fingers held his neck fast to the wall, and through the haze of fear and Rhett’s own building anger, he could see his father laughing some bitter sound.

“Bet you wish you hadn’t tried to be your brother now, don’t you, boy? ” He’d never wish that. Never.

The fingers squeezed tighter.

The world shifted into a fog of colours and not much else.

And then the pressure left him and the door slammed.

Quiet settled in the room.

Rhett opened his eyes and stayed slumped against the wall, breathing hard.

He looked at the near-empty bottle of whiskey on the floor and reached for it, wondering if he should drink the rest. Maybe it would help numb the pain and cancel everything out, because he already knew what alone felt like. He was alone permanently in this.

But coming back to reality quickly took his thoughts to West.

He dropped the bottle and tried pulling himself up, trying to think of where his phone was to let West know Father might be looking for him, but the door creaked.

He froze.

“Rhett?” Lara’s voice whispered. “Are you in here?” She stepped into the room and looked at the mess, eventually turning her gaze to him in the corner. He scowled and looked back at her, embarrassed, angry, and unsure what the hell he should do about her being here and seeing this.

Her hands flew to her mouth, and she hurried over to him quietly, closing the door on the way.

“Oh my god.” She put her hand on his leg, the other on the side of his face.

“Are you okay?” Rhett stared at her face.

Such a pretty goddamn face. It just about managed to make him forget the pain he was in.

But he was so fucking angry still.

“Get out,” he muttered, turning his face from her hand.

She got in his eyeline again. “No. What can I do? How can I help? I saw what happened from the window.” Rhett squeezed his eyes hard, trying to get rid of the blurring.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” He didn’t know, but he felt like fighting now.

He’d felt it at the time, too, but that fear, that weird underlying feeling that made him keep taking it stopped him trying every damn time.

“Rhett?” she pushed, patting his cheek a little harder to get his attention.

“You’re big enough, you could-” He snatched at her wrist, scowled at her.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he snarled.

She let go immediately and fell on her haunches, still staring at him. “Okay. I’m not leaving, though.”

He tried thinking for a minute, trying to find sense in his head. There wasn’t much but anger and humiliation and pain. “Where’s West?”

“With my dad. Fishing, I think.” Good.

Safe.

They stared at each other, and for the first time in all the time he’d been taking this kind of punishment, someone looked at him with kind eyes.

Part of him enjoyed it, but another part couldn’t bear the pity.

He sneered and looked out the window, trying to erase her face.

It didn’t work, and, more importantly, it only made him want to look at her for longer.

She leaned forward, regardless of his temper, and slipped her hand into his with a small smile. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

She was everything for him at that moment. A bright ray of light in what was becoming darker and darker day by day. Even West didn’t help anymore. He ignored the bruises and chose not to talk about any of it. Not that Rhett would have done. He did it for West, took the pain for West. Had to.

“Does this happen often?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. He tugged at her until she got closer and pushed his mouth over hers whether she wanted to kiss or not.

He didn’t know why he’d done it - denial maybe, or the want for something other than pain, but, either way, she didn’t pull back.

He could feel her hesitancy, though, and didn’t like it, so he pushed a little harder to encourage her.

His hand wrapped around to grab her ass and pull her tighter in, and before he realised what was happening, he had his hand in her panties and was forcefully pushing his fingers inside her.