Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
“There were times where she’d cry herself to sleep. I mean there were a lot of times like that. A lot. Especially when he’d stay out all night or when he’d come back drunk. Or when he bragged about his conquests, his cheating. But there were nights where she’d cry… in a different way. It was both a cry of pain and a cry of misery. And whenever I’d hear that, I’d sneak out of our room and go to her. I’d hug her in the bed, but not real tight because I knew. I knew she was in pain. I’d just put my arm around her and stay close to her. Just to let her know that she was safe. That no one would get to her while I was there.
“She always appreciated that but,” I scoff then. “What a joke, right? I mean I was, what, five, at the time. There was no way that I could fight back on her behalf. There was no way that I could keep her safe and I wanted to, believe me. I wanted to beat the shit out of that monster. I had this rage inside of me. This anger. This fucking fire to fight him, you know? To push him into a wall like he did our mom. To kick him, to punch him, to fucking end him. To make him pay for all his crimes but I… didn’t. I never did. I never even tried to fight him. Not because I was little or I was afraid of him or something. I didn’t do anything because,” I keep my eyes locked with his as I confess my biggest secret. “I’m like him. I’m like our father.”
It takes him a long moment to speak and when he does his lips are so pinched, just like his features, that they barely move. “You’re like him.”
Shame, pure and undiluted, runs through my body.
Shame and guilt and so much regret that I could possibly drown in it.
As I nod, still keeping my eyes locked with his. “I have issues.”
“What kind of issues?”
“Anger issues.”
He keeps staring at me for a few moments. Then, “I’m guessing these anger issues are worse than Ledger’s.”
If I could smile in this moment, I would.
Because for all our differences and the deliberate distance between us, we are twins after all. I didn’t have to tell him what I had to specify to Conrad.
“Yeah,” I confirm.
“And the proof’s in the pudding, huh,” he goes on.
“Are you the pudding?”
“Apparently.”
I eye his bruised face for a few seconds. Then, throwing him a curt nod, “Yeah, I’m worse than Ledger. I’ve always been worse than Ledger. My anger is bigger, more vicious. And I’ve always known that. Even when I was little. So when one night Dad, in his drunken stupor, confessed about beating Mom and told me I was like him, I made a promise to myself. To suppress it. To bury my anger so deep that no one would ever find out. I made a promise to myself that I’d never become like him. That I’d never raise a hand to my family. I’d never hurt my siblings. Con and Ledger and Callie and you. I made a promise that I’d keep you all safe. I couldn’t keep Mom safe, could I? I couldn’t stop what was happening to her. So when Dad left and I became the monster of the family, I told myself it was up to me. It was up to me to leash myself. To keep myself chained and hidden from the world, from all of you. It was up to me to take care of you all.
“So I started keeping a list of my triggers. I started keeping track of what made me angry, what made me upset, what irritated me, stuff like that. I started keeping my distance from those things. Things that could excite me, upset me, make me lose control. I wouldn’t go to parties, not that they ever interested me but I wouldn’t say yes to get-togethers and things. I’d leave the room when you and Ledger would argue or get into fights. I’d stay away from all the pranks, how you guys would tease and trick Callie, how you’d poke fun at Conrad. I chose soccer because of this very reason. Because it never excited me, never gave me any pleasure. It was easy. It was predictable. It was something I knew well. Something that was safe. Besides I didn’t think I deserved it. I didn’t think I deserved to have anything fun or good or exciting. Because of who I was. And I wouldn’t let myself get close to you.”
Again, I keep my gaze steady on his. “Because on that list of triggers, you are at the top. You’re my biggest trigger, Shepard. Always have been. Maybe it’s because we’re so different. We always have been. Ever since we were little. You were loud; I was quiet. You’d run around the house; I’d sit in a corner and read. You’d play pranks, get into fights, provoke people; I followed all the rules, kept my head down. And more often than not, I was the victim. Of your pranks, your taunts, your provocation. And I used to get so angry. You made me so angry, Shepard. So fucking angry. And while we did fight when we were little, we did beat each other up, after I found out about Dad, about myself, I… stopped. And trust me, it was hard. It was so fucking hard.