Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“We were beside the shed, and he had my arm twisted behind my back. I turned and saw you watching. I called out your name, and Kieran just kept saying, ‘It’s okay. I don’t love him. I love you.’ And you heard us both.”
“I said stop!” Simon calls out as he bashes a fist into his head. Once. Twice. A third time.
Ryan rushes to him and seizes his wrist. “You heard me calling out to you for help. You had to have heard me telling him to stop.”
Simon struggles against Ryan’s grip. “No, that doesn’t make sense. You wanted him.”
“That day I didn’t. And you know I didn’t. Say that you remember. Say that you saw me. That you heard me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Simon tears up as he looks behind him, as though he fears Ryan will see the truth in his expression, which I understand since I can see it from here.
“He didn’t care about me, Simon. He just took what he thought he had a right to, and that was wrong.”
Simon’s face turns red, his head trembling as he finally forces himself to turn back to Ryan, thrashing about. “Those lies killed Kieran and Father, and now you’re trying to kill me. You’re killing me!”
In his fit, he manages to get his hands free and bashes them repeatedly against his face.
Ryan shouts for him to stop, but Simon persists, to the point where I approach, hoping to intervene before he seriously injures himself. When he finally stops laying blows against himself, I halt as he shouts at Ryan, “You were calling out his name. You were thrilled to have his cock inside you. You were begging for it harder.”
“That’s a lie!” Ryan says, his own fists balling up, like he’s liable to pummel his brother if he keeps going.
“You were asking him if he loved you more than me,” Simon says. “That’s why he said that. Because you made him say it because you were so fucking jealous. You couldn’t stand that he picked me. He. Picked. Me.”
Simon gets in Ryan’s face, his defense shifting back to offense. “When I came upon you at the shed, I saw you looking at me, watching me with a fucking smile on your face because you were so happy to have your revenge. You were practically cackling, you were so happy with your win.” Now Simon’s looking Ryan in the eyes, spit flying from his mouth as he makes his accusation. “You wanted him!”
“I was screaming for help! Why are you saying this bullshit?”
Simon slaps himself. Again. And again.
“Fuck, Simon. What is wrong with you?”
“Why are you hurting me? Can’t you see you’re hurting me?”
Another slap, and Ryan tries to intercede, but Simon’s slaps soon become a fit as he hits his hands against his face repeatedly until Ryan finally manages to gain control of his wrists again. “You don’t care who you hurt in this family!” Simon lunges at Ryan, tackling him to the floor. I rush to them, forcing Simon back to his feet. I try to restrain him, but he gets an arm free and reaches for the desk, and the next thing I know, there’s a sharp sting in my arm and I release him. As he pulls away, I see fresh blood along my forearm.
“Shit,” I say, and when I look up, Simon’s heading behind the desk, knife in hand—no, not a knife. It’s a letter opener that looks more like a fucking fillet knife than it has any right to.
Simon’s now stuck in a corner, his gaze shifting about like he’s an animal searching for a way out.
“Jonas.” Ryan rushes to me and assesses my wound. “Simon, put that down. Haven’t you caused enough damage already?”
“Oh, you have the right to kill him, but I’m attacked by your boyfriend and a little cut is too far?”
“Just put that down,” I say, which only works him up more.
“Are you so in love that you can’t see the lies he’s spewing? You can’t see that he’s putting on this whole act for you because he can’t bear to think about what he did? Can’t you see who the monster is between us?”
I don’t think anyone walking into this scene would struggle to work that out.
Blood spews from my arm, surprisingly fast since the cut doesn’t seem very deep. Ryan pulls off his shirt and wraps it around my arm.
“Tell him who you really are,” Simon pleads with Ryan. “Tell him! It’s not fair that he thinks he’s about to run off with some kind of saint. Say it to free your own conscience of your sins!”
“Simon, we need to get the first aid kit. This conversation is over.”
“It’ll never be over, not until you face the truth.” Simon tightens his jaw, and his eyes go wide before he slashes into his arm with the letter opener.