Page 27 of Bound By Shame
A soft cry.
My pulse pounds. His furious, betrayed eyes flash in my memory. Guilt pours through me. The idea of him crying?—
Again. But this time there’s more.
A whine.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. That… wasn’t distress. I’m paralyzed. The condensation clouding the mirror starts to dissipate, but the air is stifling— humid and hot.
Another new sound. There’s no mistaking it.
A moan.
My skin’s on fire.
But the body reflected back at me turns my blood to ice.
I can’t fucking breathe.
It doesn’t make sense.
It’s wrong.
I can’t be.
It’s wrong.
Andrea’s words echo in my ears.
He’s your brother.
I’m not…
He gasps, “Yes.”
I’m hard.
The Apple
Genesis 3:6 King James Version
“And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat.”
Fourteen
ANDREA
My feet kickalong lazily to the sultry beat pulsing from the speaker perched on Cade’s nightstand as I flip through one of his sketchbooks. Stacks of them litter the room, the paper crinkled with watercolor, ink, paint and chalk. Some are bright, others hauntingly bleak. Most are left unfinished— abandoned as if his brush evaporated. There’s something raw about them. Like a window into his chaotic mind.
“Shitfuckballs,” Cade hisses from where he sits on the floor surrounded by wires and green circuit boards. Over the last six months, I’ve learned he rotates through obsessions. The latest hyper-fixation: assembling a gaming computer.
“Don’t electrocute yourself, please,” I sigh, turning the page. A pool of water with black ink spreading from the center, a clawed hand reaching through the surface. Escaping? Or sinking? I tilt my head for a new angle.
A pair of tiny pliers crash-lands on the pile of computer parts. Pinching a thicker cord stripped of plastic coating, he huffs, “That would imply the piece of shit has power, which, if you can’t tell by this busted ass wire, is kind of the issue.”
I army crawl to the edge of the bed and prop my chin on my fist. “So what you’re saying is: you wasted the last two hourstaking the entire thing apart only to find the root of the problem was a simple fix?”
He gives me the finger, then resumes fiddling.
