Page 118 of Bound By Blood and Lies

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the roses my dad brought Mum for their twentieth anniversary and, without thought, I run up to them. Bending down, I use my hands to rip them from the ground. The thorns scratch and dig into my skin, but I barely feel it. I go back in for more, pulling and digging and ripping to make them as dead as she is. How dare they look healthy. How dare they exist. My hoarse voice lets out another scream as rage bubbles up in my stomach.

I stamp and crack every branch possible.

My chest heaves as I finally look at the destruction. The leaves scatter on the floor under my feet in a sea of red. The image of Mum and Dad’s bloody bodies on the church floor hits me so hard I stagger back. Nausea hits me out of nowhere andI collapse to the floor, bending over on my hands and knees as I empty my stomach on top of the blood-red rose petals. The vomit burns like fire as it crawls up my throat and tears spring into my eyes. I count to ten again before trying to focus on good memories. Fae’s smile. Her bump. My weapons room.

When I finally feel settled, I get off my hands and knees and go to stand, turning quickly so I don’t see the destruction of her flowers. I run up the steps to the front door. One after the other until my hand rests against the door handle. Before I can even think about it, I open the door and it swings inside without a noise.

The thing that hits me is how quiet it is.

The music that usually welcomed me when I opened the door is gone. Dad’s phone that rings off the hook doesn’t make a peep. The gentle hum of the oven perpetually baking something has been turned off for the very last time. My hands curl into fists as I move through the hallway and head straight for the kitchen.

I freeze at the doorway and sigh as I take a look around. For the first time in days, that anger is replaced by a deep emptiness. I’m not sure what I was hoping to see here. She hasn’t been home in weeks anyway. Maybe I wanted some proof of her life, like she was just playing hide and seek. It’s fucking pathetic. I’m a grown man. I watched the life drain out of her and every time I close my eyes, I will see that for the rest of my life.

I walk over to her radio and press play.‘Un-break My Heart by Toni Braxton’blasts out of her speakers. I walk over to the drinks cabinet and pull out my dad’s most expensive whiskey. Forgetting the glass, I make my way over to the bay windows and fall onto the window ledge.

The burn of the whiskey doesn’t help; I throw my head back and take two long drags before the alcohol swirls in my stomach. My head drops against the wall as I overlook the garden, and my grip tightens around the bottle as my eyes drag over everythingshe spent years perfecting. The hedges are cut too clean, the paths are too precise, the flowers are arranged in those stupid colour patterns she used to explain to me like I actually cared, like it meant something beyond just looking right.

I shake my head and push myself up off the ledge. This can’t be healthy, right?

What is fucking healthy anyway… my future wife is pregnant with her rapist’s baby, my dad is the reason for it, and I became an orphan overnight.Jesus fucking Christ. The worst thing out of all of this is Mum would know. She’d tell me how to navigate it. She’d tell me how to be balanced, and now she can’t.

I haven’t even buried them and already it feels like I’m being buried under everything they’ve left behind. I drag my hand along the countertops before putting the bottle back to my mouth and taking two more big gulps of liquor as my fingertips follow the same path hers did multiple times. The motion slows as something catches under my palm, a faint ridge in the wood where she once complained it had warped slightly.

She should be here. She should be moving around this kitchen, telling me to stop drinking straight from the bottle, telling me I look like shit, telling me to sit down so she can fix whatever I’ve just made worse. Instead, I’m standing here alone, holding something that belonged to him, in a house that still feels like hers, surrounded by pieces of a life that hasn’t caught up to the fact she’s gone.

She is everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

I push myself away from the counter as the bottle hangs loosely from my hand. My feet carry me down the hallway on instinct alone until I’m standing outside his office. I shove the door open and stumble slightly as my shoulder clips the frame. The room looks exactly how he left it. Papers stacked. Chairtucked in. Everything in its place like he’s just stepped out and will be back any second to pick up where he left off.

I move further in as my eyes drag over the desk before I drop into his chair and stare ahead. This is where he sat. Where he planned everything. Where he decided things that destroyed people’s lives without a second thought.

And I was too blind to stop him.

I should’ve seen it. I should’ve done something. I should’ve protected her.

My teeth grind together as the anger snaps back in. Why the fuck didn’t they say anything? Fae’s twin is the goddamn best logistics officer we have seen in years. If she was protecting me, then why not at least tell him? I am so angry at her, at both of them. A pregnant woman and a fifty-year-old walked straight into a fucking trap, even a novice could tell you that. Fae should have known better. Mum fucking should have known better. Why didn’t they know better?

“GODDAMN IT,” I scream and push his papers off the desk with a swish.

My eyes shift and land on the photo of me and him sitting on the edge of the desk. I stare at it as a dark feeling settles in my chest before I reach out and grab it. My fingers tighten around the frame as I look at his face and mine.

It feels like it belongs to a completely different life.

“Fuck you,” I mutter under my breath before launching it across the room.

It smashes against the wall with a crack, glass shattering as it hits the floor, and I push myself up from the chair immediately and turn toward the door. My phone rings out but whoever it is can fuck off.

I can’t be in here.

I walk out, the sound of broken glass still echoes behind me as I move down the hallway. I stumble slightly as the alcoholfinally reaches my bloodstream. I welcome the oblivion. My steps are uneven as I make my way to their bedroom. The door is already slightly open when I get there and I push it wider as I step inside. Mum’s scent hits me first. The fresh linen and cookies that only ever came from her engulf me.

“Mum…” The word roughly leaves my throat as my eyes burn.

Everything is in its place like the rest of the house. Her presence sits in every corner without her actually being here and it is messing with my head in a way nothing else has. I drag a hand over my mouth and walk further in. Her cookbook catches my eye on the dresser and I step towards it. My fingers brush over the cover. I flip it open. Some of the pages are worn in places, whilst others look new. Her handwriting fills the margins, and a small smile pulls at my mouth. The pages crinkle as I turn them before stopping at the one she’s annotated the most. I chuckle at the title.

Roman’s future wife’s cake.