Page 24 of Wallflower

His blue eyes slowly raise, dragging up my body and stopping when they lock with mine. “I can’t.”

“Please, Brad won’t be nice about it.”

Still, he hesitates, not moving a muscle. Inching up on my tiptoes, I press my lips into his. I only mean for it to be brief, to transfer him the courage he needs to seal the tape over my mouth once more, but the tragedy of the last few hours slams into me. My hopefulness from before crashes down around me, its shards working painfully beneath my skin. I pourwhat could have beeninto the kiss, as it becomes the only thing keeping the sob wanting to break free locked up.

Sam abruptly pulls away, and I lose my footing, falling into him. My arms are still tethered behind my back, and the fright of face-planting on the hard tile takes over the despair that was threatening to break me.

He catches me before I hit the cold floor, righting me on my feet before releasing me. “Thank you,” I murmur.

“No, don’t fucking thank me. I don’t deserve it.”

“Fine, I won’t thank you now. I’ll thank you when this is all over and you’re the hero. Deal?”

Sam’s blue eyes light up as they lift to mine, and he nods slightly. The longer we drag this out, the more worried I become about Chelsea alone out there with Brad. I need Sam on my side though, and it feels like I’m being split down the middle by the urge to be in two places at once.

Sam balls up the previous piece of tape, tossing it into the trash can. Before ripping a new piece, he tilts my chin up and sweeps my hair away from my face. The gesture is sweet, and should be appreciated, but I hate him.

I should hate him.

But I want him to kiss me again.

The sticky tape seals my lips as his press lightly against my forehead.

“Ready?”

“Mhmm.”

Sam swings open the door, and immediately in my field of view is Brad with a knife pressed to my sister’s throat. A thin stream of blood trailing down her slender neck.

Rose pushes past me, frantic mumbling dampened by her tightly sealed lips. Quickly, I wrap my arms around her waist, hauling her against me before Brad kills her sister just for fun. Her murmurs morph into suppressed screams broken by sobs as Chelsea kneels between Brad’s spread legs like a dog made to heel. Her breaths are still shallow, though now her eyes are clear—observant. Taking in the scene unfolding before her. She’d be stupid to try anything, being in the most disadvantageous position out of all of us.

Bucking wildly against me, Rose tries to break free. It’s harder than anticipated to keep her restrained. “What the fuck?” I direct at Brad. He smiles sinisterly, closing his eyes and breathing in the chaos he orchestrated.

“Don’t think I don’t know you’re sweet on that one,” he snaps, pointing the knife threateningly at my girl.

Shit.

I was so careful. Schooling my features the way I practiced in the mirror. I’ve always had an expressive face, the inability to hide my feelings clearly painted on for the world to see. After some clients delighted in my misery, I taught myself to mask it, tossing the emotions into the cavernous well inside my chest. Things got worse before they got better, but eventually the abusers left me alone. Searching somewhere else for the wailing tears they loved to pull from their victims.

“You think I’m sweet on her because I didn’t turn down her begging to suck my dick? Give your head a shake, man.” I rip the top off that gaping hole inside me, pouring everything threatening this moment into it. “You would’ve done the same in my position.”

“You’re probably right,” Brad concedes, stepping toward me. Rose stills in my embrace, picking up on the ill-intention leaking from him as he moves closer. “But, just in case, give her to me.”

I’ve got to hand it to Rosie, she remains still. Fighting the urge to curl into me, and the safety my arms offer. But I can’t risk the hesitation. Unwinding my grasp, I shove my girl toward the heartless asshole now mere inches away.

Chelsea doesn’t so much as risk breathing too loud as Brad grabs a hold of her sister’s throat, raising the knife that’s still gripped in his other hand to it. He lays his weight into Rose, forcing her to her knees. The serrated edge scrapes against her jaw, leaving a path of freshly removed epidermis. My heart flips in its cage, terrified Brad will slit her throat by accident. His carelessness has gotten us into more shit than I can count over the years.

Do I speak up? Mention how pressed for time we already are? I know he’s forcing me to witness this, trying to teach me a fucked up lesson.

“You know—“ Brad starts, “you’re not the first one.”

Confusion flickers in Rose’s eyes as mine widen in shocked anger. How dare he! I thought we were friends!

Brad raises his head, locking into my death-stare. “I suggest you go finish cleaning up.” What he leaves unsaid is the threat of spilling the rest of the story. I get it, he has nothing to hide, nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Whereas I could lose it all, everything I’ve worked for, and Rose. Nodding, I turn, moving across the room to the door connecting our rooms.

It’s spotless, as expected, all evidence bagged up and ready for disposal, like every time before this. I double check the door of his room is locked, then pick up the bag, and move back into my room.

Brad’s squatted in front of Rose, dragging the pointed knife tip across her exposed chest, leaving red raised scratches in its wake. It’s a taunt, a way to wield control over me, while also getting high off the tears accumulating in Rosie’s eyes.