We Told Six Lies(80)

Holt stands up, facing me head on.

He smiles.

“Dad’s not here to save you now, Cobain,” he says, stepping out from behind the rock. There’s blood on his shoulders. There’s blood on my hands. There’s no telling how much more blood will spill tonight.

I raise a finger and curl it toward myself.

Holt strides toward me.

When he gets close enough, Holt gives one arrogant cock of his chin as if saying, Let’s go. He’s ready for this.

I am, too.

I lunge at him.

Together, we go to the ground. He attempts to crawl on top of me, but I bring my leg up and knee him in the face. He groans as his shattered nose takes another direct hit.

Blood sprays across my face. I wipe it with the back of my hand and stand over him, ready to end this. He groans, and then swings his own leg around, knocking me behind the knees.

I crumble, and this time he is able to clamber on top of me.

He delivers two punches to the side of my head, and my ear rings from the impact.

“She…isn’t…yours…anymore,” he grunts as he hits me.

His words send a tidal wave of fury coursing through me. I grab for his throat, and his eyes flash with surprise. The reaction scratches some desperate, childlike itch inside me, and I find myself taking hold with my other hand.

He claws at my hands, throws his fist out to try and hit me again. But I lean just far enough away to avoid the blows and maintain my grasp on his neck.

He starts to sink to the side, and I follow him there. Soon, it’s me on top. Me with the advantage. I press my hands down harder, my fingertips touching on either side of his neck.

He flops like a beached fish, his eyes bulging. I imagine if I swam my finger inside his mouth, I’d find a hook and lure.

Holt grabs on to my wrists and squeezes. His mouth opens and closes in desperation, as if in a silent attempt to reason with me.

I tighten my hold in response.

I push down with every ounce of weight I carry and imagine the things he might have done to Molly. I imagine his mouth on her skin. Her breasts in his hands. His hand fumbling for his zipper. The grunts he made as he rocked inside of her.

An animalistic sound escapes my lips, and I shake his neck.

Nine years ago, it was him on top.

But now it’s me who is in control.

“You tried to kill me,” I say, and I push down, down. “You took away my parents. You took away my girlfriend.”

Holt opens his mouth to the sky and makes silent gasping motions. Then he reaches back and clocks me against the face. I wasn’t ready for the hit, and so I lose my hold. Just a bit. But he’s weak from lack of oxygen, and I reclaim my grip in a matter of seconds.

This time, I will not let up.

No matter how hard he hits me.

No matter how strongly he fights back.

Even if I remember my mother and father saying, quietly, when he wasn’t around, “He’s sick, Cobain. We take care of each other when we’re sick, right? We have to be patient with him, even when it’s hard.”

Holt seems to make a decision beneath me. He releases my wrists and reaches up, and for a moment I’m certain he’s going to attempt hitting me again.

Let him try.

Instead, his hands grab my cheeks, and his eyes meet mine. Eyes that are starting to roll inside his skull. He opens his mouth to say something, but of course, there is no air. I’m holding it in the palms of my hands and refuse to return it.

He grips my face tighter.

And then closes his eyes.

His head falls to his side.

His body collapses.

And I cry out and leap off of him while there’s still time and throw my face into my hands because he is my brother. He is my brother, goddammit.

And sometimes he was Holt, happy.

“Cobain,” Molly says, and my head snaps up.

I spin around to see her, and I imagine what I must look like in her eyes. Crazy, unmanageable, not at all like the boy she imagined me to be.

Those green eyes stay locked on mine, and I find myself entranced.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Everything is going to be okay now.” I watch the way her lips move as she speaks—a tiny heart-shaped weapon that could kill me with only a few words. I search her eyes, and they tell me everything I suspected. That she loves me. That she was only scared. I hate her for turning her manipulation on me, but what happened to her here was because she knew me.

Molly lays a hand on my chest and nudges me farther away from my brother. “Do you have your phone?”

I nod. “In the truck. I don’t know if it will—”

“Go get it,” she interrupts. “Call the police, and let’s get out of here.”

I grab her elbow. “Come with me. I’m not leaving you alone.”

She nudges me a second time. Her eyes have hardened like two marbles tucked inside her skull. The sight of them sends a chill over my body. “Go,” she insists. “I need to do something first.”

I glance down at Holt. He lies unconscious on the ground, and I know he won’t be getting up anytime soon.

I nod once at Molly and then run toward my truck.

I’m not sure what makes me turn back—the fear of her vanishing before my eyes, most likely. Regardless, I glance over my shoulder and stop cold.

Holt is waking up.