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)
“Fuck!” I call out as he draws blood.
“Tell. Him. The. Truth.”
“Simon, stop!” Ryan calls out, but Simon strikes his arm again and again. Ryan approaches him, and I grab him by the arm, hoping to give him a moment to consider what he’s moving toward and the danger it puts him in.
“Stop cutting yourself!” Ryan pleads.
“You’re the one hurting me. Why do you keep hurting me?” Simon displays the self-inflicted wounds on his arm. “Every time you utter those lies. Every time you trample on his memory. Can’t you end it, after all the harm you already caused? Just tell Jonas the truth.” His face twists up, tears pushing from his eyes as he makes a final plea with Ryan.
“You know the truth, Simon. He had my arm behind my back. He twisted it to keep me in place. And while I begged him to stop, you stood beside that shed and did nothing to help me. Don’t blame me because the truth is too excruciating to face!”
Simon cries out, sticking the blade into his shoulder and digging it in.
“Simon! Enough!”
Simon pulls the blade from his shoulder, and blood soaks the fabric of his shirt.
“Set that down,” Ryan says as he approaches.
“Ryan, don’t go any closer,” I warn.
“Just put the letter opener on the desk, and I’ll get some bandages. We don’t have to talk about this right now. It’s too much for you.”
“Tell him about when you decided to go to Father and tarnish Kieran’s good name. Father didn’t believe you either. He saw through you, just like I did.”
As defensive as Ryan’s been, I see the shift in his expression as he absorbs that blow, and Simon must realize how effective it was since he presses on, “Your own father, who loved you more than anyone in the world, knew better.”
“Father was wrong not to believe me,” Ryan says, though I can tell it’s a strain for him to get out.
Simon lurches forward, like he’s about to attack Ryan, but then he thrashes about, banging the side of his hand against his head once again, which doesn’t seem as horrifying as when he was slicing into his own flesh.
“You fucking liar! You goddamn liar!” he calls out as he flees the library.
He continues shouting as he hurries through the halls, his screams echoing through the house until they’re so far away, they sound like the ghosts of this place, shrieking from the beyond.
Ryan rushes to me and pulls back the makeshift bandage to assess my wound.
Now that the excitement is over, I feel the sting of Simon’s injury.
“I’m so sorry,” Ryan says.
“You’re not the one who fucking stabbed me.”
“This is a lot of blood.”
“It’s not deep. That’s not what I’m worried about. Your brother’s having a mental breakdown.”
“Did you think I missed that memo?” His words are hostile, like the ones he assaulted Simon with, but then he takes a breath. “I’m so sorry, Jonas. That was…”
“Don’t be sorry. That was beyond anything I’ve ever seen. I can’t imagine what it was like seeing your brother react that way.”
He rewraps the shirt around my wound. Seeing him in this nurturing state is just another reason why it’s so impossible for me to fathom how Simon has this warped perception of his own twin. How is his perception of Ryan so far off the mark? Although, from their fight, it’s apparent there are things torturing Simon’s mind that are beyond my understanding.
“We need to find you some antiseptic and bandages.”
“Ryan, you know I believe you, right?” I say, hoping to pull his attention back to what’s more important now than a shallow wound.
“I know you do, and I know he believes me too.” He holds my arm in place. “It’s a conversation we should have had a long time ago, but as much as I said he couldn’t bear the truth, I couldn’t either. Especially after Father died, it was just…”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” I place my hand against his cheek, stroking my thumb across his flesh. “I’m just sorry he made you relive that.”
He takes a breath, as though summoning strength. Then nods. “I’ll be all right, but right now, let’s take care of you. Then can we get out of here? Pack and get an Uber. I have enough money tucked away that I can get us a motel for the night. We can’t stay here.”
“After what I just saw, you were staying in this house over my dead body.”
He smirks before his expression turns serious again. “Let’s not use expressions like over my dead body tonight.”
“That sounds like a reasonable request,” I say.
“Since he was self-harming, I think I need to call the police. Maybe they can get someone out here to do a psych evaluation.”
I can see how much the thought weighs on him, so I take him into my arms for a hug. “How about we call while you’re patching me up? We can do it together. Because you’re not on your own.”