the hot barrel of the gun against his palm. He hisses as the smell of burnt flesh fills the air. Combine that with the pain, and I feel like I’m about to pass out.
“I’m going to make sure you’re as useless as you view our son.” Another gunshot slices the air and takes a chunk of his hand.
“No!” he screeches, grasping his injured palm. “I’ll never be able to operate again!”
Mom yanks his other hand back and aims. “That’s the fucking point.”
The bullet sears through the hands that made this family millions of dollars. He lifts his trembling palm and sobs when he sees two vivid wounds. They remind me of peep holes. I can see through them to the other side of the wall.
A hint of citrus and hibiscus invades my nose—my mom’s perfume. She slams the gun on the nightstand and wraps her hand around the scalpel sticking out of my shoulder. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wish I could take your pain away,” she says sweetly before tugging the blade out of the meat of my muscle.
I cry in relief, in terrible agony, and sag against the bed. I gag as the pain hits my stomach.
“It’s okay. It’s all going to be over with soon,” Mom says, brushing a strand of wet hair out of my face.
Dad drags himself along the carpet and reaches a ruined hand for the gun on the nightstand.
“Mom,” I croak, warning her with my eyes to turn around.
Her hair fans around her as she turns, giving me another burst of oranges and hibiscus. “I don’t think so, asshole.” She lifts the scalpel in the air and stabs his hand, and it pins him against the wood, his fingers a breath away from the handle of the gun. “How does that feel, Douglas? To feel so ruined and helpless? Do you feel pain?” She pulls the scalpel free, and Dad grunts, falling onto his back. Mom picks up the gun and scoffs as she straddles his lap. Mascara runs down her cheeks, and her nose is red from the tears, but I’ve never seen her so vicious. “You dare hurt my child for seven years under my nose. Seven years.” She rips his shirt off and cuts into his skin like he did me. Long, smooth marks open his body like a fish after being caught and prepared to be someone’s dinner. He screams, and Mom sobs. “You deserve everything you feel, damn it. Everything.” She gets in his face and spews hatred.
“Rachel—”
“Don’t Rachel me,” she clips, aiming the gun in the middle of his forehead. “The abuse ends today.” She turns her head, closes her eyes, and pulls the trigger one last time.
Seven bullets for seven years.
She tosses the gun aside and somehow manages to find the strength to stand. She runs to me, barely able to breathe. She unties my wrists from the bed posts and gently pulls up my pants.
I groan in relief. My arms tingle back to life, and a fresh ooze of blood flows out of my shoulder. I can’t flip to my back. Everything hurts. “Mom?” I rasp, and she lays down on her side next to me, her small blue eyes swimming with regret.
She kisses my forehead and pushes my sweaty hair out of my face. “I’m so sorry. My baby, oh, my sweet boy.” Mom wraps her hand around the back of my neck and buries my face in her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. It’s over. He will never hurt you again.” She leans back and stares at the significance of my injuries. “God, we need to get you to a doctor.”
A fresh wave of fear has me trembling. “No, no doctors, Mom, please. No more doctors.” And like the weak boy I am, I let all of the pain break free. “I can’t. No more, please, no more.”
“Shh, sweetie, shh.” She holds me close. “Not all doctors are bad, but I can call in a favor. I know people who can take care of this.” She’s careful as she touches me. “Did he… Did he… Oh god! He did, didn’t he?” She sits up and presses a hand against her stomach. “He touched you. I can’t believe I didn’t trust my instincts. I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Mom, he didn’t.” My teeth chatter as I reach for her, shock taking over my frail body. Every move is like another cut against my skin. “It’s okay. I never wanted you to know.” I swallow, licking the salt off