This Cruel Love

She let me hold her hand this time. She was obviously numb and dazed by what she was hearing.

“No. I haven’t hurt your other brother. I have no intention of hurting anyone else. I’ll probably hurt myself before the day is out, but that’ll be my own fault, I guess.”

“I’m so confused.” She shook her head, frowning. “Why do you want to hurt us, Jackson?”

“It’s a long story.” I blew out a long, slow breath, readying myself for the painful trip down memory lane.

“I’ve got all day,” she replied with a hint of sorrow and a touch of trepidation.

“Okay.” I took a deep, fortifying breath and continued. “Your father and mine were best friends. I probably spent more time at your house growing up than I did at my own. That wasn’t such a bad thing though. My dad suffered quite badly with his mental health, and at times it could be tough to be at home with him, on our own. When he was going through one of his dark phases, it was difficult to distinguish between the parent and child. I was his care giver during those times, but I could barely take care of myself, let alone a grown adult. My mother died when I was a baby and my dad raised me on his own. He never remarried and I never met any of his girlfriends, but we did spend an awful lot of time around your house. I came to see your house as a sort of respite from the darkness my own house was often buried in. Travis was my best friend, and your mum and dad took me under their wing, treated me like one of their own.”

“Why don’t I remember you?” she interrupted.

“You were very young when it all fell apart.” I pulled her arm across my lap and lifted her sleeve, tracing her scar with my finger. “I was with you, the day you fell from the ladder leading up to the treehouse. The day you got this scar here. I carried you in my arms back to the house. I was so scared you’d hurt your head or had internal injuries. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so helpless in all my life… well, apart from the night Lovall took you.” She winced at the mention of his name. “I’m sorry, angel.”

Her brow was furrowed like she was trying to solve an impossible puzzle. “But I thought it was just me and Travis that day? Travis always told me he carried me back.”

“That’s what he wanted you to think. He’s your brother, why wouldn’t he want to be a hero? He was a coward that day though. He begged me to lie to your parents and say we were watching you. We weren’t. We left you to look after yourself. We neglected you because we were selfish assholes. I couldn’t keep that a secret, it would’ve eaten me up inside. I carried you back and I told your parents exactly what we’d done wrong. I’ve always regretted it.”

“But you don’t regret hunting us down like wolves and fucking with our lives?”

“Of course I regret it. I regret anything I’ve ever done to hurt you in any way. Travis is a selfish prick. He needed a dose of reality, but not you.”

She moved her hand away from mine. “So you helped me when I fell, and you knew us years ago. What went wrong? What pissed you off so much you had to come after us?”

“I don’t think you’re gonna like what I tell you next, angel,” I said, trying to pre-warn her.

“Trust me, the sick feeling I have right now couldn’t get much worse.”

She had no idea.

“I was fourteen years old when my dad told me he’d met someone else. She was going to be moving in with us.” I screwed my eyes shut, then braced myself. “It was your mum, Ryley. My dad had been having an affair with your mum.”

“Bullshit,” she said with conviction. “My mum would’ve never cheated on my dad. They’re inseparable.”

“They might be now, but back then s

he was packed and ready to leave him. She was coming to live with us. I think she was bringing you too.

“I stormed out, called him out for being the bastard that he was, and vowed that I wouldn’t stand by and let him break up your family. I hated him for what he was doing. I hated them both.

“I spent the day moving from place to place around the city, anything to avoid going home. Eventually it got late, I was freezing cold, and I headed back to the house. When I walked up the drive, I saw your dad’s car parked at the side of our house. I was walking up the steps towards the front door when I heard the shot ring out. A single shot. I thought it was a car backfiring, or a firework going off. Gunshots aren’t something you usually hear in England, and it was the last thing that entered my mind.

“I went inside expecting to hear voices, but it was dark and the quiet… I’ll never forget how quiet that house was. I pushed the door to my dad’s office open and there he was. Sprawled on the floor, with half his head blown off. There was so much blood, all I could smell for weeks after was the metallic smell of his blood and the smoky sulphur-like stench of the bullet. The gun was on the floor, about a metre away from his body, but I knew in my heart that he hadn’t done this to himself.

“Car headlights flooded the office, and your dad’s car sped off down the driveway. Your father killed my dad, Ryley. He murdered him in cold blood and made it look like suicide. My dad had everything to live for that day, he was looking towards the future. A future with your mum. Seems your dad had other plans.”

“No, no, no,” she muttered in a daze, her eyes hazy and her body limp. “He wouldn’t do that. My dad wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s gentle and kind and… no. He just wouldn’t do that.”

She was mumbling incoherently. I could understand why. I’d delivered a pretty damning blow. I never expected her to accept what I was saying. I felt conflicted. On the one hand, it felt good to finally let it out. Tell her what had eaten me alive for the last seventeen years. But, on the other hand, I felt cruel for being the one to destroy her perfect childhood. Taint the idyllic image she had of her saintly father.

“I’m so sorry, angel. I never meant for any of this to hurt you.”

“I don’t believe it.” She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. “I don’t believe for one second that the man who tucked me into bed every night, who sat up with me when I was sick, stroking my forehead and singing to me, could do something so evil. My dad plays piano, does the crossword every morning, and drinks green tea because it’s healthier than coffee. He makes everyone laugh with his corny jokes, and he cried when we had to put my dog down four years ago. He isn’t a murderer. He doesn’t even kill spiders when they crawl across the carpet.” She was shivering now, so I tried to wrap my arms around her, but she shot up and stood over me.

“You said your dad had mental health problems. How do you know he didn’t kill himself? Anything could’ve happened to make that gun go off. There could be any number of reasons why, but it wasn’t my dad. I swear on my life he wouldn’t do that.”

I hated to see how hurt she was, her body trembling with shock and pain, her face crumbling as she processed what I’d said. I had to do something, anything to stop her falling into the pit of hell I knew so well.