My Sweet Bully

He pushes past me and starts down the hall and I’m hit with the smell of gasoline and burning plastic. I remember that smell vividly, the way it filled the air, and bursts of it would hit me as we waited, handcuffed to the bench in the station.

The urge to gag teases the back of my throat, but I hold it in, forcing my stomach to settle as I follow him to the kitchen. Harlow opens the fridge, and the light casts an eerie shadow across his face. “There ain’t shit to eat. Who does the food shopping here? I know it ain’t dickhead dad.”

I ignore him, too focused on the fact he’s actually home long before he’s supposed to be. “So, the judge just let you go, just like that?” Leaning back against the counter, I wrap my arms around my ribs.

“Pretty much.” Closing the fridge, he opens a beer, and sits at the kitchen table. “I mean, I didn’t get off totally free. I’m on probation for the next six months, and I have to pay restitution. . .” He pauses, looking up at the ceiling, as tiny muscles in his face tense and relax. “Something like two thousand and change, but that shit is nothing.”

“Does Dad know you’re home?”

Harlow shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. “I don’t know, and I don’t really give a flying fuck. He didn’t make any attempt to come see me, so why the fuck would I go out of my way to let him know I’m home?” He isn’t really looking for an answer, so I stay quiet. Slouching deeper into the chair, he points at the seat across from him with his beer, directing me to sit without speaking. Pulling out the chair, he watches me as I sit, his eyes trying to read me. “So, where the hell were you? I’ve been home for hours.”

“Community service. I have to go three days a week after school.”

“That sounds fucking horrible,” he says with a chuckle. “They got you picking up dog shit at the parks or something?”

“Trash on the beach. It isn’t fun, but it could be worse, I guess.”

“You want one?” he asks, indicating the beer with his eyes. I shake my head no, and he shrugs like it’s my loss. Taking another long chug of his beer, he slams it down on the table so hard it fizzles up and spills little bubbles from the top. “Yeah, you would have become jail pussy with that feminine frame of yours. Trash pick-up suits you better.” He lets out an over exaggerated laugh as he slaps the top of the table.

I laugh with him, but not because I think it’s funny, it’s because I don’t want him to think something’s different about me. “What are you going to do to pay your restitution? Get a job?”

“Yeah, that’s on my list. But there’s a more pressing issue I want to take care of first.”

“What?” I have no idea what he could be talking about.

Yes you do.

Paying his debt and getting his life together seems like the most important thing to me. The last thing he needs is the cops coming after him to throw him back behind bars for failure to pay his dues.

“Revenge.” The word roll off his tongue easily, smoothly, with power and determination. He’s been thinking about this for a long time, I can see it in his eyes.

“On Walter? I thought that shit ended that night.” My eyes drop to my hands, and I pick at my fingers. “You should just leave it alone, Harlow. I—”

“Walt?” he asks with a laugh, his tone a mix of humor of confusion. “It’s not Walter, Max. I mean, fuck that guy, and the bitch who left me for him, but he’s not the one I’m after.”

“Then who? Who else is there?”

A thin smile spreads across his face, the corners reaching up to his ears. I watch his eyes change, they darken, like black pools as he says, “Prairie Westmin.”

My heart stops.

My breathing stops.

My brain stops.

Harlow grins wide, a big sinister smile as he taps the side of the glass bottle with his fingers. His eyes aren’t the same eyes I remember. They’re emptier, hollower, regretless.

Licking his lips, my brother presses his chest against the edge of the table, his glare stern and showing no room for reason. His mind is set, and I’m not going to be able to change it.

“That cunt needs to learn a lesson, Max, she needs to learn to keep her nose out of our business. She’s a snitch, and snitches don’t fuck with us without paying a price.”

The immense pressure sitting on my chest is making it hard to breathe. I don’t know where he’s going to take this idea of revenge, but I do know one thing; he doesn’t plan on doing it alone.