"All?" I narrow my eyes at him. "How many people have you hurt, Parker?"
"I've been holding back," he mutters, stepping closer to the tombstone and gliding his fingertips over the engraved marble. "But that's over now."
"Parker..." I swallow thickly as another wave of sickness overwhelms me. "Let's go back to the house. Talk things over."
"No."
"No?"
"You're staying right here, little sis." The smile's back on his face. "I don't need you making trouble for me."
"I... I would never..."
"Save it." He approaches me again, and I shiver when he caresses my left cheek. The same one he left a gash in on Dove's pretty face. "Maybe I should give you one too. You and Dove could match. I bet she'd love that, your little copycat."
"Parker, I—"
"Shut up." His words make me quiet.
"Let's go back," I whisper.
"No."
"Please."
"No." He steps aside, shaking his head. "I thought we could work it out, June. I thought I could show you how wrong you were. How to make things right again. But I guess I was wrong."
"Let's just go back to the house and—"
"Oh, I'm leaving." He smirks. "But you aren't."
"Parker, I..."
"What?" he taunts. "You're sorry? You want to help? I don't need your help, little sis. I got this. And I'll come get you once I'm done. You be a good girl and wait for me."
"Huh?" I knit my brows together, following him to the doors leading outside. "Parker, let's just—"
"No." He pushes me back so roughly I stumble and nearly fall. "Nothing else to talk about. This is plan B. Wait for me here and think about what you've done wrong. Once you admit it to me—and yourself—I'll let you out."
"You can't possibly keep me in here!" I laugh nervously, my heart pounding as I reach for the door again. "Parker, you know I’m afraid of the dark…"
"I do,” he smirks. “That’s precisely why I’m leaving you here."
"Parker, please... I think I might be—"
He opens the door and steps outside. I rush to go after him, but the door slams in my face. There's nothing but darkness now and the sound of the retreating golf cart.
Pure terror engulfs me. The darkness. The darkness is overwhelming.
I always knew those nightmares from my childhood would catch up to me one day...23KadeI haven't heard from June in a full day, and I'm worried out of my mind. I've blown up her phone with calls and texts. I've emailed. Facebook messaged. Instagram messaged. Nothing. Fucking nothing.
Standing in front of the gates to my former home that evening, I hope I'm lucky enough to see a friendly face on the other side of the door. Someone who knows me, remembers me, and will let me onto the property. Parker sure as hell won't. He's still stuck on his stupid fucking vendetta because I fucked June first.
I ring the video intercom, and a maid's face appears on the video screen. I don't recognize her, but her eyes light up when she sees me.
"Ah, Mr. Miller!" she exclaims. "Any luck in finding June?"
She thinks I'm Parker, and her words fill me with worry. Where the fuck is June if even Parker's looking for her?
"Not just yet," I reply. "Let me in, please."
Luckily, she doesn't ask how I got there or where the car is and just buzzes me through. I walk up the round driveway to the estate, admiring the beautiful house Dad and Rachel's hard-earned money paid for.
It seems like Parker's away today, and I'm grateful for that. I want to believe he's out looking for June just like I am, but I don't trust him anymore. Maybe I never fucking did.
I greet the enthusiastic maid who also seems concerned about June. With her help, I turn the house on its head. I look for June everywhere, even in the attic, where Parker's sheet-covered paintings are. I don't miss the spectacle in the main hall. Our family portrait is ruined, and I know Parker's the one who did this. After he left our apartment, I saw what he did to the painting he made of us. He creates beautiful things... but he loves to destroy them, too. I guess he's always been like that.
I remember the butterfly we'd kept in my mother's old jewelry box. The memory is so old, it feels fragile and fleeting in my mind. But some things are still so clear. Parker's idea to pin down the insect. To hurt it. Not to let it get away. It was all his idea. And I went along with it even though it made me fucking sick.
And then I remember Junebug, my sweet Junebug, going to save the butterfly in the middle of the night. The memory feels different now. I can still feel the butterfly's spindly legs in my palm as I crushed it. I didn't want to hurt it. I just wanted to relieve it of its misery. It wouldn't have lived, anyway. My sweet, idealistic June wanted to let it go, but it would never have recovered from what Parker and I had put it through. It would be eaten alive by something stronger than it. But I didn't have the heart to tell June that. Better to feed her some bullshit white lie and pretend I was the monster, not my brother. My brother, who learned how to hide his dirty, dark secrets better after that, hiding the animals he loved to hurt in places June couldn't find.