The king-size bed felt like the only safe harbor left in the world.
White sheets twisted around our legs, soft cotton warm from hours of shared body heat. Léa pressed against my side, wearing nothing but those tiny black cotton panties and an oversized white tee that kept slipping off one shoulder. The thin fabric clung to the gentle swell of her breasts, rising and falling with each breath.
Her pale skin glowed against my darker tone—like moonlight meeting midnight.
My fingertips traced lazy, invisible patterns along the curve of her hip, right where the elastic band had left the faintest red line on her smooth skin. The room smelled faintly of her vanilla lotion mixed with the musk of our earlier closeness. A distant hum from the city filtered through the closed window, but inside, everything was quiet. Comfortable.
Our bodies fit together perfectly, tangled as if we had been made for this exact space.
For a few precious minutes, it felt like nothing could touch us. No past. No pain. Just this moment.
Then Léa moved.
She sat up too fast, breaking every point of contact. The sudden shift sent cool air rushing across my chest where her warmth had been. Blonde strands fell messily across her face. She shoved them back with an impatient sweep of her hand, her movements sharp.
Arms crossed under her chest, the motion tugged the oversized shirt upward, flashing the smooth plane of her stomach and that small, cute dimple of her navel before the fabric settled again.
"I tried talking to Nadia again today," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. It cracked at the edges. She shook her head once, lips pressing into a thin line. "Still nothing. That same empty stare. Her body's here, but it's like her soul left years ago. She breathes.She moves. But she's not alive, Gego."
The words hung heavy in the dim bedroom light.
I kept my eyes fixed on the ceiling, tracing the faint cracks in the plaster. My throat tightened, the familiar lie rising like bile.
"I don't know why she's like that…"
The silence stretched. Her breathing changed—shallower now, quicker.
Tonight she didn't accept it.
She turned toward me, propping herself on one elbow. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight. Her green eyes locked onto mine—sharp, glistening with unshed tears, fury and heartbreak swirling together. One tear escaped, tracing a slow, glistening path down her cheek.
"Stop." Her voice dropped low, dangerous. "I know you're lying to me."
The accusation hit like a slap. Hot tears burned behind my own eyes, instant and overwhelming. My chest caved inward, a cold knot twisting deep in my gut. My pulse thundered in my ears. I tried to look away, but she caught my jaw—fingers gentle yet firm—turning my face back to hers.
Her skin felt warm against mine, grounding and accusing all at once.
"Talk to me."
The dam inside me shattered.
My voice came out rough, cracked like dry earth. "Nadia… she wasn't always like this." I swallowed hard, the taste of salt on my tongue from unshed tears. "When we were kids, she was literal sunshine. That loud laugh of hers filled every room, bouncing off the walls. She'd tease me constantly, pulling the dumbest faces—crossed eyes, tongue sticking out—until I couldn't help but crack up too. She was two years younger, but somehow she was always the boss. Always leading the way. I was the skinny, fragile one everyone worried about. People thought she was older. She could be a little terror when she wanted… but God, she was so full of life. Vibrant. Unbreakable."
My hands began to tremble. I clenched them into fists, but the shaking only spread up my arms. Léa slid her palm flat against my chest—warm, steady pressure right over my racing heart. It felt like she was trying to hold the pieces of me together, her touch both comfort and anchor.
The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, pressing in around us.
"Our family was fucked up, Léa. Seriously fucked up." My voice wavered. "There were rules nobody ever explained out loud. But you felt them hanging in the air like thick smoke—oppressive, heavy. My father didn't need words. He ruled with fear. One scream over spilled water. A backhand across the face for looking at him the wrong way. And Nadia… every time we got too loud playing, she'd just disappear. Slip away like she already knew what storm was coming. Her eyes would go wide, that quick glance toward the hallway."
I drew a shaky breath. My body locked tight, muscles rigid. The sheets felt suddenly rough against my skin, the faint scent of laundry detergent mixing with the growing tension.
"One afternoon we were messing around in the living room. Laughter echoing off the tile floors. We drifted too close to the front doors—those heavy double metal security gates, painted dark green, opening straight onto the courtyard. One side was cracked open just a few inches. The other stayed locked tight. We were never allowed outside without permission. Ever. The metal smelled faintly of rust and old paint when you got too close."
"But that day I felt reckless. Invincible, almost. I started this stupid monkey routine—jumping around the room, yelling 'Hoo! Hoo! Hahaha!' at the top of my lungs, banging on the bars with my fists. The clang of metal rang sharp in my ears."
"I turned around… and Nadia was gone. Just like that. The laughter died in my throat."
My breathing quickened. The memory played behind my eyes like a horror film stuck on repeat. Heart hammering. Palms slick with remembered sweat.
"Then he was there."
My father. Six-foot-three of barely contained violence. Three belts wrapped tight around his fist, the thick leather one on top—the one saved for when he really meant it. The smell of worn leather and his sweat hit me even now.
"He grabbed my arm hard enough to bruise. Slammed me against the wall. Plaster dust puffed into the air. The first lash caught me across the lower back. Fire exploded across my skin. I screamed, raw and desperate."
"The first time I ever tried to run. I bolted down the hallway, legs pumping, tears streaming, screaming for my aunt who was supposed to be upstairs. My voice echoed off the bare walls."
"He caught me in three long steps. Boots thudding heavy on the floor."
"Belt cracked against my neck. The sting was blinding."
"My legs gave out. I dropped like a broken doll, knees hitting tile. Vision swimming, black spots blooming."
"I crawled. Desperate. Hands and knees scraping against cold floor, nails digging in."
"He raised the belt again… aiming straight for my skull this time. The air whistled."
I squeezed my eyes shut. Could still feel the shift in the air, the whoosh before impact.
"The hit landed."
A dull crack, like wood splitting. White-hot pain exploded behind my eyes. A huge red welt slashed across my scalp, burning fiercely even through dark skin. Blood roared in my ears.
"I was on the floor. Dazed. Couldn't move. Limbs heavy like lead. And he was lifting the belt again—"
Léa made a small, choked sound beside me. Her fingers dug into my hand, nails pressing sharp crescents into my palm. Her breathing hitched, matching my own ragged rhythm. The room felt colder now, the sheets damp with our shared tension.
"Then someone screamed."
"Not my aunt."
"Nadia."
"My seven-year-old little sister."
"She threw herself between us. Tiny arms spread wide, trying to shield me from a giant. Her small body shook. Voice high and pleading. 'Papa, please… leave him… it's my fault…' Tears streaked her face. The fear in her eyes…"
"He stared at her for one endless second. Silence thick enough to choke on."
"Then he shoved her hard to the side. She stumbled, hitting the wall with a small thud. And he kept beating me."
Léa was crying quietly now, face buried in the crook of my neck. Her tears fell warm against my skin, salty and wet. Her body trembled with silent sobs, chest heaving against mine. The vanilla scent of her hair filled my nose, bittersweet in the moment.
"She took hits meant for me, Léa. Little body shaking violently, still trying to crawl back and protect me even after I pushed her away. The sound of leather on skin… her cries mixing with mine."
"And years later… when she was fifteen… when our twenty-seven-year-old cousin demanded her hand in marriage… when the whole family forced her into that wedding…"
"She came to me crying. First time I ever saw her truly broken. Eyes swollen, voice raw. 'Gego… help me. Please. I'm begging you…' Her hands clutched my shirt, trembling."
My voice cracked completely, splintering into nothing.
"And I looked her in the eye… and said, 'Just do what Mom says… we'll figure it out later.'"
The silence that followed dropped like concrete, heavy and suffocating.
Léa pulled back slowly. Her eyes were red-rimmed, shining with fresh tears. Disgust twisted her features—a slight curl of her upper lip, nostrils flaring, eyebrows drawn tight.
"You told her that?" Her voice shook, barely controlled. "You told your fifteen-year-old sister to let a grown man twice her age rape her?"
She recoiled as if my touch burned her skin. Scrambling off the bed, sheets tangling around her legs. She grabbed her bag from the floor, yanked her jeans on with trembling hands—the denim catching awkwardly on her ankles.
"Never come near me again, Gego."
The door slammed shut behind her. Her sobs echoed down the hallway, raw and fading into the distance. Then… nothing. Only the hum of the city and the pounding of my own heart.
I sat alone in the empty bed. Numbness settled over me like frost creeping across glass. Cold. Heavy.
I stood on unsteady legs. Crossed to the closet. The door creaked open. My hand closed around the revolver—metal cool and heavy in my palm.
The bathroom light buzzed to life, fluorescent and too bright. It stung my eyes. The mirror showed a stranger staring back: hollow eyes ringed with red, tear tracks cutting through stubble, a dead, empty expression.
I pressed the barrel cold against my temple. Metal bit into skin.
"I'm sorry, Léa…"
"Nadia… I'm so fucking sorry…"
A whisper brushed the inside of my skull—soft, faint, impossible.
"Save her, little Brother…"
Eyes closed.
Trigger pulled.
Bang.
Body dropped.
…
I jolted awake, gasping for air. Lungs burning.
Naked. Gun still pressed to my temple, cold steel unyielding. But something was wrong.
I was smaller. Younger. Limbs shorter, frame lighter. And this wasn't my bathroom—the tiles were different, the mirror smaller, the light harsher in a way I didn't recognize. This wasn't my apartment. This wasn't even my life anymore.
What the hell is happening to me?