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“Wipe your mouth,” he says quickly. “Crumbs.” Shit.
Quickly, I swipe the back of my hand over my mouth. It’s just in time because sure enough, Keith comes barreling into the room. He doesn’t even knock. He just barges in like he owns the place, which he doesn’t. My dad bought this house a long time ago, back when he finished college. I know because he was really proud of it, and he used to tell me all about it. He would always say that what he really wanted in life was for the four of us to be happy.
That was Dad’s big thing.
Happiness.
Now his money pays the bills. Mom and Keith both work a little, but I know it’s not enough. None of it’s enough. Unlike my real dad, Keith doesn’t care about joy or gratitude. He only cares about “the bottom line.” As long as he can go get drunk at the bar and pretend that he doesn’t have stepkids, he’s fine.
“Hi Keith,” I say, greeting my stepfather. His hair is messy. He looks sweaty, like he was working, or maybe like he hasn’t showered. When was the last time he showered?
“What the hell are you two doing home?” Keith growls at us. He thinks we’re annoying. I’ve read stories about people whose stepdads kill them. I saw an episode of this TV show where that happened once. The stepdad kills the kids so he can be alone with his new girlfriend or wife.
Keith doesn’t know it, but I sleep with a knife under my pillow. Just in case. I want to believe he’s harmless, but you never know. I’ve seen news reports at school that say you’re most likely to be killed by someone you know.
“We get out of school at three.” I try to keep my voice even and calm. Keith looks for any excuse to get angry and punish us. Most of the time, this means no dinner. Aaron and I are always hungry. Always.
“Don’t you smart off to me.”
“We’re sorry,” Aaron says quickly. I want him to be quiet. Small. I want him to make himself tiny so that Keith doesn’t turn to him. If Keith is in the kind of mood where he feels like smacking someone, I want it to be me and not Aaron.
I don’t want him even looking twice at my brother.
Keith turns to him and raises his hand. He never needs a reason. He’ll find one. This never happened when Dad was around, so I don’t know why Mom decided to rebound with this guy. Losing our dad was bad enough. It wasn’t even like he had cancer, or we had a chance to say goodbye. One day, he went to work, and he just didn’t come home. The cops said the car wreck was bad enough that he died on impact and didn’t feel any pain, but I watched their eyes when they told my mom this. I didn’t believe them. I still don’t.
Death always carries pain.
I step between Keith and Aaron just as his hand comes down. He nails me right in the cheek and despite my feet planted firmly in the carpet, I go flying into the wall. My head hits the picture of a lighthouse my grandmother bought me when I was little and cracks the glass.
I see stars.
Pain radiates from my cheek. I run my tongue over my teeth. They all seem to be there, but I taste blood. He hit me harder than he ever has before. And he was going to hit Aaron.
My brother is silent as I land on the floor, and so is Keith.
“Watch your fucking mouth.”
Then he’s gone, and Aaron and I are alone.
“You should have let him hit me,” Aaron whispers.
“I would never let that happen.”
The next day, Aaron tells his teacher that Keith has been hitting me. My black eye is bad enough that everyone believes him. The cops come and they take us to separate foster homes. Nobody has room for a sibling set. Even though Aaron and I are torn away from each other, neither one of us cries or begs or pleads.
Somehow, I know that this is the last time I’m going to see my brother.
Then
