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Too close.
This was wrong. This was all different kinds of wrong and the only one who knew how wrong it was was me. My mom was only unhappy to share her home with him because she probably knew once he moved in, it’d be a long time before he moved out. Nothing like letting someone mooch off you for God knew how long.
If only she knew the extent of the things Uncle Dave had done. If only I’d spoken up when I was younger, when I could’ve had years to go to therapy, to try to overcome the trauma and the PTSD of it all.
It was too late now. I’d stupidly listened to Uncle Dave and said not a word about it to anyone else, let him guilt me and shame me into believing his lies.
I was older now, so I knew that’s what they were: lies. He was a smooth-talking criminal, an opportunist who’d liked me way too much, even before puberty hit. He was the reason I was so fucking broken.
And now he was living right next door, as if he was a welcome member of this family, and there was nothing I could do to change it.
Pushing off the door, I flipped off the lights and meandered to bed. I didn’t get under the covers. I lay on top and pulled out my phone. My fingers found Brett’s unsaved number, and I texted him.
Uncle Dave is moving in. We’re going to have to figure something else out.
It meant Brett couldn’t come in the house after my parents left. It meant he couldn’t shower when we got home from campus. He’d have to do whatever he could in a bathroom at the student union or something. Same with charging his phone.
And laundry…
Shit. This just made everything more complicated and ten times worse. I had no idea what we were going to do.
I wanted to call him, to hear his deep voice telling me everything would be okay, even if it wasn’t true. I wouldn’t believe him, but it’d be nice to hear all the same. But I couldn’t call him, because I was afraid Uncle Dave would hear.
Brett texted back instantly:Okay. It’s not the end of the world. Don’t freak.
If he knew the truth, if he knew… he wouldn’t say that. How could I not freak when Uncle Dave was literally right next door? He’d never been this close, not for a prolonged period of time. He’d never lived in the same house as me, and yet that had never stopped him from doing all those things to me.
I rolled over to my back, staring at the dark ceiling as memories fought their way up to the surface of my mind. The things he’d whisper to me while doing it. The look he’d get on his face. The way his hands held me, touched me, stroked me as he told me how much he loved me. I was his favorite niece.
One guess as to why.
My throat got tight, airways constricting. My chest felt like someone had placed a row of bricks on it, and they kept piling it on, adding more and more until I could hardly breathe. I couldn’t calm down.
I didn’t know what I was going to do, but one thing was for sure.
I’d get no sleep tonight.
Chapter Twelve – Charlie
I didn’t want to get out of bed the next morning, for reasons that should be more than obvious. I might’ve closed my eyes during the night, but if I said I got any actual sleep, I’d be lying. I couldn’t shut my mind off. My thoughts had raced too much.
In the darkness of the night, I’d let myself dream. If I asked Brett to kill Uncle Dave, he would. He’d do it without question, in a heartbeat. He’d kill Uncle Dave however I asked him to. If I wanted him to torture the guy for hours before ending it, he would. Brett was sweet like that.
I wanted Brett to help me with my stalker, and yet I couldn’t muster up the balls to ask him to kill Uncle Dave. What was wrong with me? Why could I ask him to kill my stalker and be unable to ask the same thing when it came to a man who’d hurt me for years?
Something had to be wrong with me. It made no sense.
It was nine-thirty by the time I forced myself out of bed. I couldn’t pretend to be asleep forever. My feet shuffled to the door, and I carefully unlocked it before sticking my head out into the hall, trying to hear movement next door. I heard nothing, so I ran across the hall to the bathroom and locked myself inside.
This was how things would be until Uncle Dave was gone. Always on alert. Always tense and anxious and sick to my stomach. I didn’t know how I was supposed to live like this, in such a constant state of distress.
I showered quickly—the quickest shower I’d ever done, I think. In and out. Enough to jolt my senses and get me to not be so exhausted after a night of no sleep. I washed my hair and that’s it, and once I stepped out, I got dressed as quickly as possible, almost like I was afraid Uncle Dave might burst through the door and see me.
I ran back to my room, changing into a fresh set of clothes. A baggy t-shirt and some jeans that even my mom made fun of when I bought them. They went up to my belly button, and they flared out at the bottom. Totally ill-fitting for someone with my body type, but they were cheap and I never really cared.
Now, I was grateful for my lack of style, because with what I was wearing, I was drowning in fabric, which meant less for Uncle Dave to see.
Mustering up my courage, I went downstairs. It was Sunday, so I found it a little odd I wasn’t woken up for breakfast or anything, but when I made it to the kitchen, I saw why that was. A fresh stack of pancakes sat on the counter next to a big plate of bacon.
