But I clenched my teeth instead.

I hissed at the pain, I winced, and I cowered.

But I didn’t cry. Not anymore.

Not until after he was gone.

He grabbed me by the collar again, fisting it tightly, the fabric chafing my neck. “You’ll go back,” he breathed into my face, “you’ll apologize, and you’ll rejoin the team.”

I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I can’t.”

He threw me into the counter again and backed away, unfastening his belt.

A lump swelled in my throat. No.

“What was that?” he asked. “What did you say?”

Anger twisted his face, and his skin boiled with rage, but he loved this. He complained about my grandmother and me—spit in my face all the time about what a burden I was—but he didn’t actually want me gone. He needed this.

“I can’t,” I whispered, unable to do more, because my voice shook so badly.

He yanked his belt out of the loops, and I knew what was coming. There was no way to stop it, because he didn’t want to.

“You will.”

I stood there, halfway between wanting to cry and wanting to run. It would only make the punishment sweeter for him if I made him work for it. Screw him.

“I won’t.”

“You will!”

“I can’t wear a swimsuit because of the bruises!” I blurted out.

He paused, the belt dangling from his hand, and I couldn’t even hear him breathe.

Yeah.

That was why I quit swimming. My face wasn’t the only thing we had to worry about people seeing. My back, my arms, my thighs… People weren’t stupid, Martin.

I almost wanted to look up, to see what—if anything—played across his face. Worry, maybe? Guilt?

Whatever he felt, he had to know we weren’t coming back from this. It was real now. No matter the apologies, the presents, the smiles or hugs, I would never forget what he did to me.

So why stop now, right, Martin?

Darting out, he grabbed my wrist, growling as he threw me into the table. I squeezed my eyes shut as I bent in half over the top, my palms and forehead meeting the top.

And when the first strike came down, I fought the tears.

But I couldn’t fight the cries coming up from my throat as the strap landed again and again. He was angry now and going harder than normal. It hurt.

He wouldn’t fight the issue again, though. He knew I was right.

I couldn’t wear a swimsuit.

After he left, I laid there for a moment, shaking with the pain slicing through my back.

God, just make it stop.

I whimpered as I shifted, thankful that I hadn’t cried out, and I reached over, picking up my cell phone and turning it to see my grandmother still asleep on the screen.

Tears hung at the rims of my eyes.

She was lucid less and less, so it was getting easier to hide this shit from her. Thank God.

His shower ran upstairs, and he wouldn’t be back down for a long time. Tomorrow, we’d wake up, pass each other silently before heading to work and school, and he’d be home early in the afternoon, being the one to make us dinner for a change. He’d be gentle and quiet and then start some topic of discussion at the table about touring a college that I was interested in, which he normally wouldn’t indulge and had no intention of indulging in by the time the weekend road trip was set to happen. I might be able to breathe for a week before I knew the novelty of our “wonderful sibling relationship” would wear off, and he was primed to relapse again.

Like an addict.

Like a disease.

But now, I didn’t know. This week had been bad. There had been less breathing room in between now and last time.

In a daze, I found my glasses and slowly cleaned up the mess we’d made, finished the dishes, and put all the leftovers away before turning off the light and grabbing my bag.

I slipped my phone into the satchel, but as I rounded the stairs and took the first step up, I stopped.

She was still asleep. Maybe for the rest of the night. I could watch her on my phone from anywhere.

I shouldn’t leave, though. My back hurt, my hair was a mess, and I still hadn’t changed out of my uniform.

But instead of going up to finish my homework, I backed away, as if on autopilot. Picking up my shoes, I slipped out the door and ran, not even stopping to put on my sneakers. The rain pummeled my hair, my clothes, and my legs, my bare feet splashing through rain on the sidewalk as I raced back up the street, around the corner, and toward the village.

I didn’t care that I’d left her window open. She loved the rain. Let her hear it.

I didn’t care that my bag and books and homework were probably getting soaked.

I made another right and saw the glow of the square ahead and stopped running, finally able to breathe. I drew in breath after breath, the cool air in my lungs and the rain plastering my clothes to my skin almost making me smile.

The marquee to the movie theater shone ahead, and I knew before I could read the words that they were having an all-night monster marathon. Kong, Frankenstein, Killer Ants, The Fly…

During October, the theater was only ever closed between eight in the morning and noon for cleaning and restocking, showing new releases and old favorites the other twenty hours of the day in celebration. Sort of a month-long horror fest.

Jogging up to the ticket booth, I slipped on my shoes, now soaked with my shoestrings dangling, and reached into my bag, pulling out some cash.

“Just give me the all-night pass,” I told the girl, slipping her a wrinkled ten through the little hole.

I wouldn’t be here all night, but I could be here as long as I liked, at least.

Grabbing my ticket, I hurried inside the door and passed the concession stand, heading upstairs to theater three.

Walking fast, I opened the doors, keeping an eye around me in case my brother found out I’d left and followed, and then I slipped off my bag as I made my way down the aisle. Some animal screeched onscreen, and quickly, I dropped into a seat, looking around to make sure I was safe.

Not only was I safe, but I was alone. There was no one in here, except me.

I relaxed a little.

It was a weeknight and a school night. Made sense that the place would be empty. It was weird that they still ran the film even if no one bought a ticket, though.

I set my bag on the floor and reached inside, thankful that the contents were still dry, and pulled out my phone, checking on my grandmother again.

She still laid in the dark, on her bed, the monitor in the room beeping steadily and raising no alarms. Sometimes I worried about leaving her alone with Martin, but he really didn’t care to deal with her more than he had to.

I clutched the phone in my hand and sat back in the seat, wincing at the pain I forgot was there as I looked up at the screen and saw Godzilla.

A small smile turned up the corners of my lips.

I like Godzilla.

And before I knew it, I had popcorn and sat there staring at the screen, my eyes attached to every frame as my brother faded away, school faded away, Will Grayson faded away, and lit class faded away.

Because Godzilla was great.

And Lolita hurt my head.

Emory

Present

“Will?” I climbed up on my hands and knees, patting the stone floor and feeling the grime under my hands.