Silence

PROLOGUE

Six Years Ago

Friday | October 3 | 4:17 PM

Weston snored on the worn couch, hand over his eyes. I giggled, drawing hearts over his face with the hot pink marker.

He rolled over, the marker streaking across his cheek. He woke up with a startle, his stormy grey eyes narrowing at the sight of me. "You little brat," he snapped and shoved me backwards, straightening. "You better not have done what I think you've done."

I smirked, inching backward. "Or what?"

The front door opened, and the smell of booze hit my nostrils immediately. Weston smirked. "I'll leave you alone with Rodger."

"No, no, Wes ... please, stay," I whimpered, and I watched as Rodger set down his work bag, as he turned and scanned the room.

Weston clicked his tongue. "Maybe you should have thought of that before," he whispered and stood. I reached for his hand, but he shoved me away. "Don't touch me, brat."

"Wes, please, you don't know what he'll do to me," I cried, my lip trembling. I'd been left alone with Rodger too many times and each time was horrific.

Weston scoffed, shrugging a shoulder. "I. Don't. Care," he said, before disappearing down the hall and into his room. I stood there, fear trickling into my heart. I watched as Rodger headed into the kitchen, disappearing for a second. I listened as the fridge door opened, a sharp hiss and pop, as he opened a beer, can. 

Loud music began to blare from Weston's room. If mom were home, she'd go to the door and politely tell him to turn down his music.

"Turn that shit down," Rodger yelled, but my brother didn't listen. His eyes landed on me and he smirked malevolently.

"Well, well, well," he slurred, eyes dancing with amusement. "I guess we're alone now, huh, sweetheart?"

I ran for my room, hoping he wouldn't follow.

He did, laughing as he followed me, slurping down his beer.

I passed Weston's room, banging on the door, but he didn't bother to even answer. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I beelined it for my mom and Rodger's room.

I hid in the closet, sobbing into my sleeve. The bedroom door opened, slamming against the wall. Rodger sauntered in, the stench of alcohol repulsive.

"Cassie ... come out, come out, wherever you are," he taunted, his words slurred, menacing. I stilled, holding my breath. "Come out, you little bitch."

I watched out the slits of the closet door, watching as Rodger stalked around the room. He leaned down and checked under the bed, searched the bathroom high and low, for me, and I realized it was only a matter of time -

The closet door whipped open and Rodger stood over me, a sick grin reaching his lips. "Come here, sweetheart. We'll have some fun."

+++

Later that evening, Mom noticed the bruises on my arm, the first time Rodger ever left a physical mark on me. She ushered me and my twin brother, Matthew, into her closet. "Stay here, okay? I will be back for you. I called Devin, he's on his way."

"Mom, what are you gonna do?"

"Keep each other safe, okay? Promise me," she said, ignoring his question. "Promise me."

"We promise," Matthew and I said and my twin wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. Mom smiled, kissing his forehead and then my cheek before moving the clothes to hide us. I heard her leave, closing the bedroom door shut.

"I'm scared, Matty," I whispered.

"I am too. Don't worry, Devin is on his way, he won't let anything bad happen."

I could smell the booze and cigarette smoke from downstairs, the arguing between Mom and Rodger, our stepfather, getting louder and louder and louder with each passing second.

"Matty, what's happening?" I whispered, trembling.

"I don't know." My twin pulled me closer into his arms, his hold so tight I could barely breathe. Tidal waves of anxiety and fear pierced my heart when I noticed the tears streaming down his cheeks. I pressed my ear into his chest, listening to his thrumming heart.

I jumped as the sound of glass shattering echoed throughout the house. I stilled and Michael tightened his grip on my arms. "What-"

"Be quiet, Cassie," my brother shushed.

"But-"

"You're not going to get away with this, Rodger," I heard Mom yell, seeming closer to the master bedroom, where we were hidden. "They'll come for you, you're a dead man walking."

"They won't catch me, bitch."

A gunshot rips through the house. My heart lurches in my chest, pounding with fear as adrenaline floods my veins. The sound reverberates in my ears, drowning out everything else, as my instincts scream at me to run. Time slows to a crawl, every sense heightened, as I scramble to make sense of what just happened.