I kick the door in, because fuck pleasantries, and prepare to swing when I see the mess in the living room. The seafoam green couch is ripped to shreds, the padding tossed out of the cushion. The secondhand coffee table is broken in half, pieces of wood sprinkled along the matted red rug. The TV is face down on the ground and kitchen drawers are open, either out of their slots and on the ground or half-open.
Someone was looking for something.
“Taylor? Sis-a-roo, are you here?” I call out to her, using the nickname I gave her when she was eleven, innocent, bright-eyed, and the future shinier than diamonds in the sun. I stop walking and listen, waiting to see if I hear any sort of noises.
A groan from the back bedroom has me rushing down the hollow hallway, the thud of my boots echoing off the thin walls. “Taylor? Are you okay? Call out to me, Sis-a-roo.” I slam my shoulder into the cheap door and dent the fake wood. “Taylor, please answer me. I will tear this trailer to the damn ground for you. Answer me.”
The rhythmic sound of “We Will Rock You” by Queen is tapped onto the floor with her fist, something we used to do when we were little when we played hide-and-go-seek. I could never find her, and she’d always use the floor as drums to help me out.
I bring my foot up and slam it right above the golden knob. The door breaks from the trim and swings so fast, I have to stop it with my hand before it shuts in my face.
The blue carpet has stains and there are clothes strewn everywhere along with a broken lamp on the ground next to the mattress, which is on the floor. There’s no bedframe or box spring. There aren’t even sheets on it. The old floral pattern of the mattress has old brown circles on it.
Blood.
There’s a tattered and torn quilt on the bed that our mom made before she died and Taylor seems to be wrapped up in it. Her brown hair is a shade lighter than mine, curly, and right now in need of a good wash.
“Damn it, Taylor, you scared the hell out of me. What’s going on?” I touch her shoulder to turn her over so I can see her face and gasp. I fall to my knees and press my fingers against her throat to check for a pulse. This is more than a busted lip or a bruise on her cheek.
I yank the blanket off her and almost choke when I see bruises on her arms. I lift her shirt and see some internal bleeding, and her eyes are so black and blue they are almost swollen shut.
Whoever did this, they meant to kill her.
“Fuck, Taylor. Talk to me.” I don’t know where to touch her. No matter what I do, it will hurt her. “Who did this you?”
“Wesley?” she croaks, and a tear leaks out of the corner of her eyes. “Wesley, it’s you. It’s you,” she sobs, her body shaking in relief.
I crawl into the bed and pull her to me, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “It’s me. I’m here. I need to call One. You need help. You can’t stay here. Who did this? I thought Roy was in jail.”
“He owes people….”
“Damn it, Taylor.” I gently take her face in my hands and push her hair out of her face. She can see me out of her left eye, and I hang my head. “You can’t keep doing this. I can’t lose my sister, Taylor. Please,” I beg her.
She nods. “I swear, I’m done with him, Wesley. I promise. I want…I want more. I don’t want to do this to you. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
I hold her while she cries, and my eyes burn seeing her like this.
Weak, beaten, and gullible.
I pull out my phone from my cut pocket and press the number one, for One. He’s the first person on my speed dial.
He picks up on the first ring. “Husband kill you yet?” he chuckles.
“I need you at my sister’s place. Now. It’s bad, One. I need Driller too. It’s the worst yet. And bring gasoline. We’re burning this place to the ground. She isn’t coming back, whether she likes it or not,” I explain.
She lifts her chin to look at me and nods before placing her head on my shoulder again.
“You don’t need anyone, Taylor. You got me. I love you. The Club loves you. You aren’t alone. You don’t need this shit anymore, okay? I won’t have you do this to yourself.”
“You’re right,” she says, clutching onto my shirt. “I’ll do better. I swear.”
“On my way.” One hangs up and I know I can count on him to get here. He has a soft spot for my sister, always has and always will. He’s like a second brother to her.
“Who did this? Do you know?”
She shakes her head. “They wanted money.” Her lip is swelling and the longer it goes untreated, the harder it is for her to speak. She is starting to mumble out of the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t know anything about it, I swear, Wesley.” She blinks up at me through wet lashes.
“I know, Sis-a-roo. You never do. These fucking losers put you in harm’s way. I’m done with it. I’ll kill them and Roy.” I wait for her to beg me not to, to promise me she won’t see him again, to cry and plea, but she doesn’t.
She doesn’t fight me like usual.
Maybe she will change.
Only time will tell.
Abusers have a sick way of twisting their victim’s minds and holding them hostage. I’ve heard Taylor promise so many times that she is done but she never is.
Everyone has their breaking point, and for victims of domestic violence, sometimes that point is death.
“You’ll be good today, won’t you?” Kenneth straightens his red tie as he stares into the mirror while I tie his shoes.
Yes, I’m on my knees tying a damn shoelace because that’s how fucking pathetic I’ve become. If I don’t, I get hit. If I run from him, I get hit, if I threaten to leave, he threatens to kill my dad.
I can’t leave. I have to do as he says. He’s already stealing from the company and Dad has no idea. I’m a horrible daughter, letting her father’s company fail because I’m scared.
Sacred isn’t a strong enough word.
I’m terrified.
“Yes, Kenneth. I’ll be good,” I answer automatically, tears threatening to spill. I can’t let them fall or he will really give me a reason to cry.
“Good.” I flinch when he runs his fingers through my hair. “I love you, you know. Just mind me and we won’t have issues, Charlie. Okay?”
“Okay, Kenneth.”
“I expect you home by five. I want lemon herb chicken with fresh green beans on the side.” He snaps his fingers as he thinks. “Oh, and those hand mashed potatoes that you make. They are so good.” He bends down and gives me a kiss on top of my head before wrenching me back by the thick of my hair. “The chicken better not be dry either. It isn’t fucking hard to cook. Don’t act dumb.” He shoves me backward and my shoulder slams against the bedpost.
I swallow a painful cry and push a smile between my lips instead. “Have a good day,” I say to him. Kenneth grabs his brown leather briefcase and swings his suit blazer over his shoulder before walking out of the bedroom door.
I don’t dare move or make a sound until I hear the car start and pull out of the driveway. I release a breath as the front door slams shut, vibrating all through the house until I can feel the floor shake under me. When the engine starts and the car pulls out of the driveway, that’s when I move, that’s when I push myself off the floor and fall onto the bed.