chapter two

(Eli)

I hate the man next door !! His house is always beaming with that beige color I hate so much!!’’.

I say to my sister Jenna , she sips on her coffee as she nods along her expression neutral.

“Say this neighbour of yours ... .Did you have a chat with him? Considering he's the only one around ; and by chat I mean like a legitimate chat? Instead of you constantly wanting a fight with him.’

“Her words lingers through my mind as I realise I live around a desolate place, mostly no one around the nearest house being around 1 km far but his is the only house almost directly in front of mine , cept of course the vacant resident buildings around us “.

“Oh forget it you chipmunk!”

I tease her.

She snort-laughs, nearly choking on the coffee—probably made by him.

I watch her a little longer than usual,a quiet smile draws itself across my lips. She’s happy. Finally happy.

My little sister, my little girl… finally at peace.

My eyes linger as she moves her hand, revealing the scars—faded now, healed. Just remnants of a silent war we fought alone. She and I. No one knew. No one could know.

But then, my smile fades.

I lock eyes with the man behind her. He’s staring at her like a starved hawk watching prey.

God, I hate him.

I hate him so much I could rip the muscles from his bones.

Tear his limbs apart.

Drench that pale figure in the blood he deserves to lose.

Maybe do what i did to that man

Jenna keeps laughing through the phone, then I see her get up—probably to refill her cup.

She’s completely unaware of the eyes burning into her back.

I press the phone tighter, jaw clenched, fists locked at my sides.

Then she comes back on

He’s still watching.

I force myself to speak, voice low, careful.

"You know, he’s not a good person or a good husband."

There’s a pause on the other end.

Then her voice, calm but tired:

"You’ve said that before."

But she doesn’t argue anymore.

Not like she used to.

There was a time she’d defend him—say I was paranoid, overprotective, “trauma-drunk”

She just accepted it this time around ,and it scares me not because I'm scared of him but because I'm scared of what he'll do to her.

“Something changed. She doesn’t talk much—maybe he heard me? Much later, after she tells me she’s going to rest and the call disconnects, I stay wide awake.”

And there he is, the guy who made my life a living hell by just…existing..

Standing by his porch light. Smoking. Watching, like a guard dog.

I don't think he knows I can see him; it's become his little ritual now every day at around nighttime he comes outside and smokes, But it's different this time he doesn't move at all.

Only the smoke moves—twisting in the dark like it knows something I don’t.

My eyes drift to the closet.

I walk like a dog caught destroying the couch or maybe even a child caught lying and feels guilty.

I walk towards the box I swore I’d never open again.

But promises don’t mean a damn thing

when you can feel it coming back. For some reason my heart pounds a little. Maybe I'm scared. Perhaps I don't have to hide behind the wall made of blades., and the pain of a twelve year old with mistakes.

I feel my jaw tightening as I open the old box.

Faded photos of Jenna and me—bruises, broken smiles, eyes too tired for our age.

The tapes. I feel a tingle in my hand.

The letters. My grip tightens.

Every piece of our past is still perfectly intact, like the box had been waiting for this moment.

And then I see it.

The small wooden case.

A grin creeps across my face as I reach for it, hands trembling with something that feels too close to joy.

I flip it open—and there it is.

My escape.

The small blade drops into my palm, the edge still sharp, still perfect.

Untouched by time.

God, I love it so much.

I slip the blade from its case, cold against my skin.

Slowly, I press it to my wrists—not to hurt, but to feel something real, something sharp enough to cut through the dark mountain of thoughts and feels inside me, and suddenly im a little boy again a boy with dreams of saving his sister and wanting to wreck the wrench of a man he was.

A thin line of blood shows up, warm and vivid like a bucket of red paint thrown on a sheet of snow, pure white snow .

I close my eyes and breathe it in; and then I smell iron.

The pain isn’t about the blade.

It’s about everything I’ve held inside—the fear, the anger, the helplessness.

Tears spill down my face, hot and sudden.

I whisper her name.

"Jenna..."

She’s so far away now, across continents and time.

But I let the tears fall.

For the little sister I couldn’t protect.

For the moments lost.

And in that quiet ache I've been feeling since he came into my life, I swear I’ll find a way to make it right to her.