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He sounds normal. He’s not normal.
He’d taken a piece of my life and made it part of something awful.
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t sleep. When you sleep, you give up the choice to control memory.
“You and me, then. Together.” “Always,” I tell him.
Thinking about my father, both as the monster and the man, makes me feel short of breath and sick, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. No, that’s a lie: I know I’m supposed to hate him. Mom does. Sam does. Everybody does, and they’re right. But he’s my dad.
“Are we living in a stupid spy movie now?” “Nope,” Connor says without even a trace of a smile. “It’s a horror movie.”
“I get it. I just hate it, that’s all. I hate that no matter what we do, how hard we try, it’s always all about him.” Mom puts her arms around me this time and hugs. Hard. “No. It’s about making him meaningless, finally. We are not his. We are ours.”
But I don’t know how to fix my brother.
Officer Graham said, This is from your dad, and it’s just for you, Brady. Nobody else. My dad sent me something,
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THIS KID! this is how he's going to find them 😭
“If I’m already dead to the people I love, I might as well die for them.”
But the past never leaves us. It’s in every breath, every cell, every second. I
I’m not like him, not a loner who goes off on adventures. I like stories where I’m part of a team, where I’m important not because I can run fast or fight well, but because I’m smart and clever and can solve a problem when someone else can’t.
