HURT FOR ME

Chapter Twelve - Murder

"Murder is always a mistake. One should never do anything that one cannot talk about after dinner."

‒ Oscar Wilde

Olivia Bennett

My vision was blurry from the tears that didn't seem to ever stop falling. I couldn't believe what my sister was telling me. I have wanted nothing more but to make him feel the same pain I felt all of those years he spent ruining me but I never acted on it. Now, I don't think there's anything that could stop me.

I gave Nat's hand one last squeeze before standing from the table and entering the kitchen where my parents and uncle stood washing and drying dishes in a cycle. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath so I could think. My body was urging me to the counter where a large kitchen knife rested but my mind wouldn't let me move.

"Why?" My voice didn't come out nearly as powerful and firm as I wanted it to. All of that confidence I had moments ago was gone. Everyone turned from the sink and watched me as I stood in the doorway.

My father raised his eyebrow, "Why what, sweetheart?" His tone was so soft and kind but he knew exactly what I was asking which ruined his generous intent.

"Why is he here?" My uncle's eyes met mine and he glared at me as if I was the person intruding on my family dinner. My patience was slowly wearing thin the longer he looked at me like he was so innocent.

"It was a family dinner, Olivia." My mother turned her back to me. "Stop being dramatic." Her words hit me in the chest and I felt like I had just been shot. It took every bit of self-control I had left inside of me to not slam one of the glass plates over both of their heads.

My fingernails were now digging into my palm as I tried to remain calm. Suddenly, a warm hand opened mine, relieving the pain I was causing. Aaron's hand was holding mine and his thumb was massaging the indentions from my nails. He stood behind me, close enough I could feel the warmth of his body on my back.

"A family dinner?" My voice was full of nothing but pure hatred. "A family dinner with the man who fucking touches your little girls?" I was shouting now. I couldn't hold back all of the pain and suffering he had caused me and now that I know he brought that onto my little sister, there was nothing in this world that could protect him from me.

I took a small step, pointing my finger at my mother who was facing me again, "How do you live in this house, under this roof, in the bedroom right next to the man who rapes your daughter?" Aaron's grip was now around my wrist, preventing me from walking any further.

The tears were back and I felt so ashamed to let them see my pain. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to blink away the wetness in my eyes but it was of no use. My mother's jaw was clenched and her hands gripped the edge of the counter as she glared at me.

How does she even have the audacity to be upset with the things I was saying? They were truthful and real. She always hated being told the facts and having to face her own fucked up behavior. She tried so hard, all of those horrible years I spent living in this house, to portray herself as perfect and put on some act for anyone who stepped through that door.

"You do not get to call me dramatic because you can't face your own shame," I was standing an inch away from her now, and my wrist stung as I ripped it out of Aaron's grasp. "Admit that you allowed this piece of shit to do this to your daughter." I wasn't fighting for myself now, I was fighting for Natalie.

Thinking about him touching her, his hands on her body, and his mouth on hers as she begged him to stop made me shudder. Although I experienced the same thing for so many years, his doing it to her was so much worse and fueled my rage as quickly as forest fires spread.

John's low laugh traveled through the thick tension in the air and hit me straight in the chest. He crossed his arms over his chest as he eyed me from just inches away.

"This is a bit dramatic, though." He waved his hand around in the air. "Don't you think, Olivia?" His monotonous tone sent the urge through me to pick up that knife and stab him until he couldn't speak anymore, or until he couldn't think, breathe, or touch another little girl. "You should really look into getting some help, you seem a bit out of it." His eyes narrowed toward me as if I was exposing some secret of his.

Suddenly, my hand was connecting to his cheek and a loud smack pierced my ears. The sting in my hand was the best pain I had ever felt. He readjusted himself and rubbed the red spot on his face as he glared at me.

After a few moments, he reached out, twirling my hair around his finger. "When did you get so feisty?" His finger trailed my jawline before he continued. "Surely it wasn't after I turned you into a woman."

I couldn't think, I couldn't move from the spot I was standing, and I couldn't pull myself out of his reach. His words echoed through my head as if it were an empty building and his voice was bouncing off of the walls.

At this very moment, I decided nothing in this world could make him feel the pain my sister and I had to feel for so many years. There wasn't a punishment we could give him that would take away all of our sufferings. He would never truly understand the impact of his hands touching our innocent, young bodies.

Without thinking, I slid my hand across the counter, grabbed the sharp, silver kitchen knife, and planned to make him feel as much pain and agony as I possibly could.