Killing Kate(27)

“How bad?” is the first thing he asks me. I know he wants to hear everything I just discovered in the bathroom, but I can’t risk him taking me to a doctor or emergency room and getting admitted when they hear about how I’m crazy and off my meds and a potential harm to myself. I know he wants to hold me and stop me from letting Kate do anything else to me. I know he wants to lock me up in the psychiatric ward of Cook County hospital. But of course, all I can do is lie and say is “Not too bad.”

“What happened last night?” he wants to know. I go over the details in my mind first and Devin says, “Stop, Jenna. Say it out loud before you plan out a different story that won’t piss me off.”

“Stop yelling.”

He sighs. “I’m not yelling. I’m talking to you in a normal tone.”

“You’re mad at me!” I blurt out.

Devin’s jaw begins to clench. “No, Jenna, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad, yes. I’m fucking pissed as hell, okay? You have to let me be that. You know I’m pissed, but it’s not at you.”

“Right now I’m the reason you’re pissed and it makes me feel like shit,” I tell him. “I feel like shit because I have no control. Even when I’m myself I have no control. People say things and do things, Devin, and I can’t stop them.”

“You were different last night when you came out of Justin’s house after talking to his mom,” Devin says. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” I tell him. He looks like he doesn’t believe me. “I don’t know. I talked to Louisa,” I say finally. “She mentioned Jack.”

“So?” he says, his eyebrows touching together in confusion. “She mentioned Jack during dinner and you were fine.”

“I mean she mentioned something about…what Jack was like.”

Devin sighs. “Okay,” he says. “But how did that trigger Kate? You were fine until we got home. You were fine when we went to bed.”

“I wasn’t fine, Devin,” I tell him. “I was holding back. When I fell asleep I guess I lost control.” I can see is the look on Louisa’s face when she said to me “whatever was going on in that house with your father”. She knew more than she was saying, and I was truly uncomfortable with that. If people knew what was happening, why didn’t they stop it?

The day they took Jack away, Devin and I sat on the sofa and watched as the cops tore through our old house, our first house. Stuffing was pulled out of pillows and mattresses, drawers opened and clothing strewn everywhere. I don’t know what they were looking for, but they never found it. What they did find was a brick of cocaine and got Jack for possession and intent to distribute. At his trial apparently they got enough people to say that he sold them drugs to put him away for fifteen years, and he got out in eight. Jack had a finger in every pie, but he probably never thought cocaine would be the final straw. They never got to bust him for anything that they really wanted to. I got to talk to a social worker as did Devin. They knew I was getting raped but they didn’t have proof, and proof is what they needed to put him away for a very long time.

After that we lived with Frank and Mom. What our mom lacked in parenting skills we got through Frank, and besides getting knocked around a bit by our mom when she had too much to drink, those were the happiest moments of my entire childhood.

I look up at Devin and push my plate away. I know he hurts right now, maybe more than I do. He is waiting for me to tell him it’s okay. “Come here,” I say and hold my arms out. Within seconds his arms are around me and I am letting him cry into my wet hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I whisper and we sway a bit. I think it comforts both of us. I would never tell anyone about these things that we have to do, holding on to each other for dear life or else we might be lost. We stay like that for a few minutes and don’t say anything. I ponder whether this is our life now, a brother and a sister living together like an old married couple in separate bedrooms, sharing our past and all of our secrets.

“What parts do you remember?” Devin asks me finally. “Anything? Nothing?” I know he’s moved past last night. He’s asking about way back when.

I sigh and sit back down. He sits next to me. “I remember chunks but nothing to make a full picture,” I explain. “It’s like every now and then I am in a moment that I’m pretty sure happened. What I don’t remember are faces. Oh, and Jack. I always remember where Jack was when something happened. He’s the brightest spot in the picture. Usually he’s next to me, talking to me or telling me what to do.” I look over at him. “What do you remember?”