Broken

Chapter: Six

Dedicated to whitney-star for giving Nicholas a nickname. 😘

-2050 words

"Macy—I lied. . ." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. But, I knew that this was important, that I had to do this.

My father didn't deserve to walk around out there free, he was a monster. H-he hurt me—he needed to be helped, he's sick.

"Ryder. . .what do you mean?" She asks as she takes my hand inside of hers slowly, knowing that I'm cautious of fast movements now.

He's ruined me. . .I can't even let my best friend hug me without flipping out. But there's something that I can do, and that's help get him off of the streets; before he do what he did to me, to someone else.

"I told Nicholas that I didn't know a place where my d-dad would be, but that was a lie. T-there's a place where—my mom and–and Ryan use to go with him. I didn't k-know why, but I was never aloud to go. They'd leave me with our next door neighbor Mrs. Patricia, but once I snuck into the car. . ."

My lungs close and I squeeze my eyes shut, the images of him on top of Ryan stuck in my mind.

She leans in and wipes my face with a napkin, making me realize that tears are flowing down my face.

"What happened, did he hurt you then?" My mind swirls and horror makes my chest tighten, because he was never hurting me—he'd never hurt me until after they died. He hurt them. . .h-he touched him.

"F-fuck Macy—Macy he hurt them. . .didn't he? That's what was happening, he—Ryan was always sick Macy. I-it's makes so much sense now, oh my god." I choke on a sob, my whole body freezing up as I become nauseous.

"I'm going to be sick." I rush out as I jump off of the bed, and run straight into the adjoining bathroom. The sound of my knees hitting the marble floor sounds sickening, but I pay it no mind as I empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

"Ryder—we don't know that. . .maybe—" she trails off and rubs my back as I retch again.

"N-no I know Macy, I was there. . .why didn't I remember? Why didn't I fucking help them? They're dead Macy. . .they're fucking d-dead, and it's all my fault!" I cry loudly while yanking roughly on my hair.

He t-touched him, he fucking did what he did to me—to him.

"He was only six—M-Macy. . .h-he was only six. He did it didn't he? You know don't you—don't you? Please tell me I'm wrong, please tell me what I remember isn't true?" I plead and her eyes drop away from mine guiltily.

"When did you find out?" Her mouth opens and close for about a minute before she actually says something.

"When they uhh. . .did the autopsy, they knew then. They just couldn't pin it on your father, b-because he said that it was your mom. That she must have been using—things on him, and he blamed her killing them, because of her guilt or sickness."

She finishes, her voice nothing but above a whisper.

Was she ever going to tell me? Was she just going to keep this to herself forever?

"Why didn't you tell me? If you would've told me, I w-would've left with you a long time ago Macy." She runs a hand through her blond tresses before staring directly into my eyes.