Obedience Lessons

Chapter Forty-five

Dylan's POV

I steeled myself to look at the pictures. To really look at them and see the things Andy had told me to look for.

There they were. The crude lines along his wrists and forearms. The lazy, poorly concealed bruising along his neck and four slim digits progressing towards his ears as they had closed off his airways.

It was bitter, this feeling that grew and bore fruit inside me. For these past few years I had remembered nothing of Liam's death. My mind blocked the images out and even all memory of him had been wiped away as if burned and distorted by a hot blade cauterizing flesh. For two years I agonized over my perceived role in his death. And it wasn't me. Even as a weight lifted off my heart I felt another one replace it. It was hate, and a burning need to see my father pay.

Two Years ago - December 18-19, 2016

I drank to make it through every Christmas with my family. Two years ago they only had eggnog and I had so much of it that the egg had made me sick before the alcohol did. In the end I still ended up being packed off to bed to sleep it off. Ever since I brought my own booze.

If another fucking nobody or nobody's daughter told me mistletoe I was going to shove it so far up their ass that people would be kissing their ass for all Christmases to come.

I ate tidbits from the tables without paying much attention as I gazed around the room, decorated with people and every extravagant forms of holiday shrubbery and lights. It looked like Saint Nick fucked every wall, window and furniture item of our home. Jizzing wreaths onto the doors and giving fellatio to every column.

I watched Christmas bloom across the slums of Venezuela on the large, curved screen set up in our home in Tennessee and felt like Ebenezer Scrooge - pre-intervention by the ghosts.

Across the room from me Liam looked the happiest that I'd seen him in days. With his eyes fixed on the screen and my mother's hand holding his, I could just make out the glisten of tears in his eyes. People had come out onto their patios or balconies and roof tops to wave to the drones passing by which televised the initiative Liam had seen completed.

I was proud of him, especially since it was such a big job that obviously meant so much to him. But deep down I was sad. This couldn't go on. This perfect image, along with the lies fed to the public and every fake smile for the camera by this family.

Liam suffered through it all and was so good that it hurt to be near him sometimes. But he was burning out and I knew the real person to blame sat at a large chair just a few feet away, wearing the benevolent, charming smile as if it was all his idea. They will be broadcasting this well into Easter, and this was only the Venezuela initiative so far. We still had six more countries to go.

I was leaving to go to one of the rooms when a hand gripping my elbow roughly made me stop and turn. Liam. I felt my face go soft, like it always did when it was him. "I'm going to go get wasted in my room..." I left the statement hanging as an invitation.

His eyes got stormy and solidified into an icy blue, "Stay. If I have to stay, you have to stay."

"You don't have to do anything," I hissed back.

He smelled it off my breath, "Give me the bottle. Whatever it is give it to me or I swear it I will tell dad."

I shushed him playfully, "Not in front of the guests, we don't want the neighbours to talk do we?"

He pushed me, "Fuck you, Dylan. You know what? Go. Fuck it. You don't know what it is to work anyway. I didn't know why I thought you would be remotely useful trying. But god...." He sighed and shook his head. "I expected better. I guess I was wrong."