Redemption (Rewriting)

The blood still trickled down my face, a sticky warmth that was becoming all too familiar. With every smack of my hand against the wood, the darkness crept closer, threatening to swallow me whole. I could hear the flicking lights in the surrounding houses, their owners no doubt wondering if I was a common thief. But then, the door opened.

Fletcher. My brother. His face morphed through a kaleidoscope of emotions – regret, relief, confusion – before settling into an unreadable mask. He looked beyond me, questioning how I got here, but then his arms were around me, pulling me into an embrace that had been years in the making.

“I missed you,” he murmured, and the pain, a constant companion, wrapped its fingers around my throat, squeezing until my lungs burned. He pulled back, shock and confusion etched onto his features. I managed to graze my ribs. “I think they’re broken.”

“Okay,” he stammered, panic coloring his voice. “Let me get my keys.” I followed him into the house, and that's when I saw her, a red-headed girl at the kitchen island, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. Fletcher scanned my face, and I knew he saw it – the blood I’d tried so desperately to wipe away, staining my white shirt. It didn't matter. Whatever my father had done, it was enough to keep me bleeding for the entire twenty-minute drive.