Siphon Me

Prologue

The scent of the pepperoni pizza overwhelms my senses even as all the blood in my body rushes to my head. I’m not sure if the hot liquid running down my arm is grease or my own blood, but I feel it running off the tips of my fingers and dripping onto the fabric ceiling of the car. We’re upside down in the middle of the road, probably just five minutes from home. Five minutes.

The ringing in my ears only registers when I turn to my left and see my fathers mouth moving. He’s talking and I can’t hear a single word. Turning whatever is left of  my attention to the rearview mirror I see my sister’s face. The shattered glass warps the view, showing her soft features in jagged fragments. Her eyes are closed and red stains her skin, blood disappearing into her hairline. I push the sudden nausea down as best I can, praying that she’s only passed out.

My brain is a fog of pain all over that somehow feels distant, and confusion. I swear everything was fine only seconds ago. The car was upright, and so were we. Luca won his game so we went to pick up a celebratory pizza so he’d have it by the time he got home. We had the radio on, my sister and I singing something word for word while dad tried and failed to keep up, getting all the lyrics wrong. Everything was normal. Everything was fine. How did we end up here, with blood and broken glass, and pain everywhere.

Black creeps in on the edges of my vision and my eyelids beg me to let them close. I’m only a moment away from giving in when a loud scraping sound tears into my eardrums. Metal against asphalt, as the door on my dads side is wretched open. We’re getting help. 

Two hands grip my father’s body but they don’t pull, just hold. My fathers body goes rigid and he’s completely still for a moment, then in the next he’s shaking, convulsing like he’s having a seizure. I blink once, twice, three times, because I can’t be seeing things correctly. I know my eyes are playing tricks on me when black lines travel from my fathers skin into the skin of the stranger. It’s like black blood running from my fathers veins into the strangers without breaking skin. Impossible. But when I blink again the only thing that changes is the guttural scream that frees itself from my fathers lungs. This is impossible, but it’s happening right in front of me and I think my father is dying. I fidget with my seatbelt and the sound of more screams meets my ears as I fumble around trying to click the right button and I think they’re my own. Time is speeding past me as my body moves in slow motion and when I finally free myself from the seat belt my entire body crumples to the car's ceiling. Something pops and fiery hot pain shoots through my shoulder. My arm doesn’t feel like it should. It’s not where it should be. I’ve dislocated it, or maybe broken it. I’m not sure.

“Dad! No no no, dad! Dad!” I barely sound like myself. I pull him closer to me with my one working arm, trying to get him out of the hands of this person… this thing that’s hurting him. Killing him. He doesn’t give and I pull harder, harder, harder until he does. And when he does, his head luls over to my side and blood is pouring from everywhere. His eyes. His nose. His mouth. And he’s so cold, ice under my finger tips. He’s gone. I know nothing but that.

My father is dead.

Chapter One 

CLOVE

My sister's fists strike the heavy bag with a fury I can feel from across the gym. Each punch sends the bag swinging on its chain, creaking with the sheer force of her hits. Maven's breath is ragged, labored but she doesn't stop. Her fists keep driving forward, knuckles cracking against the vinyl with a rhythm that would be hypnotic if not for the worry that gnaws at me from all sides.

I lean back against the wall, arms crossed, watching her. It's not the first time I've seen her like this – angry. It's as if her anger grows to a point where it seeps through her skin and radiates through the space around her, stifling the air with the weight of it. She started boxing years ago, after mom died. Dad thought she needed a healthy outlet for her grief, and it worked, at least for a while. But now, I can't remember the last time this was healthy. It's just not working anymore. Maven doesn't seem to be getting the anger out. It's like she's drowning in it instead of expelling it, like it's clinging to her, refusing to let go. There used to be a time when I could calm her down. One when she'd talk to me and I'd be enough. That seems like ancient history. Now all I can do is watch.

Her black sneakers scuff the polished gym floor as she pivots, launching a kick into the side of the bag, sending it swinging violently to the side. I wince, when the bag swings back towards her too quickly and she pushes it out of the way with her other arm. It's not the force of it that has me sucking air in through my teeth but the fact that she definitely shouldn't be using her right arm, not with the fresh stitches there. Luca would flip if he saw her.

Sweat drips from her brow as she steps back, shoulders heaving, her raven curls sticking to the sides of her face. The black lines on her neck seem to gleam under the fluorescent lights, twisting like they're alive, all jagged lines and sharp corners starting from behind her ear and traveling down to her shoulder. I raise my hand to my own neck, brushing my fingers over the swirling white patterns etched into my own skin. Just like before, I can't feel it. The skin isn't raised at all, as if the mark isn't even there, but I know it is, even if no one besides myself and Maven can see it. No one else has been able to. Not the countless nurses and doctors from the hospital, not our step mom, Jessa, or even Luca. No one but the two of us. Dad would have been able to see them. I'm not sure how I know that or why I believe in it as much as I believe there's marrow in my bones, but I do. But dad is gone, so it's just us. Me and Mave, and a secret we can't even begin to explain.

Maven growls under her breath and I snap back to the present. Her punches only grow harder, wilder and more erratic, the bag moving so much I'm afraid it'll knock her over. She's not even sticking to her left side anymore, like nothing beyond hitting the sand filled sack matters. She's out of control.

"Mav," I call, but she doesn't hear me– or she pretends not to. Her entire focus is on the bag, no longer anchored to reality. The reality where she's still injured and supposed to be taking it easy.

The lights above us flicker suddenly once, twice, buzzing like they're overheating. I glance up at the ceiling, feeling something charging the air with an electric hum, it raises the hairs on the back of my neck and my stomach dips.

"Maven stop," I call again, louder this time, stepping closer. I'm sure she's ignoring me this time as she bends to kick the bag again, when the gym door swings open with a loud bang. Luca strides in, his face set in that big-brother-scowl he's managed to perfect in the last few years.

"Maven, what the hell are you doing?" His voice is sharp, the kind of tone he uses when he's hiding his worry behind a mask of anger and authority. "You haven't been cleared for this yet. You're supposed to be resting."

Maven throws one last swift kick, before turning to him her eyes wild. "Anyone who expected me to just sit around doing nothing, should think again. I'm fine."

"Wrong Mave, you're not fine. You dislocated your shoulder and you have stitches in three places. You could tear something and end up worse than before." He walks closer, arms crossed over his chest, towering over her like he'll be able to physically impose reason into her. "You need to rest." I'm not sure who exactly that works on but I don't even need to watch the scene before me play out to know that person isn't my sister.

"Fuck rest. I can't rest," she snaps back, balling her hands into tight fists and spinning on her heels turning away from Luca. "I can't just lie around and act like nothing's wrong. I need to do something." The lights flicker again, buzzing louder this time and the tension in the air is a physical thing taking up too much of the space around us.

Our brother sighs and rubs a hand over his face before turning to me, his eyes narrowing."And you," he points, "you let her come here like this? You know this is the last thing she should be doing."

I blink, caught off guard for a second. I guess he figured he wasn't getting anywhere with my twin so he'd try me. "You think I could have stopped her?" I ask, raising my brows. "You know Mave. If I didn't come she'd be here by herself and then what? At least I'm here in case anything bad happens."

Maven rolls her eyes, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Stop talking about me like I'm not right here."

"You think you're invincible Mave," Luca snaps back. "You're not, and if you keep pushing yourself like this you're going to end up getting hurt."

Maven lets out a loud groan of annoyance and the lights in the gym go out completely, plunging us into sudden darkness. The previous loud hum of the overhead bulbs is replaced with an eerie silence, and I hear Luca mutter a curse under his breath. Without missing a beat, he pulls out his phone, the flashlight flicking on as he sweeps it across the space. "We're done here. Let's go, both of you." This time not even Maven opens her mouth to argue, simply grabbing her bag instead, but I can still see the tension in her shoulders. She doesn't want to leave yet, not when she's still feeling everything that weighed on her when she came in the first place. But even she knows when Luca is done putting up with her stubbornness.

I follow them out of the gym, glancing back at the dark room behind us as we slip through the double doors. Again I brush the white curves on my neck, my fingers finding only smooth skin but my mind knowing that's not all that's there.

The house is quieter than usual, and I feel like I should be expecting something to happen, but I can't pinpoint what. I sit on the couch, my legs tucked under me. The cushions are cool to the touch, a contrast to the heat I can feel radiating off Maven from a few feet across the room. Luca's checking her stitches, making sure she didn't mess herself up more at the gym. She really shouldn't have been training, especially not going as hard as she was. She knows that. I know that. But I also know that sometimes for my sister, what she needs to do trumps what she should.

"You've got to be careful," Luca says, his voice low but stern. He brushes a thumb along the edge of the bandage covering her shoulder, frowning. "I don't want to have to bring you back to the hospital." Maven doesn't respond, just stares ahead like she's barely here at all. And maybe she's not. She's been like this ever since... well since that night. Since the crash, since we woke up in the hospital together, and I can't blame her for that.

Our brother leans back, resting his hands on his jeans, his frown only managing to deepen. "Your skin is hot as hell Mave, you're burning up," he says, looking her up and down like he'll find the reason written somewhere on her.

I watch her, waiting to see if she'll admit anything, if she'll acknowledge what we both know– that something far beyond our understanding is changing. That dad's death wasn't the result of a car crash. I wait with bated breath to see if she'll tell him what she told me. Tell him what she saw, what really happened. But she stays silent, jaw clenched. There's so much she isn't saying.

Luca glances at me, like maybe I'll jump in and say something. But what am I supposed to say? It doesn't seem right to spill everything she told me considering the fact that if she wanted to share it, she would. "You haven't cried," he says suddenly, his voice cutting through the thick silence. It's more of an observation than an accusation, but the words hang heavy in the space regardless. Maven's eyes narrow on our brother for a second before she schools her features into that completely blank stare she manages.

"You think there's a chance my tears will bring him back?" I wince at the harshness in her voice. Luca doesn't flinch though, just raises a brow at her, waiting. He's always been good at that– waiting until we stop throwing punches, literal and verbal. "I didn't think so," Maven mutters, her voice quieter now but still carrying some bite. She circles her shoulder, testing the stiffness like she's desperate to get away from this moment. "My shoulder is fine. Can we be done here?"

Luca exhales, a long, patient breath. "Seems like you're right. Your shoulder is fine... but it's obvious you're not. And you shouldn't be fine right now, but you will be. Eventually, you will be okay again. You do realize that, right?" His words hang between them like a challenge. Maven's eyes harden, locking onto Luca's for what feels like forever, the seconds becoming minutes, though the clock on the wall would disagree. There's something broken between them in that moment I think. Something I don't attempt to name.

Why doesn't she just tell him?

I glance down at my hands, feeling like an intruder in this silent standoff. I know Luca cares. He always has. He's always the one holding us together. He slipped right into the protective older brother roll as soon as we met as kids. Things were just starting to get serious between our father, Maxwell and his mother, Jessa then. That was so long ago now, I barely remember the time before he was our brother, family just as much as dad was. Luca's the one who steps in when things fall apart. Maven's different though. She's always carried everything on her own, refusing help, even when she needs it. Even dad never profected a way to get her to accept it over the years. She breaks eye contact first, looking at me for half a second. I meet her gaze, but only briefly– she turns away just as quickly, and I can't help the guilt that rises in my chest. I want to say something, to be the one to make this better, ease the tension, but he asked her. All the power is in what she witnessed. The ball is in her court.

Without another word, Maven stands up and walks away from both of us. Luca sighs, slumping back against the couch next to me. We sit in silence for a moment, the two of us listening to the creak of the floorboards as Mave disappears down the hall.

"She'll be okay," he says eventually, though I'm not sure if he's trying to convince me or himself. I want to believe him. I do, but I still feel that strange charged energy in the air that I felt in the gym and I know better than to hope for easy answers. Not with the way things are going now.