Jules wakes up from a nightmare.
He reassures himself that it’s over now and it’s gone now, like he’s seven again. But something stops him. Something within him feels like that’s not quite true. It didn’t feel like an ordinary dream.
It felt so familiar, like he was right there, living through it.
It’s then that he realizes that it wasn’t a nightmare. It was a memory.
All those broken pencils bent silverware marks on the walls-
All that shattered glass that paint chipping that door nearly falling off its hinges that-
It wasn’t from his father.
Well. Not entirely, that is.
It was from his sister. It was April.
God, how could he have not seen it? He manages to sit up, his head falling hopelessly into his hands.
His sheets surround him, twisted around his ankles, confining him to his bed like those lies that he subconsciously forced himself to believe, those which tied him to a single idea.
He was too wrapped up in his own delusions and misinterpretations that he was blinded from the truth. He was so manipulated by his perception of her innocence that he refused to see the genetic devil hidden within her.
He wonders if there’s a part of him that will someday act like they do. Fear surrounds him. He doesn’t want to be like that.
Before, he thought that not wanting was enough. That his morals would be enough.
But she didn’t want to, either. At least, he thinks she didn’t.
Now, he wonders if maybe it’s inevitable that a part of him will act out like his sister did, like his dad did, in the future. That scares him, that he could be so violent and wouldn’t even be able to control it.
He puts his hand to his heart to count his heartbeat and slows his breathing until he can feel his normal pace and his chest doesn’t feel so tight anymore.
He reassures himself that just because they’re like that, it doesn’t mean he will be too. If biology taught him anything, it’s that just because your parents have something, it doesn’t mean you’ll also receive it. Anything from brown hair to cancer to anger issues.
“How the hell could I have been so oblivious?” he whispers to himself.
He lifts his hands from his face at the realization that they have become damp. He brings his comforter to his face and uses it to soak up the tears escaping his eyes.
His sister. His so-called naive sister. He realizes then it was his own fault that he thought of her as naive.
Obliviousness, ignorance, gender stereotypes, maybe even the fact that he couldn’t see the person he spent his adolescence trying to protect having the same problems as the person he was trying to protect her from. Whatever it was, it’s his fault. It’s all his fault.
Does this mean she’s not safe to be around? He doesn’t remember a circumstance where she tried to hurt him- well, physically, that is. He racks his mind for any other memories, but none appear. He supposes that April was careful, subtle, keeping her movements hidden. She was always clever like that.
It explains a lot- a lot that hasn’t made sense over the years. It explains why she was lying on the call.
She didn’t leave in fear of him going too far. She left in fear of herself going too far.
He goes back to sleep with the satisfaction of solving a mystery.
Finally, the last puzzle piece is placed in the jigsaw puzzle. Finally, it all makes sense.