Half of My Heart ✔️

24 | all fall down

"Archer, it's not what you think," Jack says, reaching out toward Archer. But it's exactly what he thinks. Archer's lip curls and he pushes Jack so hard that he stumbles back a few steps. The surprise on Archer's face is gone, and the fury has taken over.

"Shut the fuck up," Archer spits. "You have three seconds to get the fuck away from my sister and out of our fucking house. One."

I stand up, walking toward my brother even though I know it's impossible to get through to him when he gets like this. At the sudden movement, I feel a sharp pain and feel something warm trickle down my leg, but I don't stop.

I need to say something to him, that it isn't what it looks like or that we didn't mean to keep this from him. But I'd be lying. I cover my mouth with my hands. All I can make out is "Archer, I'm sorry."

He doesn't even look at me, and that hurts more than anything he could've said. "Two."

Jack tries again, the desperation heavy in his voice. "If you're going to be mad at anyone, don't be mad at Scarlett. This is all on me."

"I told you to get out," Archer yells. "You've been lying to me, and right now, I want nothing more than to rip your fucking throat out. So get the hell out. Three."

At that exact moment, the door opens again. Dad walks in and my heart drops. I mouth to Archer 'please don't say anything' but he can't even look at me. Dad looks between us, but Archer has fallen silent.

When Archer gets mad, he yells. He curses too much. But when that anger progresses until he's filled with the type of red-hot emotion that burns from the inside out and exists beyond coherent thought or action, Archer gets dead silent.

"Didn't I tell you to apologize to your sister?" Dad asks, leaning against the doorway, taking in Archer's demeanor. "Why are you all wound up again? We could hear you yelling from downstairs."

Archer doesn't answer at first and just looks down at the floor while avoiding eye contact with Dad. When he does open his mouth I hold my breath. "It's nothing," he mutters.

Dad narrows his eyes confusedly, starting to wonder if there's more to the story. But he sees the expression on all our faces and either decides to leave it alone or save this talk for later. "Alright, let's play some family football. We'll eat dinner afterward."

Usually, Archer would be stoked for backyard Thanksgiving football. But he maintains his silence. Dad looks at Archer, at his face still twisted with anger, and puts his hand on his shoulder. "Arch, look at me," he says, and Archer reluctantly complies. Dad examines his son closely then asks, "Really, is something wrong? You can tell me whatever it is."

Jack and I watch with our hearts in our stomachs. Archer just shakes his head, and Dad examines him for a few more seconds before turning and finally leaving us alone.

When he closes the door behind him, I try to grab Archer's arm to keep him from leaving without saying a word to us. But he yanks his arm out of my grip with unnecessary force and leaves. Just before he slams the door behind him, he says something to us in a voice barely above a whisper but dripping with venom.

"You two are dead to me."

Something in me cracks right down the middle. "Archer, please," I plead quietly, pathetically. But he's already gone.

When he leaves, Jack places a comforting hand on my shaking shoulder. "He doesn't mean any of it. He's just angry right now."

My mouth can't seem to form words at the moment, but I don't let myself cry. I hold back the burning feeling in my throat and push away the memory of Archer's face—the look of utter, painful betrayal.