It was late when his phone rang again. The alcohol made him pick it up and look at the screen. The alcohol that made him smile when he saw Congressman on the screen, instead of Dad.

That’s who the man was to him. Not a father.

Ben answered but didn’t speak. Only breathed into the phone, keeping his eyes closed because he didn’t like the way he saw things anymore. Or maybe he never liked the way he saw them.

“You’re drinking yourself into a stupor the way your mother does, aren’t you? It’s a sign of weakness, Ben.”

“Does that tell you something? That one of your children had to kill herself to get away from you, and your wife and son lose themselves in a bottle?”

His father made a disgusted sound. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. You never really had it in you. I knew it when I saw you with your sister—the way you bended to everything she said or did. Do you think she would be proud of you now? The sister you loved so much?”

There was no humor, only anger in Ben’s laughter. “Is that supposed to make me think? Change something? I know she wouldn’t be proud of me. She would probably fucking hate me and have every right to.” There wasn’t a fiber in his being that doubted that. Bonnie had been kind and sensitive. Loving. All she’d wanted was to be loved.

“What is wrong with you? I gave you everything. You had the potential to be anything, Ben. The other night...coming with that man, and how you behaved. You’re an embarrassment to more than just me, to yourself.”

“Do you think I give a shit what anyone thinks of me? Or of you?” Unable to keep still, Ben shoved out of the bed. His legs were weak, his whole body was, having lived off an alcoholic diet for he couldn’t remember how long.

“You should. I am your father!” Benjamin Sr. shouted. “You are my son and it’s time you started acting like it. I have a reputation to uphold. People look up to me.”

His father loved that, didn’t he? It was all he cared about.

“She looked up to you...Bonnie. She loved you. And I loved you too.” That was all they’d wanted. To be loved. To be important to their father. “I don’t anymore.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. It wasn’t often his father didn’t have a response. If Ben didn’t hear him breathing, he would think he’d set the phone down.

“You have no right. I loved your sister. She knew I loved her.”

Pain pierced Ben’s skull, an instant headache so sharp, he almost fell over. But he did have to sit. He squeezed his eyes shut and with one hand, held his head.

“You’re a waste, Ben. A disgrace. It was you that killed her. You, who hurt her. You, who made her cry that last day. You, who brought her the knife. It should have been you.”

It was the one thing they could agree on. It should have been him. He was the one that killed her.

The pain in Ben’s head intensified, traveled down to his chest.

“Help me, Benny,” she whispered, pulling him closer, hugging him tighter. “Help me make it go away. You’re the only one who can make me feel better. Hurting makes it go away. If you love me, you’ll do it. Don’t you love me? I just want to make these feelings go away. I just want to feel loved.”

Ben hung up the phone. “I want to,” he said to the empty room. “I want to help you. How do I help you?”

Bonnie wasn’t here, yet he was talking to her. He knew he was crazy now. He knew that but he couldn’t stop. It was a compulsion living in his veins that he couldn’t stop.

“Hurting makes it go away. If you love me, you’ll do it. Don’t you love me?”

The room was going round and round yet somehow Ben managed to stay on his feet.

Maybe it was Bonnie who helped him with that. He’d always loved his sister. Always trusted her. Maybe she’d been right. Maybe hurting did make it go away. It’s what he’d been going for in the alley that night, if Dante hadn’t stepped in.

Dante.

Maybe that hadn’t been enough. Maybe Ben needed to push it more. Test the limits. He’d always done that. With the sex, Tristan, in his career. Hell, even in looking more deeply into Javier. It’s what had gotten him caught.

Ben picked up the bottle, throwing it at the wall. It shattered, brown liquid spraying around the room.

He stood outside of his body now, watching himself walk. Watching himself go to the glass. Watching himself fall to his knees, pick up a piece of glass and hold it to his wrist.

“Do it,” he told himself. His hands were shaking. Ben pressed the glass into his wrist, a small pearl of blood forming there.