by Maria Gartner She’s awake and reading a book when it happens. She doesn’t know how she didn’t hear them. Or how her neighbors didn’t. Willful ignorance maybe, like how people don’t acknowledge when someone’s cheating on them until they come home to catch it up close and fucking on the new duvet. Her brother’s shrill car alarm is what sets her into motion. She throws her book half-across the room in shock and rushes out her door. By the time she gets down the stairs, her breasts jumping awkwardly against her ribs, her brother is twisting the locks of the front door, his boxers dipping down low on his hips and flashing crack. Aaron has a baseball bat in his hands. He’s all…