Her words chip away at my soul, one by one, bit by bit. Worse, she’s saying things I’ve already thought myself. I may be in love with Katie, but what’s the point? How can we carry on when everything between us is so fucked up? “Is that what Katherine thinks?” I ask tightly. I need to know.
“What?” Brenna frowns.
“Is that what Katherine thinks about us? About our relationship.” I curl my fingers around the edge of the table, so tight I’m afraid I could snap it right off. “Does she think I’m a monster?”
Brenna leans back in her seat, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Well. You’re the son of one.”
I’m paralyzed, waiting for the rest of her verbal attack, but nothing else comes. Deep down inside, I know I deserve to hear every horrible thing she has to say to me. About me. Brenna Watts will gladly tear me down. Tear me apart.
But she says nothing more. And it’s in those deathly still minutes when I realize her single statement hurts far more than anything else she could have said.
You’re the son of one.
I can’t change who my father is. I’m stuck with that burden no matter how much I try to ignore it. I can change my name, change my looks, and move to another country, but the fact still remains.
I’m the son of a monster.
“Is that all you wanted to say, then?” I ask when she remains quiet.
She blinks, seemingly shocked. “Yes. I suppose so.”
I slide out of the booth, Brenna never taking her gaze off of me. Like she expects me to make some random threatening move toward her and she needs to be on the defensive. “Then we’re done,” I tell her before I exit the restaurant, never once looking back.
It’s not until I’m outside in the parking lot, rounding the driver’s side of my car, that the nausea crushes me in its grip. I bend over, retching back up the water I drank, my throat raw, my eyes watery. I walked in with an empty stomach and the muscles spasm, trying their damnedest to expel nothing. Resting my hands on my thighs, I hang my head, spit onto the ground, and close my eyes against the onslaught of Brenna’s horrific words still spinning in my head.
The truth is hard to face. Everything Brenna said is true and I can’t deny it. When it’s stated so boldly, laid out before me in all of its unflinching glory, her worry for her sister is validated, as is her disgust.
Memories come at me, one after another. The memory of when I first found Katie. When I ran from her. When I came back and she didn’t believe I wanted to help her. The fear I saw in her eyes, the hesitation. She didn’t trust me. In her eyes I was a monster.
I’m still a monster. I’ve just taken on a different form. I don’t hurt her physically, just emotionally. And how fucked up is that?
There’s nothing else I can do.
I need to leave Katie alone.
He said no.
I stare blankly at the email Lisa Swanson sent me. Subject line: Interview. One sentence within the email and that was it.
He said no.
Hitting reply, I type out my response and click send, hoping that’s it, once and for all.
Then I refuse to participate.
And what would be the point? What would it get us? What did I believe I’d gain by forcing Ethan to participate in this interview? It’s not like I could spill the truth and confess our darkest secrets. Baring my soul to the millions who’d watch us on national television would be the dumbest move ever.
Even I eventually realized that.
My refusal won’t make Lisa happy, but I really don’t care. Mom and Brenna will be relieved. They regret standing by my decision to do the original interview in the first place. It’s brought me nothing but trouble and heartache since it happened, and I regret it, too.
But why did Ethan say no? I grab my phone from where it sits on the side table and stare at the screen, tempted to text him.
Tempted to tell him that I miss him.
Closing my eyes, I wait for the decision to come to me, but it doesn’t. I’m hopeless. Helpless.
Lost without him, as much as I hate to admit it.
There’s a quick knock on my front door before it opens and Brenna breezes in, a smile on her face, her hair streaming behind her as she whirls around and shuts the door, snicking the lock into place. “What are you up to?” she asks as she heads toward the couch and plops down on it.
I knew she was coming over—she’d called earlier this morning to let me know. For some reason she’s not at work today and I don’t get why. Seeing her now, she seems agitated. Anxious, and that’s totally unlike her. She’s my calm, cool older sister. The one who can manage a classroom full of rowdy children and never bat an eyelash. I have always envied her calm.
“Homework,” I say, closing out my email program, keeping my laptop open. “I’m behind.”
“Why? Because you let what happened with that asshole mess with your head?”
I blink at her, surprised at the venom in her voice. “Excuse me?”
Brenna rolls her eyes and sinks deeper into the couch. “Don’t give me that innocent act, Katherine. I’m talking about Will Monroe. Or Ethan—whatever the hell his name is.”
I unloaded the entire sordid story on my sister because she’s truly the only friend I have, the only one I can trust. Mom just worries, not that I can blame her. Brenna offers sound advice and a shoulder to lean on. What more could I want?
But my anger fueled hers. To the point that mine has eventually dimmed while hers is still burning bright.