Page 71 of The Torment of Two

“What? No. Mom, I’m still, uh, a you know…”

Virgin.

Don’t make me say it.

Both of my parents relax as though my virginity is something sacred that needs protecting at all costs. I can lose my virginity and be just fine. My life, though, that’s another story.

“Well,” Mom encourages, a practiced smile on her face. “What’s going on?”

“Two’s real name is Tristan Sheridan.”

Dad doesn’t seem to register the last name, but Mom’s eyes widen in immediate horror.

“He, uh, is—”

“Oh my God,” Mom croaks out. “Oh. My. God.”

Dad tenses and shoots me a questioning look. “Explain.”

Two decides it’s his turn to speak and launches into it before I can stop him. “I’m the second choice baby. You know, the one my dads got when they couldn’t have Gemma here.”

I’d wanted to deliver this delicately, but Two doesn’t do delicate. Finally, Dad understands. He goes from confused to pissed in an instant.

“Gemma,” Dad growls. “What the actual fuck?”

“Nathan,” Mom chides.

It’s not the first time I’ve heard Dad curse, and it certainly won’t be the last. I shift in my seat, feeling awkward about this whole conversation.

“Are you doing this to hurt us?” Mom asks, eyes welling with tears.

“What? No, it was seriously a coincidence that we were partnered up,” I rush out, panicking at the idea she thinks this is all some big production to upset them. “How could you even think that?”

Mom deflates. “Wow. It’s a lot to take in.”

“Well, I, for one,” Dad bites out, “don’t feel comfortable with you running off with some boy all hours of the night. It’s not safe, Gem.”

“I know,” I blurt, “and I’m sorry. That’s why I’m coming clean right now.”

“Do your dads know?” Mom asks Two, pain gleaming in her eyes. “How did they take it?”

“Nope,” Two hisses, “and I plan to keep it that way.”

Mom shakes her head in disagreement. “Two, honey, they need to know—”

“I said no.” Two’s voice is sharp like a blade, broking no room for argument. “Tell them the rest, Golden.”

My parents gape at me, shocked that there could be more. There’s a big ol’ stalker cherry to set on top of this screwed-up conversation.

“Someone’s been, uh, following me and leaving me notes,” I say, not able to hold Dad’s stare. “It’s a little creepy.”

Two snorts again. “Someone? It’s a stalker. You have a stalker. He knows where you live, where I live, where your brother lives, where you go to school, and where Hemingford Hall is. He even knows your phone number! It’s more than a ‘little creepy,’ Golden.”

Dad jumps to his feet, eyes darting all around in panic. “Why am I just now hearing about this? How long has this been happening?”

“A few weeks,” I admit, cringing. “Sorry, Dad.”

“I need to know everything,” Dad barks out. “I’ll have Jude search and Sloane—”

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