Page 91 of Antidote

The thing is, even though I know that Hunter means well and he wants to do this—I don’t actually want him to have no family left. I don’t want that for him, and I know my dad will fucking destroy his heart more than our breakup ever will. Yet he still chose me. Just for me to turn around and choose for myself. Maybe there is something wrong with me.

The rain dies down, and I look over at Jamie, who is resting his head against the seat. His eyes are closed, but I know he’s awake. He’s just waiting for me to be done here. He hasn’t exactly been sleeping well with this math class he’s taking that’s kicking his ass, and I think the stress of taking care of me is making it worse.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell him softly so I don’t startle him. He nods once without opening his eyes, and I take that as my cue that he’s not replying.

The walk from the parking lot is short, and my Converse are soaked in water by the time I get closer to her grave. I gaze down at the grass, which seems more like a fucking river—I hate North Carolina. Always flooding.

When I get closer to the grave, I peer up. My feet trip over each other and I almost face plant at the sight of my dad sitting on the grass—in the rain—soaking wet. Wow, he must really be going through it right now. Maybe Hunter stopped talking to him, after all. I shouldn’t wish pain upon him, but I do. I hope his life is as miserable as mine is. He actually deserves it.

Just as I’m about to turn around and wait in the car until he leaves, Conrad looks up and our eyes connect. He frowns, looking back at the headstone like he doesn’t understand why I’m here. Fucking dumbass. But I came here to say goodbye, for even if I stay in Raleigh, I don’t think I’ll be back here again. I don’t want to run into Hunter. I definitely don’t want to run into Conrad.

“What are you doing here?” Conrad asks sharply.

I smile, even though it’s bitter. He truly does bring out the worst in me. Maybe I am all the things he says—a failure, a junkie, a fucking murderer. However, he should love me anyway because I’m his son. Isn’t that what parents do? Love their offspring unconditionally?

“Visiting my mother.”

His eyes widen at the mention of her, as if there was another reason I’d be here. “You can sit with me.”

Surprising him, I sit on the sopping wet grass and stare straight ahead. It’s an awkward silence between us, and I don’t even know why I’m doing this in the first place. He has never had anything kind to say to me. I’m being a masochist at this point.

I used to crave his attention, and I bloomed a little bit more every time he provided it—like a flower starving for the sun. But that attention eventually disappeared, and I wilted.

Conrad clears his throat. “I came here to talk to her.” I nod absently, and he takes that as an invitation to continue, “I think I fucked up. I didn’t handle anything right—I didn’t handle it at all.”

I purse my lips. The damage is done. “Yeah, unfortunately, you’re right.”

He winces, and I catch it from my peripheral. Why isn’t he being an asshole right now? “Hunter isn’t talking to me.” Bingo.

“Is that why you’re talking to me?” I sneer. “Because your golden boy cast you out?”

He sighs, and it sounds tired. Tired like me. “Why Hunter? Of all the boys you could’ve picked, why did it have to be your brother?”

I smile, not giving a fuck about his little jab. I no longer feel shame to admit I’m in love with my stepbrother. “It’s always been him.” I shrug. And I’m being honest… It’s always been Hunt and Ollie. Green and blue. Baby. “From the first moment I looked at him, I knew I was in love. I could feel it growing as the years went by. I just didn’t know what to do about it.”

“Until?”

“Until he decided he wanted more.” I shrug, remembering the moment he called me baby and how my body reacted. “And ever since then, he’s been the one in charge.”

“I don’t know how to accept this,” he tells me, and I still don’t look at him. I start to fidget with my fingers, then stop. I don’t want to show him any weakness right now. “I can’t wrap my head around it.”

“You don’t have to.” I shrug.

“I’m sorry.”

I’ve wanted to hear those words from his lips for so fucking long—only they don’t feel as good as I thought they would. They feel like manipulation. Like he wants to apologize to us to bend us to do his will. I’m sick of it, and him.

“Do you even love me, Conrad?” I ask, because I needed to get it off my chest. With everything he’s done to me over the past decade, I have wondered.

He flinches when I call him by his name. “Of course I do,” he chokes out. “You’re my son.”

I nod, yet stay silent.

“You remind me of your mom a lot, you know.” I cringe because, of course, I do. My mom was a junkie and possibly the most selfish person I’ve ever known. So it’s only natural he’d compare me to her, seeing as we’re both addicted to the same fucking drug. Pathetic. “She was strong and had a temper, but underneath it all, she was loyal and loved fiercely.”

I gulp, not having expected that. In all honesty, I anticipated insults and jabs. My jaw drops momentarily, but I get my shit together reasonably quick and close my mouth back up. I don’t know what to say, so I remain silent.

“You also remind me of Lucy.” I turn my face to look at him, and there’s pain etched into his features as he stares ahead at the headstone. “You both had so much in common. Your taste in movies, the way you both knitted together, baking…”

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