Page 62 of The Very First Night

“People do that.”

“When did you become this person, Kat? You’ve never just refused to listen to me.”

I contemplate throwing one of my brand-new textbooks at his head. “Stop demanding I listen to you. You’re not my father. I don’t have to listen to you. My time is a privilege—one you no longer get.”

He scoffs, then…laughs. A boisterous, all-consuming, bellowing laugh. What about this scenario would drive any sane person to laughter?

“What?” I ask, but he continues. “What?!”

Elijah manages to rein in his laughter before he looks at me again. “Awfully cocky, aren’t we? A ‘privilege’…time with you is a privilege, huh?” He steps toward the door, his hand on the knob. “If your time was such a privilege, maybe your dad would fucking want it, eh?”

And then he’s gone. Walking out my bedroom door without having offered the apology he came in here to dish out, the kind and empathetic man nowhere in sight. Only the cruelty—the hate in his heart—lingering in the air.

TWENTY-NINE

KAT

With every step I take, the throbbing in my head intensifies. My eyes are red and swollen from crying and all I want to do is crawl back in bed, but I’m starving after skipping dinner. Silently, I tiptoe down the creaky stairs, careful not to wake my sleeping roommates. It’s been silent for a while; I’ve been sitting in my room, waiting to make sure I won’t run into Elijah in the hallway.

I can’t believe he would say something like that. I had already disabused myself of any misaligned perspective of who he really is, but he’s never been that mean to me. Not in so many words, at least. Whenever he said something that hurt my feelings, it was covert or subtle, so much so that at the time I convinced myself I was making it up.

Now I’m starting to realize that is exactly what he wanted.

It’s a bizarre feeling—it makes me feel legitimately crazy. I’ve listened to “Haunted” by Taylor Swift twelve times over the past few hours, and yet every time I hit replay it fills me with rage just the same.

What did I ever see in that guy? I find myself wishing for the guy he was when things were good between us, yet, as I make my way through pitch-black darkness, I can’t think of a single time he made me feel genuinely appreciated—not in a way that didn’t require doing mental gymnastics.

So why the hell do I care?

That’s the eternal question, isn’t it? Why does anyone continue to care deeply for someone who doesn’t care at all?

I approach the threshold to the kitchen and pause as I notice a soft glow emanating from within, cutting through the otherwise dark house. My eyes squint as they adjust and I catch sight of a faint silhouette moving around. My heart leaps up into my throat.

I swear, if it’s Elijah, I might actually lose it.

Tanner appears from behind the white door of the fridge with a bottle of chocolate syrup in one hand and a pint of rocky road tucked under his other arm.

“Hey,” I say quietly.

Despite my timid approach, he jumps in surprise. “Jeez, Kat. Don’t sneak up on people like that!” He laughs, but when his eyes meet mine, his amusement shifts to concern in a matter of seconds.

“It’s nothing,” I say before he can even ask the question.

“You’ve been crying. Sit.” He motions toward the stools lined up along the kitchen counter before grabbing two spoons from the drawer, one of them a small spoon for me. This man manages to remember every minute detail.

I sit on the stool and he sets the pint down before walking over to the fridge and grabbing a bag of frozen peas from the freezer. At first I’m perplexed, but then he holds the bag to one of my swollen eyes. It stings on contact and I wince.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be—it’s a smart idea.” I hold the peas there and Tanner sits down next to me.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I genuinely can’t figure out what to say. Elijah shouldn’t bother me anymore; his words shouldn’t hurt because, after all these months, I shouldn’t still be giving him power over me. Yet I do, without hesitation. I do, despite the fact that I spent my entire summer trying to put back together what he broke—despite the fact that he’s given me every reason under the sun to not trust him or want to be around him.

And yet I cried myself to sleep for the umpteenth time because he managed to eviscerate me with a few shitty words. How pathetic is that?

“Not really,” I reply quietly.

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