Page 71 of Twilight Mask

“He must’ve been there to do something. I can promise you right now, I didn’t invite the guy. Did you ever think he’s just using you?”

I tamp down my rage. Screaming at my brother on my front porch isn’t going to convince anyone to let me leave the oasis. Even though I want to jam a knife straight through his eye and lick the gooey mess.

“Go away before you piss me off even more.” I turn to head back inside.

But Angelo follows. I try to slam the door in his face and succeed only in smashing his foot. He curses and muscles his way past me, grumbling the whole time, and I have to do a short breathing exercise to keep from grabbing a kitchen knife and gutting him.

“Simon was right to keep you locked up here, you know that?” He glares at me, standing next to my half-finished pour-over coffee. “God damn it, Laura, you’re not this naive.”

“Marco isn’t using me. Did you think for a second that I’m using him?” My lips twist into a snarl. “The sex is fantastic.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You think talking about fucking the guy’s going to scare me off? You’re just being a dick.”

“Actually, you and Simon are the dicks in this situation.” I pick up a saltshaker and casually throw it at his face. He barely ducks out of the way. It hits the wall and clatters to the floor, much to my annoyance. That would’ve been more satisfying if it had broken.

He glares at me. “Don’t be a child.”

I pick up the peppershaker and chuck it at his nose. He bats it aside with a grunt.

“Get out of my house then.”

“Would you just listen to me? We love you, Laura, even though right now you’d probably rather stab me in the throat than admit you feel the same way, and we want what’s best for you.”

“Funny how it’s always you that gets to decide what’s best, and my opinion doesn’t matter.”

He throws up his hands. “You’ve been a fucking recluse for like ten years. You still haven’t fully processed what happened to you in all this time. I’m afraid for you, okay?”

I pause, and there’s a little bell ringing in the back of my head, triggered by that phrase. I’m afraid for you. He’s totally sincere, and I believe him when he says this is all about keeping me safe, and in some ways I can even understand why he’s on Simon’s side instead of mine. From his perspective, his weirdo, traumatized little sister fell in with a dangerous thug that wants to destroy our family, and he’s probably pretty sure Marco’s going to hurt me.

“You’re wrong,” I say and struggle to keep my voice steady. I’m pissed at myself for letting my life get to this point where my own brothers think I’m too broken to function in the world, and I’m sad that they might even be right. Except about Marco. “He’s not using me. And I know, it seems weird, but he and I work together, okay?”

“Tell me how you know.”

“He’s had a dozen or more chances to do something bad, and he hasn’t.” Well, at least, not the sort of bad that I don’t enjoy. I keep that to myself though.

“That doesn’t mean he won’t.”

“I trust him. Doesn’t that matter? When was the last time I trusted someone?”

He looks away and I can tell Angelo’s struggling with this. He has to realize I have a good point. Even though I’m a reclusive weirdo, I’ve always had a good read on people, and I rarely warm up to them very quickly. Marco and Jackal are the exceptions.

“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head as he moves around the island and back toward my door. “I just can’t get past it. Simon’s right. You can’t see that guy, and if we have to keep you locked down until you get over him, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Coward,” I say to his back. “You’re pathetic. Aren’t you the one that encouraged me to get back out into the world?”

His shoulders slump as he steps out onto my porch. “I know I have some responsibility here. But Marco’s a Santoro. I can’t get past it.”

“Try harder because he’s not going anywhere.”

Angelo walks away. I close the door behind him, vibrating with rage. That self-righteous prick. He walks in here and acts like he knows what’s best for me, like he’s on Simon’s side because this is what’s best for me, and meanwhile, he’s the one that wanted me to move out into the world. I do exactly that—I find someone that gets me and makes me happy—but it’s the wrong someone. So he shuts me down.

Fuck him. Fuck them. I’m not staying here, but I don’t know how to get out. Not yet, anyway.

I finish brewing my coffee. I’m too upset to call Marco back, although I send him a text letting him know what happened. He responds saying to call him when I’m ready to talk again.

I’m mostly finished with my mud water and still grumbling to myself when there’s another knock at my door. It has to be Angelo, back to grovel for forgiveness or maybe to get this piping hot water thrown in his fucking eyes. I smile to myself as I picture his skin bubbling up and red?—

Except it’s Mom standing on my porch this time.

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