Page 39 of Never Enough

Daphne

It’s Friday afternoon, and we’re all on our way to visit the Whitmores.

Unfortunately, we forgot to tell Victoria. You know, that I’m goingwiththem.

When we arrived together at the limo, she confronted us with a venomous, “What the hell is she doing here?”

My lip finds refuge between my teeth. I should be upset with my boyfriend for not informing her ahead of time, but the pushover part of me can’t stand to be angry with him, even for a second. I’d rather inhale all of our angsty emotions and keep them inside myself if it means keeping him happy.

So, I martyr myself. For him. My love. Victoria already considers me a freak obsessed with her brother, so what’s the harm, really? “I asked to discuss WU from a scholarship perspective.”

Victoria rolls her eyes, her disdain as clear as the manicured lawns. “Really, Alex? I thought you were over this.”

His face crumples for a second, and he shuffles his feet. He’s caught in the middle, again. “M-Mom a-and Dad w-want me to consider our business m-more, so I am.”

“Great,” Victoria snaps back. “You’re stuttering! Being around Daphne is making you worse!”

His shoulders slump, and his gaze falls, making a heavy weight settle in my chest. Am I the cause of his pain? The air feels suffocating, and I feel as though I’m dying piece by piece.

A familiar panic creeps up my spine, echoing Victoria’s words. Perhaps I am his poison. But I can’t let that thought take hold. Not now. I have a purpose here, and I can’t afford to break down. Not yet, anyway.

So, I focus on the cool breeze and the rustling leaves, trying to find solace in the natural world.

In a flat voice, Victoria says, “Fine. Daphne can come.” Gee, thanks. She presses an envelope into my hand, one I hadn’t even realized she was holding. “This is for you.”

I stare at the envelope as if it has the power to burn me or, more accurately, drown me. I don’t have to even glance at the sender to know who it is.

Still, I’m a masochist who allows others to trample her, so I painstakingly torture myself by reading my mother’s name scrawled across the envelope.

The woman who once wanted me dead is reaching out from the past. I grip the paper tightly, my knuckles white. Why won’t she leave me alone? She hates me more than I hate her.

“Let’s go,” Alex murmurs, his voice filled with concern.

I glance at him, his face a mask of worry. He doesn’t need more stress, not because of me. Celeste, Victoria… They all circle around him like sharks. And here I am, making waves without even trying. This is not the time to drop our secret into the mix. I will not be the one to push him over the edge. Not Alex.

I’ll keep every secret close to my chest, even if it kills me.

Besides, today is supposed to be a good day. I’m re-meeting my boyfriend’s parents. Why can’t I just ignore my problems?

The limo is sleek and black, waiting to swallow us whole. It hums softly, indifferent to the tension that crackles in the air. Victoria slides in first, her dark hair disappearing into the shadows. Alex follows, only pausing to look back at me.

“Coming?” His eyes search mine, a silent plea.

My heart squeezes tight. “Yeah,” I whisper and force a smile.

As they settle inside, I make a split-second decision. Mom’s letter, I don’t need it. Don’t want it. The past can stay where it belongs. In one swift motion, I toss the crumpled envelope into the trash can standing guard next to the limo. It feels good.

So cleansing.

Stepping into the limo, I leave the letter and the ghosts behind.

The purr of the limo engine fades into a whisper as we glide away from the curb. From the corner of my eye, a flailing figure bolts towards us, a blur of desperation and designer fur. Victoria’s head snaps to the window, her perfectly arched brow lifting in recognition.

“Driver, stop.” Her voice is a cold command, slicing through the hum of conversation like a knife through silence.

Alex frowns beside me, his body tensing as if he’s bracing for impact. I follow his gaze just in time to see Celeste’s tiny form, all enhanced curves and bleached hair, catching up to us. The limo jerks to a halt, and she doesn’t miss a beat, yanking open the door with a drama befitting the stage.

“You have to let me come.” Her oversized lips quiver as she pants. It’s a performance worthy of an award, especially when her eyes turn glassy.

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