Page 77 of Never Enough

“Because I c-couldn’t,” I admit, the guilt gnawing at my insides. “I’ve been t-t-trying to outrun it ever since, pretend it never h-happened. But Daphne, she’s n-never let me forget that I’m more than j-just that moment.”

Tears stream down Victoria’s cheeks, glittering tracks of anguish that cut through her carefully applied makeup. She’s crying for me, for the brother she thought she knew, for all the secrets kept between us.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” I can’t tell if Vic is mad that Daphne kept this from her or grateful that Daph never held my suicide attempt over my head.

“S-she’s not like that. When she came back, she s-aw I had friends and s-seemed happy. I know if she thought the suicidal thoughts returned, she’d warn you. The same way how Daph never used it against me, she wouldn’t rub it in your face either.”

She takes in my words. Of all my mistakes, allowing my sister to continue her untrue belief about Daphne is my biggest one. Without Daphne, my suicide attempt would have been successful.

I’ve been so intent on pretending that time of my life didn’t exist, that I failed to appreciate all that Daphne’s done for me too.

“How are you now?” Her voice breaks, the words tumbling out amidst sobs.

“Every day’s a fight, Vic. Depression doesn’t clock out; it’s a relentless shadow. Yet I manage.” I then tell her the biggest reason I told no one. “Daphne’s mom got arrested the night she saved my life. Remember?”

Her brows crinkle, thinking back. “Yeah, yeah, I think I do. Daphne never came back to the music center. She went into foster care, right?”

“Yes. I remember you being so happy when Daphne left. Your biggest rival dropped out, and you were the star again. I kept my mouth shut. Everyone knew Daphne and I crushed on each other, but you hated it, and since Daphne was gone anyway, I didn’t see the point in pissing you off.

“A few days later, Celeste started talking to me after a group of bullies broke my glasses again. Remember? It was the second time that year, and Mom and Dad were pissed. Anyway, Celeste made a joke about how I looked less nerdy and that was enough to get her to say hello. Inspired by her words, I switched to contacts, lost weight, and joined the football team. Here I am now.”

“But it didn’t help with your depression,” Victoria abstracts.

I shake my head. “No. It was easier to hide but still there. It’s always lingering.”

I guess that’s partly why I pushed Daphne away. She understands the darkness, the depths of my despair, and she still reaches out to me. Tears well up in my eyes as I think of Daphne’s gentle touch, her comforting words. She reminded me of my suicide attempt and accepted me for who I truly am, depression and all. Unlike Celeste, who would dismiss my pain or demand that I “toughen up”, Daphne was there to wipe away my tears. I’ve been trying to bury my emotions for so long that I held onto Celeste’s way of thinking for too long.

It’s like I didn’t know how to accept Daphne’s love, so I shoved it in a pit and hurt her over and over.

Stating the obvious, I say, “Daphne broke up with me.”

Victoria’s hand comes out of nowhere, a swift light smack against my shoulder. “Duh, you let Celeste hang all over you, you fool!”

I flinch, not from the pain—it’s more like being flicked by a feather—but from the sting of her words, the truth in them gnawing at me. Confusion clouds my thoughts as I search her face, expecting to find scorn or contempt. It’s a strange thing, being caught between hope and despair, wanting someone to understand but fearing their judgment all the same. Sure, we were talking about serious topics, but this is Victoria, after all.

“You’re no longer mad I was dating your enemy?”

She sighs, a forlorn expression casting shadows over her usually impassive features. “No,” she says, and there’s a sadness in her voice that makes the air feel heavy.

My heart clenches at this unexpected vulnerability from Victoria. She’s always been the impenetrable fortress,the unassailable peak of the Whitmore legacy. To see her walls crack, even slightly, is disarming.

“I’ve always been jealous of Daphne,” she admits, her gaze drifting away. “Of her natural talent and her grandmother’s unconditional love.” There’s a raw honesty in her tone, one that resonates with the pain of long-held envy. “I’ve been immature.”

The confession hangs in the air, a fragile thing made of glass. It’s an admission that costs her pride; I can tell.

I swallow hard, the sharp edges of my heartache cutting deeper with each word. To hear Victoria speak of jealousy, of immaturity, is to see her in a light I never expected to shine on her. It’s disconcerting, this shift in dynamics, this glimpse into her soul. It lays bare a truth I’ve ignored for far too long.

“Victoria…” My voice trails off, unsure of how to navigate this new, fragile terrain. There are no roadmaps for moments like this, no guides for traversing the emotional wreckage of our lives. We’re both adrift, it seems, caught in the riptide of revelations that threaten to pull us under.

We sit in silence, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on us. In that quiet, I realize how much I’ve misunderstood the people I thought I knew. It’s a sobering thought, one that etches itself into the marrow of my bones, heavy and profound.

“Victoria,” I start again, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

For what, I’m not entirely sure—for her pain, for mine, for the tangled mess of our lives. For not trusting her to love me enough as a sibling should, and for pretending I was happy with her best friend. I didn’t give Vic enough credit.

Either way, the apology feels necessary.

“Can you two fix this?” Victoria’s voice is small.

---