Page 29 of Something Blue

“There are fucking reporters everywhere. Why the fuck would you say something like that?” he whispers.

“Because Celso did something to Damion, dad. Believe me. He killed Damion. We can’t let him get away with this. We have to go to the police.”

Tears are flowing freely down my cheeks while I speak.

My father sets one sharp slap across my face and it freezes all of my emotions in place.

I stare at him in disbelief.

He lifts his finger and points it right into my face.

“You don’t dare breathe a word of this pathetic idea to anyone. Do you understand me? I don’t want to hear a single fucking this about this again.” He’s furious.

“Are we going to let him get away with murder?” I plead.

My father snarls.

“Dad, if you listen—” he slaps me again and I bite the inside of my lip, the sharp metallic taste of blood touches my tongue.

“Not - a - fucking - word - Neve.” My father says, spelling each work out for me with the way he is enunciating them.

I stare at him.

“Do you understand?” he shakes me.

I nod.

“Get a hobby. Stop thinking stupid thoughts.” He mutters, releasing me and walking away.

I stare after him with so much anger inside me I can’t move.

Anger and confusion and grief.

Damion didn’t deserve this.

Who would have done this to him?

I can’t think of anyone but Celso.

For the longest time I just stand there, not knowing what to do because I can’t talk to anyone about it and I can’t face any reporters that my father has lined up and I still can’t move.

“Neve?” A soft voice draws my attention and I look up to see one reporter. My heart sinks.

“Please, I don’t want to answer questions.” I stammer.

“I wanted to see if you were ok. I mean, it can’t be easy.” The girl walks into the room, standing close to me, tentatively she reaches out and wraps her arm around my shoulder.

“I—”

“It’s ok, I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” She says, and I lean my face against her shoulder, sobbing massive tears as I fall apart.

It took me about fifteen minutes to pull myself back together after I broke down.

My father came into the room, glared at me, and demanded that I attend the interview he’d set up. The reporter stepped away from me in a hurry and left the room and I was forced to pull myself together.

That was several hours ago.

Now I’m back home and watching myself on thetelevision. My eyes are red and swollen and my face is blotchy on the screen.

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