Page 87 of Deviant

I sit on the bench opposite him and let out a sigh.

“You’re right. It’s not just lunch. It’s the only excuse I could come up with for us to have some alone time and talk.”

“And it never occurred to you to wait until I got home instead of ambushing me at the station?” he says, visibly aggravated with me, placing a slice of lemon meringue pie on his plate and butchering it with a knife. “You just thought it would be a good idea to manipulate me instead with this farce of a meal?”

“First, this is not a farce, Dad. I put a lot of time and dedication into preparing this lunch. And secondly, we don’t talk at home. Ever. We haven’t really spoken since—”

“Don’t you dare bring that day up,” he interjects, pointing the tip of the knife toward me. “Not a word, Rowen.” I bite down on my lip, sealing my mouth shut, until he puts down the knife. “I don’t want to hear about that day ever again. If I could, I would bleach the memory out of my mind once and for all.”

“It’s not that simple, Dad, and you know it.”

“Oh, believe me, I do,” he scoffs and drops the cutlery, slamming his hands on the table with a loud thud. “I know exactly how difficult it is to erase such a memory because I’ve done nothing but try not to think about it. But I can’t. Every time I look at you… every time I so much get a glimpse of your face… all I see is—”

“What I did to Nora,” I finish for him, coaxing his nostrils to flare in contempt.

“I don’t want to ever hear you say her name again,” he demands through gritted teeth, lowering his voice in fear of being overheard, even though no one is around. “That poor girl… that poor innocent girl… all she did wrong was befriend you.”

I swallow dryly, feeling as if he slapped me across the face.

“I was her friend. I was her family.”

“Were you? Were you really, Rowen?” he scoffs in disgust. “Because all I see before me is a reckless girl who thought it would be funny to spike her friend’s food with fentanyl, no less.”

“I told you I didn’t know it was fentanyl. The evidence bag was labeled with an E, so I naturally assumed it was ecstasy.”

“Do you think that excuses you for what you’ve done? That it wasn’t your fault because you didn’t know those pills were laced with fentanyl? Are those the lies you tell yourself so you can sleep better at night? Not only did you steal my keys, but you used them to sneak intomysheriff’s department to steal illegal drugs, too. That makes you a criminal in my eyes. A thief and a liar. But worse was what you did with them. That made you a cold-hearted murderer.”

Every insult he just launched at me hits me square in the heart.

“Dad—”

“Don’t,” he croaks, emotion starting to get the better of him. “I don’t know where I went wrong. Maybe it was because you never had a mother in your life. Maybe I should have remarried so you could have had a female role model in the house. Maybe this is my doing.” He shakes his head. “I just couldn’t bring myself to let your mother’s memory go. I loved her too much to ever be able to replace her in my heart. But if I knew for a second that the girl I was raising would turn into… this, perhaps I would have reconsidered and made the sacrifice.”

“Dad, please,” I stammer, my eyes starting to well up with unshed tears. “It wasn’t your fault. None of what I did was your fault.”

“You’re right. It’s yours,” he says, standing up. “If this meal was your way of apologizing, then let there be no misunderstanding between us—the daughter I loved died the same day Nora did. And I’ve been mourning you both ever since. This girl in front of me now… is a stranger to me. I don’t know who you are anymore, but you’re not my sweet Rowen. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone her best friend. For future reference, don’t come to the station unless I grant you permission. And when that lazy-ass boyfriend of yours finally gets his act together to propose to you, your answer better be yes. I don’t want you in my house longer than absolutely necessary. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” I reply, bowing down my head to hide the tears streaming down my cheeks.

Not that he cares anymore.

“Good. I’m glad that we’re on the same page.” And with that, he leaves me to wallow in my misery, which lately he’s been doing so proficiently.

It’s official—regardless of my actions, I’ll never regain my father’s love.

It hurts. It really fucking hurts. But how can I blame him for not forgiving me when I can’t even forgive myself?

Three days. That’s all I have to wait. Just three days, and I’ll be done with this pain. And so will my father.

That is the only solace I have in all of this. Me being chosen for the Harvest Dozen will finally give him some peace. With me gone, he’ll be able to rebuild his life again. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll be left with the memory of the daughter I once was and not the one I’ve become.

The thought is comforting, at least.

After a good cry, I start packing the lunch back into the basket. I’m halfway done when my phone vibrates in the pocket of my hoodie.

When I see a text from Aidan, I have half a mind not to read it. But the recollection of my father’s words concerning my so-called boyfriend has me pulling up his message.

Today is as good a day as any to break up with him.

---