Page 135 of Steps

“Don’t you see? Us being together is causing toomuch chaos. That baby would have been our blood sibling. If my mom does tryagain, we’ll share a half-sister or brother. It just can’t work.”

“So you’re giving up on us?” he mutters, visiblyand audibly upset.

His tears break free. I lower my eyes to the tile.“I can’t do this, Varen. I don’t want to lose this family, and neither do you.”

He huffs. “At least fucking look at me when youbreak my heart.”

I gasp from the pain in his voice. When I lift myeyes and see the tears rushing from his, I start to shiver. I’ve never seen himlike this.

Varen grips my arms. “Look, you’re just feeling guiltyright now. I am too. But don’t give up. We’ll find a way to make it work.”

I wobble my head. “Itcan’t. I’m alwaysgoing to feel guilty because we’ll be cut off from our family. I’ve never hadthis, Varen. Never had a dad or a good healthy home. I don’t want to lose that.Please.”

He looks crushed. “So you’d rather lose me?” Helets go of my arms and staggers back. “You didn’t choose me.” He grunts, “Fine.You know what? Fuck this.” He begins to shuffle away from me. “I don’t needthis shit. Screw love.”

Varen marches off down the passage, pushing thedoor at the end with anger. I feel like shit for hurting him, for not fightingfor us the way he’s been doing.

But at what cost?

It’s better for us to break up. This is the rightthing to do. Still, no matter how I tell myself that, I can’t stop the extremepain in my heart. “Oh… God…” Trembling, I hug my body and arch over, cryinglike a battered puppy.

A gentle hand touches my back. I peer up at Alisonthrough blurry eyes. “It hurts so bad,” I whimper. “I can’t breathe.” Herfeatures soften with compassion. She wraps her arms around me and rubs my back.I cry even more on her shoulder. “God, why does it hurt so bad?”

She sighs and hushes me. “Because you love mybrother. You really love him.”

32

Mom is back home on Tuesday. I want to stay withher since Alison has returned to her dorm, but she urges me to go to schoolbecause Daniel is taking the week off from work.

He hasn’t spoken to me since we left the hospital.I don’t blame him.

For the rest of the week, I make dinner and bringit to her room. Mom hardly eats and mostly sleeps. She’s hurting, bothphysically and emotionally. So I’m going to be a good daughter and care for herwhile pushing my own hurt aside. It’s what I do.

Each time I step into her gloomy bedroom, I makesure to conceal my pain, even though I feel lifeless and can’t shake thedreadful longing for Varen.

I spend every day since breaking his heartwondering about his current state and if he’s back on drugs.

Sometimes I even write in my diary and pretend I’mtalking to him.

Hey, how are you? You don’t hate me, do you?

Or compose text messages to him and save them asdrafts. Gosh. I’m going out of my mind.

On Friday evening, I make soup for Mom afterreaching home from school.

Daniel’s sitting in his office, where he always islately. I knock on the open door. He doesn’t look up from the papers on thedesk.

“Um, would you like some tomato soup?” I offer.

“No, thank you,” he replies dryly.

Picking at my jeans, I try again. “Would you likesomething else for dinner?”

He peers up at last but only briefly, setting hisattention back on his papers. “That’s all right. I’ll order something when Iget hungry later.”

I remain in the doorway for a moment beforeheading downstairs to my room. Daniel no longer smiles or seems to care. Heholds me responsible for my mom’s miscarriage. If he’s like that with me, howis he toward his son?

Thinking about Varen again brings on the urge tocall him. I take out my phone and hover over his number, but fight off thedesire and slither to the carpet as I start to cry for the umpteenth time thatweek.

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