Page 17 of Heart Sick Hate

I wish it didn’t sting. That it didn’t bubble every insecurity to the surface.

Crew doesn’t know I’m a virgin, just like Rhett doesn’t. So for once, Crew’s comment isn’t completely malicious. But something about how the word slips out like he finds it disgusting—how me keeping my legs crossed might as well be pathetic—makes my stomach sink.

Just because I’m not working my way through every available option doesn’t mean I don’t have my reasons. If only today wasn’t one reminder after another about how strange that is for a twenty-three-year-old girl.

Dropping my chin, for once I don’t have a comeback. And I hate that Crew’s capable of taking my words away from me.

“I’m stepping in for Axel.” Crew changes the subject, subtly ignoring the shift in energy as we walk into the foyer. “He bailed on the fight, and someone’s got to do it.”

I’m not sure why he sounds like he’s explaining himself to me. It’s not like him.

“Have fun with that.” I swallow hard, already choking on the words trying to come out.

I avoid Crew’s eyes as I peel the opposite direction from him before he can read whatever is brewing inside. Between his brother assuming I’m sexually experienced when I’m not, and Crew sounding disgusted by the fact that I’m chaste, I’ve never been more aware of my virginity.

Tears burn behind my eyes, and I don’t trust myself to face Crew as I walk away.

I hear him start to say my name in a question, but I’m already turning down the hallway to the bathroom. And it isn’t until I’m locked inside that I press my back to the closed door and exhale.

Around Crew, I’m a raw nerve, and he knows exactly where to tap.

Where to prick.

What to say.

If only it felt better to relieve the tension when I punched him in the face.

Walking over to the sink, I lean forward and fill my hands with water. Splashing the coolness of it over my heated skin doesn’t erase my thoughts, but at least it settles me down.

Sometimes it’s wrong to do the right thing. But I’ll do it anyway.

My reflection cries at me with mascara streaming down my cheeks. Wet rivers, dark like it’s the middle of the night. Secrets I drown in.

With wet hands, I wipe my cheeks clean. My face. Until my skin can breathe, even if I can’t.

Tonight was a bad idea, but I knew that going in. This house does nothing but bring out every insecurity I’ve ever had. Dark walls that refuse to let the light in. Haunted energy that whispers doubt.

The first time I was here I sold my soul, and every time I’ve stepped through the doors since then, I hear it somewhere in the basement, chained, and rattling around.

Dad saved me and I’m saving him now.

Penance.

Atonement.

Fate has a way of always coming full circle.

I splash my face a few more times until the mascara is washed off, before drying it. It looks like I’ve been crying, even if I haven’t shed a tear. Doesn’t matter, no one will ask me if I have.

With my hair and face presentable, I turn and open the bathroom door, only to find my father standing with his back to the wall outside it.

His gaze pinches at the sight of me. “If you’re doubting—”

“I’m not.” I don’t even let him get his fears out.

He lifts off the wall to follow me down the hallway. No matter how tall he is, everything feels small in this manor. The ceilings tower and the decorations are gaudy and grand.

“Echo, you can be honest with me. Max would understand.”

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