Page 53 of Little Liar
I still can.
Mom walks into my room and huffs when she sees me; how swollen my eyes are. “We need to leave. Are you ready?” She looks at my outfit—a simple black dress and tights. “Why are you crying?”
I take a deep breath and sit on the edge of my bed. “I can’t do this.”
A beat of painful silence, and she crosses her arms. “Can’t do what?”
“I can’t testify.” I hold my breath, awaiting the storm brewing in her eyes to hit. “I won’t.”
Her gaze drops, and she lets out a disbelieving laugh. “He has you so badly wrapped around his finger, you don’t even realize how much he’s manipulating you.”
I frown. Mom has never spoken to me like this before—of course she’s yelled, but never in this tone, like she’s sickened by me. Not when it comes to my brother. Sure, she’s heavy when it comes to the dates and my lifestyle, but she’s never looked at me with so much… disgust.
“He’s not manipulating me,” I say, standing and taking two steps towards her. “I’m not testifying against him. He needs help, not to be locked up with criminals.”
“Heisa criminal, Olivia.”
Malachi isn’t a bad person. Everyone has this image of him now because of how he reacted—but he lost himself, that’s all. Everyone’s afraid of my brother. Even his own friends bailed on him when the news broke online that he snapped and nearly killed his adoptive father.
Everyone but Mason.
If my brother knew that his best friend died the same night he was arrested, while speeding to the manor to make sure Malachi was okay, it would be the final straw. Abigail is devastated and hasn’t left her house to see me. Not that I blame her. We’ve had news reporters and onlookers standing outside our house since the case went global. Thanks to my father’s high-profile name, it’s been all over social media.
I miss Malachi. And I feel selfish for missing him, considering what happened between us. A part of me wishes I hadn’t overheard the girls in the locker room. I’d be none the wiser that Malachi was pretending to be inexperienced so he could mess around with me.
Another part of me also thinks that, maybe, it wasn’t true. I didn’t let him explain. I silenced him and watched him get arrested.
Dad was dying—his blood was all over us both. He was my main focus when I broke our eye contact for the last time. I can never look at him again.
I could be the person who sends him to jail. The reason he’d be charged with attempted murder and put behind bars for a really long time. I might never see him again. I have no doubts that he’d be done with me if I do this.
So…
I won’t.
Mom stares at me—I’m too determined to back down. I’m not going to. Testifying against the one person I love, the one person who’s always protected me, would be like stabbing myself in the heart and leaving the blade there to twist every time I think about him.
She can see the determination and love in my eyes as I think about potentially saving my brother, or at least refusing to testify. I’ll take back my statement. I’ll make him walk free with me. I need to.
“You don’t remember much about your childhood, but I do. I have your reports. Do you know how badly your real mother and father treated you? They were more interested in their next hit than feeding you and your baby brother. They were investigated for years. The only reason child services had a fireman break into your house was because they didn’t attend a drug test, then failed to answer calls, and then a neighbor contacted them to tell them that a baby had been crying for days on end before it fell silent. You were so thin and barely had any energy, yet you held your dead brother in your arms until you were found.”
My eyes burn as she keeps going.
“I saved you from that life. If it weren’t for me and your father, you would’ve stayed in the system. I gave you this life, so be a good daughter and defend your father against the monster who tried tokillhim.”
Tears slide down my cheeks, and my body shakes with anger. “How dare you use my past against me like that! I didn’t ask to be adopted by you. I didn’t ask for this life you’re forcing me into.”
She laughs. “Forcing you into? Open your eyes, Olivia. Has Malachi warped your mind so much that you don’t see the bigger picture? You’re refusing to stand up for the man who raised you against a disgusting beast who we never should’ve adopted.”
I have to stop myself from slapping her. “That’s enough, Mom.”
“Is this how you thank us?” she grits. “You’re just as bad as your brother.”
Malachi isn’t disgusting or a beast. But Mom is right about one thing. She did save me.
I bite my lip to stop it from wobbling, and my chest burns. Everything she’s saying, every damn word, hurts me. I try to push away the memory of how cold my little brother was before he was taken from my frail arms, how sore my body was when a fireman lifted me from the soiled crib and carried me out into the sun that burned my eyes.
It’s the only memory I have.
