Page 55 of Worse Than Wicked
“I’m not Mabel,” he says. “You don’t have to keep tabs on me.”
“Where were you?” I ask again.
“Driving around,” he says, avoiding my gaze.
I know where he’s been because I have his location too, but I want him to say it.
“No secrets,” I remind him. “No lies.”
“No lies,” he mutters, still looking at the floor.
“So, one more time,” I say slowly. “Where were you?”
“I told you,” he says, scowling at me.
I just stare at him, waiting, still not quite believing it.
He’s lying to me.
And if he lies now, about this, what else will he lie about? What else has he already lied about?
I’ve never felt betrayed before, but I think that must be the feeling that slides through me, clean as a scalpel.
My brother has never been sneaky, so I don’t think he went to Mabel’s old house for nefarious reasons like trying to win points with her, take her for himself. I know he’s been having a harder time sharing than I am, but I thought he’d get used to our dynamic. Maybe I should have worked harder on it, done more than simply tell him that he is important, vital, to what we have.
But I’ve never been good at knowing when to stop. My boundaries are different from other people.
So are my handicaps.
It would have been enough to tell Mabel. She would understand and accept my words. Probably, Duke even accepts them. But he needs more, needs to feel them, and I’m not sure how to make someone else feel something I never have and never needed to.
Frustration slides along the seam cut by the scalpel, filling the cut, chasing the sting out and replacing it with the more familiar sensation.
After a long, long silence where he has every chance to come clean, I finally accept that he isn’t going to.
“You’re too drunk to be driving around,” I say, but there’s no harshness in my words.
“How do you know I’m drunk?”
“Alice is just as bad,” I say. “Maybe worse. You’re taking too much.”
“I ran out,” he says. “I haven’t had any in days.”
“Don’t lie to me, Duke. We promised we’d never lie.”
“I’m not lying!”
I want to believe him, but I’m not sure. That kills me a little. I could always, always trust my twin. There shouldn’t even be a question. “Good,” I say at last. “If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t. But promise you won’t lie.”
“I won’t lie,” he says, glowering at me.
“Is that where you went?” I ask. “To get more?”
“So what if I did? You made it for me,” he reminds me.
“We made it together,” I remind him.
I may have mixed the compounds, but he tested it, helped me know what he needed to get it just right. I’m beginning to think that was a mistake, but I don’t tell him that. At least I know why he went over. I knew it must have been to see Colt, since Mabel’s here, and there’s nothing of hers that we’d want over there anymore. That must have been why he asked if Colt was home earlier. He makes fun of Colt’s addiction, but he shares it. They must have used together while I was gone. That’s the only explanation for their inexplicable tolerance of each other now.
