Page 121 of Things We Left Behind
“No. You’re who you aretospite him,” I countered. “Every time you make a choice based on what he would or wouldn’t do, you’re still giving him the power. He’s still ruining you. First from prison and now from the grave.”
Lucian didn’t look happy about my astute assessment. Helooked downright pissed. His jaw worked under his pristinely trimmed beard. “Think what you will. But one thing he didn’t do was ruin us. You did that on your own.”
I sucked in a breath and absorbed the punch of his words.
“I apologized for that. I was sixteen.”
“And how old are you now? Because once again, you didn’t trust me to handle my business. You couldn’t be trusted then, and you certainly can’t be trusted now.”
My head was pounding. The pretzel sat like a brick in my stomach. “You can’t forgive me for that? Well, I can’t forgive you for letting Ansel win.”
“Go the hell home, Sloane.”
“Gladly.”
I waltzed out the door and slammed it as hard as I could.
19
Mistakes Were Made
Lucian
Twenty-two years ago
Iwoke with a start, the echo of a sound ringing in my ears. I didn’t have the luxury of holding my breath and waiting to see if it was the shadows of a dream or if it was the nightmare I actually lived. I was already pulling on a pair of shorts when I heard it again. The shrill plea drowned out by the snarled accusation.
Dinner was cold.
The house was a mess.
There were muddy footprints in the garage.
Too loud.
Too quiet.
I’d looked at him wrong.
I’d been born.
There was a crash, followed immediately by a broken cry from the first floor as my bare feet hit the stairs. They were too loud for this to have just started. I’d fallen asleep.
Stupid.
I never fell asleep before he did. It wasn’t safe. I didn’ttrust him. But I’d been so fucking tired. Between the last weeks of my senior year, a part-time job, and the pretense of college preparations, I crawled into bed, mine or Sloane’s, exhausted.
Mr. Walton had done so much for me.
He’d helped me apply for and get a scholarship and two grants. I wouldn’t even have to play football in college. Football had already taken a toll on my body. Football and living with my father. In public, the three of us acted out the same ridiculous farce over and over again, pretending that the darkness didn’t exist behind closed doors. That we weren’t living the same nightmare over and over again.
But no one can hide the truth forever. Especially not when it was this ugly. I wasn’t going to leave this house, not while my parents shared it.
I couldn’t. I was the only thing stopping him.
I’d been watching him closely, knowing it was going to happen again. The clock had been reset weeks ago with his last violent explosion. I still didn’t have full range of motion back in my shoulder, and my mother had a new scar at the corner of her mouth. She was wasting away before my eyes as if she were erasing herself from reality.
I’d wanted to hurt him that time. Not just stop him but really hurt him that time. I’d wanted to show him what it felt like.
