Page 50 of The Tangle of Awful

I shrug my shoulders and saunter out of her room. Her door slams hard behind me. I’m pleased with my little show for about three seconds. Once back in my room, alone, the façade falls away.

Why’d she have to go and fuck everything up back then?

Like the schmuck I am, I go into my closet and pull down the box—our box. The stupid box that holds all the good memories of me and Aubrey. Sitting on the floor, I pull out a stack of polaroids. Aubrey’s dad sent her a dumb, cheap polaroid camera one year and we had fun taking pictures with it.

Back when I thought she was real.

A real friend. A real stepsister. A real person.

I have a hard time looking at the pair of grinning teenagers staring back at me from the photos. I’d been completely oblivious to her duplicitous ways.

She felt pretty real a short moment ago. Bringing my fingers to my nose, I inhale her sweet scent that remains. Still damp and sticky. Real. Fucking real.

My chest feels hollow. I’d had nefarious intentions when I’d gone in there earlier, but then the lines blurred.

What if I was wrong a couple of years ago?

What if I’ve been feasting on a lie?

“Spencer?”

Dad’s deep voice startles me. It’s not often he’s been able to sneak up on me. Based on the mess at the bottom of my closet, I’d say I lost myself to memories for longer than I thought. Quickly, I start stacking up the pictures and throw them back into the box.

“In here,” I finally say, giving away my location. “Just looking for a picture of Mom.”

I hoist up the box and am sliding it into place when I sense his presence in the closet doorway.

“Okay,” he drawls out, wisely choosing not to press as to why. He sighs heavily. “Can we talk?”

Sweeping my gaze over my father’s impressive frame, I take stock of his appearance. His hair isn’t styled anymore and hangs limply over his forehead. The tie that’s usually perfectly knotted has been tugged loose. His eyebrows are furled and his lips are pressed into a tight line.

What’s strange is his eyes don’t meet mine.

Interesting.

“Yeah, Dad, what’s up?”

He turns on his heel and stalks back into my bedroom. I notice the bedroom door has been closed. My curiosity is officially piqued.

“Is Aubrey okay?” His expression grows stormy and his nostrils flare.

I still my entire body, wondering if he somehow knows what I was just up to. Can he smell her sweet scent that’s certainly invaded my nostrils?

“Seemed perfectly fine to me,” I say slowly, narrowing my eyes. “Why?”

Dad glances at me briefly, a relieved glint in his eyes, before looking away again. He shrugs and turns away from me, choosing to walk over to my window.

“Just wondering.”

It’s then I realize what’s wrong with him. Guilt. I’ve rarely seen my father looking guilty, because as far as men in this community go—and this family for that matter—he’s one of the more morally stable.

“Did you upset her?” I probe, prowling closer to him.

He flinches at my question. “Maybe? Fuck.” His fingers spear into his hair and he tugs, giving away why his hair looks like shit today. “No, I did. I upset her.”

Things begin to click into place quickly.

Aubrey’s foul mood. Dad’s shame. The evasiveness of both of them.

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