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“Who said I was running?” I lie.
“Avoiding him. Hiding. Whatever you want to call it, he will come, and he’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants.”
I scoff. “I’m the last thing he wants.”
“You have your uniform?” she asks, and I'm grateful for the change of subject.
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’m short-staffed. Can you pick up a shift?”
I smile. “Sure.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask when I walk into the kitchen.
My brother sits at the dining table, staring mindlessly at the wall. I’ve had a shit week trying to get Melody to talk to me without pushing her away. It’s the fourth day in a row that she isn’t home. I could have shown up at the hardware store to speak to her, but then my brother would know what happened. I figured everything was okay if I explained that Melissa didn’t mean anything, and I would take her to lunch, dinner, or both. Except that she won’t answer my calls. She skipped class, which tells me she’s pissed off at me.
“Nothing,” he says in a flat tone.
I take a seat and notice he hasn't touched the bowl of soup on the table—it remains untouched and cold.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Azriel, if there is something I should know, it’s not going to do any good if you keep it from me. Is it Dad?”
“I don’t have a father,” he snaps. “My mother is dead, and I just realized the brother I looked up to all my life is no different from the father who can’t stand the sight of me.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He gives me a pained look. “Why?”
“Why what?” I snap.
“Why her?” he growls.
I recoil. It’s the first time he’s been this angry with me about a girl. This is about Melody. Is he jealous? Does he know how I feel about her? Does he want her for himself?
“I don’t know what you?—”
“She quit,” he interrupts.
I blink. “How? Did she tell you?"
“Don’t worry. She didn’t tell me how you hurt her, but she doesn’t have to. Her silence says what you are too cowardly to say. Whatever the fuck you did, I can only imagine how you did it.”
I clench my teeth. “Go ahead"—I slam my fist on the white Italian table, causing the soup to slosh out of the bowl—"say it,” I taunt.
“You used her. You treated her like you treat every fucking girl in your life. You fucked her and then acted like she meant nothing.”
“I didn’t…”
“It’s obvious that you did, just like the bastard who fathered me.” His eyes are hard, and his jaw is clenched. “You hurt her. In her eyes, you’re no different from the ones who raped her.”
"What did you say?" I roar, swiping the bowl of soup off the table. The bowl crashes to the floor, my chair flipping backward behind me.
My blood is boiling, causing my anger to erupt like a volcano as I lean over the table with my face inches from his.
He grins sarcastically. "I'm surprised you didn't know. You're friends with her ex and his friends. The same ones live the college life while a beautiful, innocent girl suffers because she's not from a prestigious family and didn't know any better than to trust a guy who took advantage of her. Tell me, was it worth it?"
He stands up, and I can see the disappointment, anger, and rage swirling in his eyes, mirroring my own reaction to what he said. Rape?
