Page 92 of Regretting Youu

Chapter Twenty-Four

Clara

“Mom?”

It’s the only word I can manage to say, but it’s powerful enough to put a five-foot divide between them. My mother turns away from me. Jonah looks down at his feet.

I just stare at them in disbelief.

I’m shaking my head, trying to convince myself that I didn’t just see that. My mother . . . kissing her dead sister’s fiancé. My mother . . . kissing her dead husband’s best friend.

I take a step out of the doorway, as if the room is contaminated with betrayal and I’m afraid I might catch it. My mother takes a breath and then faces me, tears rimming her eyes. “Clara . . .”

I don’t give her the chance to explain. I don’t really want to know why that was happening. I run to my room because I need solitude before they’re able to reach me. I slam my door and lock it; then for extra reassurance, I scoot my nightstand in front of it.

“Clara, open the door,” my mother says, her tearful voice muffled by the door, her knuckles rapping against it.

“Clara.” Jonah is speaking now. “Please open the door.”

“Leave me alone!”

My mother is crying. I can hear Jonah apologizing, but it’s so quiet I know he’s not apologizing to me. He’s apologizing to my mother.

“Just go,” I hear her say. Jonah’s footsteps fade down the hallway.

She knocks on the door again. “Clara, please open the door. You don’t understand. It’s . . . just open the door.”

I flip off my light. “I’m going to bed! I don’t want to speak to you tonight! Go! Away!” I fall onto my bed. The knocking against my bedroom door finally stops. Not even two minutes later, I hear the front door slam shut.

My mother tries one more time to get me to open the door, but I roll onto my side and ignore her, covering my ears with a pillow. After a few minutes of attempting to regulate my breathing, I release the pillow. The knocking has ceased, hopefully for good this time. I hear her bedroom door close across the hall, which means I have until morning to talk myself out of murdering her.

I push myself off the bed. I begin to pace my room, my skin buzzing with anger. How could she do this? They just died two months ago.

A thought rips through me and causes me to fall back onto the bed. How long has she been doing this?

I start to think back on the last several weeks. Jonah has been over here so many times since my father and Aunt Jenny died. My memory is awakened with an entirely new perspective of every moment—the night they were outside in the dark when I got home, the night he came to fix the door, the excuse he made that he needed to come back the next day to finish the door. That time they left the house together, and when I looked on the app, it showed my mom’s phone had been at the Langford Hotel.

That was only a week after their deaths.

I feel like I might be sick.

How long have they been having an affair?

I feel so stupid. Jonah is always asking about her in class—pretending it’s concern.

Did Elijah really even have a fever this morning? Hell, Jonah probably stayed the night last night and I had no idea because I was in my bedroom. It would explain why he was here so early. Why my mother finally cooked breakfast for the first time since before my father died.

I pray my father had no idea. This whole time I’ve been feeling so guilty for possibly having a hand in ruining everyone’s lives, but Jonah and my mother have been ruining everyone’s lives since before the accident!

How could my mother do this to Jenny? I don’t have a sister, but what kind of human would do that to their own flesh and blood?

I hate her so much right now. I hate her so much I’d be fine if I never even spoke to her again. I hate her so much I sit on the edge of my bed and think of all the ways I can get revenge for what they’ve been doing to our family.

I’m running out of ways to rebel. I’ve done drugs, I’ve gotten detention, I’ve lied, I’ve missed curfew. The only thing left I could do that I know would upset her is if I were to have sex with Miller. She’s always begged me to wait until I was at least eighteen, which I probably wasn’t going to do anyway, but if she knew I lost my virginity at sixteen, and to Miller Adams, it would destroy her.

I look at my alarm clock. It’s not even eight o’clock yet. I still have four hours to make it happen before my birthday tomorrow. And I really need Miller right now, anyway. His presence is very calming, and I could use some calming vibes.

I grab my phone and call Miller.