If she were mine, I’d apologize for yelling. If she’d been mine all those years ago maybe she wouldn’t have done this, or maybe it would have happened exactly the same way. I don’t know anymore, all I know is she’s not mine now.
She’s out of reach. Maybe it’s for the best.
My fingers itch to touch her face again, to brush her hair back and look into her eyes. It’s instinct to touch her, dangerous instinct.
And suddenly I understand exactly why revenge stopped feeling satisfying the second she popped back into my life.
Because you can't spend years wanting someone dead—and years listening to them save you?—
Without becoming completely, utterly ruined. The sound of her phone ringing zaps me back as she answers it. Then quickly gets off. I look down at my own phone. I got a text at nearly the exact same time.
Unknown number.
One text.
One attachment.
A photo.
I open it.
And every ounce of warmth leaves my body.
The door slams open. It’s Lilah holding her phone, while I stare down at the image. A date is stamped down at the bottom.
Both of our dads.
Together. Shaking hands.
In front of the fucking university, days after I went to prison.
My stomach drops.
Because suddenly the question isn't who lied and why anymore. It’s what did they both get in that lie and why were they standing together the week my life ended with fucking smiles on their faces like they’d just won when me and Lilah had lost everything?
17
“Revenge requires distance. Desire destroys distance. And mercy begins exactly there.” –The Count of Monte Cristo
LILAH
Igroan and walk by Charlie. She side-eyes me with a quick glance. “Get into a fight with a coyote or finally embracing nineties grunge?”
I flip her off. “Why is this class so early?”
“Because college is built to make you fail. It’s a system that wants to deconstruct you before building you back up again.” She grins, then her smile falls. “Oh sorry, thought you wanted the real answer. That was a rhetorical question, got it. Out of words this early in the morning? I have enough for both of us, don’t worry. So there’s a party?—”
“Charlie.”
“I didn’t finish. There’s a party. Tonight. Some sort of faculty event but there’s wine and expensive wine, lots of donors, lots of food.” I know all about this event. I’ve avoided it like the plague for four years. My dad goes to these events. I don’t speak tohim. He likes expensive wine and cheese now that he has money. Not gonna happen. My mind keeps going back to last night. To the text message and what Jude said. There’s so much hurt to unpack there isn’t even any room for a friendship. Plus, he’s my professor now, and while crossing a line with Evans was fun and natural, crossing it with Jude, genuinely feels wrong, like I’d be screwing him all over again, as in, getting him into trouble even if he asked for it.
“Deep thoughts over there? You moaned.” Charlie points at me with her coffee spoon. “Anyways, I thought we could do, get our pre-drink on, and then meet up with Axel and blast from Christmas past, yes?”
I glare harder.
“I’m not scared of your glares and I don’t have my contacts in so it loses its effect.” She grins. “Anyways, you’ve been stressed all week and you keep looking worse. Let’s do it and then we can binge a show or go dancing, though something tells me Axel isn’t the dancing type. He looks more like a poetry slam sort of bloke.”
“Bloke? Are we British now?”
