I shut my mouth, not because she told me to, but because I genuinely have no idea who this version of Pearl is.
She eyes me like she’s waiting for me to interrupt. I swing my hand out, as if to say,the floor is yours. “I’ve always hated my sister.”
I put my hand up. “If you came here to—”
“I’m not. Just shut up and listen.” She huffs, then takes the coffee mug and begins to rinse it out, keeping her hands busy. “It’s hard to explain. But over the years I’ve just… built this picture. Of her. Of you.” She glances at me under her lashes. “We made sense, you and me. And you just never fucking saw it. I kept waiting. I know you don’t love me, Logan.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. Not that she deserves it, but maybe if I had shown her something, if she had real love in her life, she wouldn’t have burned everything down. Maybe if she had something real, she wouldn’t be so cruel.
“At the gala last spring… I saw the way you looked at her. You two always argued, but that night, you couldn’t stay away from each other. I was so mad at her because I’d spent so long trying to make you look at me like that, and she did it effortlessly. Like she does everything else.”
“So you sabotaged her career?”
“I’d like to remind you, once again, that I wasn’t alone in that.”
I grit my teeth, hating that she’s right, but still fucking furious at her. She can see me ready to snap, so she acquiesces.
“But yeah. That was one of the reasons. And Daddy did say all that shit about her. It felt good, I guess. To take her down a peg.”
“There are no pegs, Pearl. She’s your fucking sister.”
“Whatever.” She waves her hand. “My point is, I was pissed at her, so I did something mean. It’s what I do. I don’t know why I do it, it’s just… it’s always been easy. Intellectually, I know I should feel bad about it, but emotionally, I just… I can’t explain it. But I just can’t get there.”
I stare at her for a second. I may be a cardiothoracic surgeon, but I did rounds in psych. She’s charming. Changes her moods on a dime, mimics sadness and hurt on cue. Lacks emotional empathy. “Pearl, have you ever gone to therapy?”
She narrows her eyes. “Yes. And I’m aware of my diagnosis. That doesn’t matter right now. My point is, I didn’t see how bad it was until the wedding. And I realized—you’re never going to love me. And maybe I loved the idea of you more than you, anyway. I mean, if you wanted to sleep together, I wouldn’t say no. But—” She glances at my face. “Right. Obviously not.”
I say nothing.
“So, I’m letting you go. But I want to be friends. I don’t make friends easily… You, Harlow, even fucking Griffin. Dash and Reign. You guys are all I have. All I’ve ever had. I’ve told myself I don’t fall for people I date because they’re not you, but I thinkit’s simpler than that. I can only manage so many people at once. Too many variables.”
“This is an awful lot of self-awareness and honesty for someone exhibiting psychopathic behaviors,” I say, throwing it out there.
And to my surprise, she doesn’t seem shocked by the term. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink.
She shrugs. “It’s been a relief, honestly. Dad’s pissed at me, and we got into a huge fight, and it felt so good not to pretend. It feels good to admit I’m fucked up. That I’m micromanaging every friendship I have so it’s perfect. Not having to do that is… nice. Harlow is pissed at me too, but she said she likes me better like this. And Griffin—” she pauses, a blush moving up her pale neck.
I shake my head. “I’m glad you’re having a breakthrough, Pearl. I really am. But the person I’m worried aboutisn’t you. Do you understand that? You broke her. The fucking shit you said to her, I can’t even—”
“I don’t know if I can fix my relationship with Rose. I need to talk to her. And I will. But that’s not why I’m here. Even though you had your ego-maniac head shoved so far up your ass, you didn’t bother to read that letter, I know what I did was wrong, and I want to make amends.”
“Do you actually mean that?” I have no idea who this woman is. My brain is rapid-fire crumbling that I missed one of my best friends being actually fucking certifiable, and I don’t trust a word out of her mouth right now.
She looks at me, and I watch it happen again, in real time—she gathers that pout I spent years worrying after, eyes going soft and glassy on command.
Then she breaks into laughter.
Jesus.
“God, you should see your face right now.” She waves her hand in amusement. “Anyway, I’ll help you fix things if you take me back as a friend.”
I’m getting whiplash. I shake my head in disbelief, then find myself nodding in agreement. “She won’t answer her phone. She blocked me. And Easton won’t answer my calls.”
“He’ll answer mine.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because he thinks I’m unhinged enough to do something about it if he doesn’t.”
