That's what he was doing. Not cruelty for cruelty's sake — he would never have called it that. He was protecting me the only way he knew how. Cutting off the thing that would cost me everything before I was old enough to understand the price.
The stick across my shoulders.
You do not get to be this.
He wasn't wrong about the cost.
But he was wrong about a lot of things.
Standing at these boards I can't find it in me to say he was wrong about this.
Rhys is going to get hurt.
Because he’s everything and I’ve always been nothing.
He’s the sun, trying so desperately to blanket me in its warmth and safety, and I’m the black hole snuffing out the light. Because I’m ugly and empty inside. Because not even my own father could love me.
So I will hurt him. Not because I want to. Not because he deserves it. But because I am made of walls and he is made of open fields and trust and eventually the walls win. They always win. I've built them too well and for too long and one morning in his room and one record and one hand open on a pillow isn't enough to take them down and I know that, even if right now in this grey morning it feels like it could be.
It feels like it could be.
That's the worst part.
No, the worst part is I’m doing exactly what Rhys expects.
Just like Marcus did.
I push off the boards.
Walk out.
Get to my room. I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the floor.
My phone lights up.
Rhys:
you left?
I stare at it.
I don't respond.
Then—
His name on my screen.
Calling.
I watch it ring.
Let it go to voicemail.
Put the phone face down on the bed.
Put my hands over my eyes.
It’s too loud in here.
