Page 117 of The Dearly Departed

“All I ever ask is that you try,” I could hear Leonard say, but what the fuck was I supposed to do about this now?

I barked a laugh then, both at him and her, not caring if it hurt her or me.

My hand fell onto her mattress like it weighed three thousand pounds, and I said, "Let me ask you a question, Princess. What exactly do you think would happen if I tried? Do you think that if I went up to Gerald right now and said, Hey, how about you cancel this wedding and let me marry Analise instead? he’d clap his hands, jump up and down, and say, I was hoping you'd ask! Because I’m telling you right now, that’s not what would happen.”

She blinked, staring at me like I’d just slapped her across the face, before she swallowed and stammered, "Y-you don't know that. He might—"

"Let me tell you something about Gerald Crowley," I said, leaning forward, closing the distance between me and her by a few more inches.

So close that I’d only have to move in an inch or two more to kiss her. If only the mask wasn’t in the way.

"When I was a kid, he needed someone smaller to climb through a window to steal some jewelry out of an old lady's house. So, he sent me in, and after I tossed the jewelry box outside, he ditched me before I could get out. Then the bastard called the fucking cops. Not on himself, but me. A kid."

She blinked, clearly startled. "B-but maybe he's … maybe he's diff—"

"One time, when I was fourteen, he was desperate for a fix, but he didn't have any money. His supplier took one look at me and said, 'I'll give you a hit if I can have twenty minutes with this kid.' And you know what Gerry did?"

She laid a hand over her mouth as she shook her head. "Oh God," she whispered from beneath her palm.

"God wasn't with me that day," I hissed in reply, my jaw tight.

The rage in me was bubbling over as my fist clenched tight against the bed. But she never looked away, and in her eyes, I saw the understanding of someone who’d been there too.

Kindred spirits was what we were, and, oh, how my soul wanted to reach out and grasp onto hers. I’d let it hold on forever if I thought it wouldn’t kill us both.

"People can change," she whispered, her argument weak.

"Yeah, sure. Some," I replied, pulling away and straightening my back. "But not him. And I'm telling you right now, he doesn't give a fuck about me or what I have to say." Or what I want.

We fell into an uncomfortable silence. The things we wanted to say but couldn't permeating the space between us, clouding the air and making it heavy. I wanted to tell her that, in another life, it might've been different. That if I hadn't been Gerald's son and she hadn't been Virginia's daughter, there wouldn't have been anything stopping us from acting on this and being together. But what the hell was the point of dwelling on something that wasn't? This was simply how our lives had panned out. Some people were meant to be together, and some people weren’t, and there was nothing more to it.

"I should go," I announced abruptly.

I stood and began to head toward the doorway leading to the sitting area when she said quietly, "I'm going to miss you."

"No, you won't," I replied. "You don't even know me. You think you do, but—"

"I don't need to know your name or your face or your favorite color or where you live to know you," she interjected, her voice on the edge of tears once again. "I've known you for years. I know the terrible things you've been through because I've been through them too. I know—"

"You have no idea what I've been through," I cut her off. "You couldn't even imagine the shit that I've—"

"And don't assume I don't know," she snapped. "You see this life I have now, you see my things and my clothes … you see a princess. But you have no idea what happened before." She hesitated, giving herself a moment to swallow before adding, "You have no idea what happens now."

I cocked my head. "Someone hurts you now?"

She dropped her gaze, her silence speaking volumes.

"Who?"

"We'll just add that to the list of things you can't do anything about," she replied in a hushed tone.

My hand clenched into a fist, itching for the knife in my pocket. "Give me names."

"No," she replied. "You'd only get yourself killed, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I was the reason I never saw you again."

"Is it Dean?"

She looked up at me, horror written across her face. "Oh my God, no! Dean is one of the only people in this house who would never ever hurt me. Dean is my friend."