Page 121 of Play Nice

I want no part of whatever this is, so I keep walking.

“Clio,” Dad says.

“I have to go,” I say. “I need to catch the train.”

“You went onto my computer,” he says. “This is the second time you’ve broken into my study—”

“I didn’t break in. The door was open.”

“You violated my privacy. My trust.”

“Your trust? You were trying to commit me!”

“I am trying to help you.”

“You’re trying to control me,” I say. “You all are. You want to control my feelings, my behavior. My grief.”

“What grief? You didn’t even know her!” Leda shouts.

“Because of you,” I say, pointing at Dad. “Because you gaslit her about cheating until she fucking lost it! Because you lied about her burning me! Because you had to villainize her to make yourself the hero. The greatest dad in the world, who rose to the occasion when his crazzyyyyy bitch wife couldn’t handle being a mother. Wow. What a gem! How lucky we are!”

“I did it all for you!” He’s so loud. He’s the loudest sound in the world. “And you’re nothing but ungrateful.”

“You did it for you. It’s all about you. You cheated on Mom—”

“Fine! I did! I cheated on Alex. It was miserable being married to her. She was a terrible wife and an even worse mother. Did she burn you? Let’s think about this for a second. Where’d you get the lighter, Clio? Why did you believe in demons? Because of her! She was out of her fucking mind! She got exactly what she deserved. And sometimes you remind me so much of her, I want to—” He reaches his hands out toward me, his fingers curling in. “And I hate it. So I try to be so good to you. But you make it so goddamn hard!”

He throws his chair against the wall.

Amy screams.

Leda winces.

Tommy gasps.

Daphne buries her face in her hands and cries.

Dad stands there enraged. Chest rising and falling, fists clenching and unclenching.

This is the truth of him. Of us. It’s been here this whole time. Dormant. Hiding. Waiting.

“Yeah. Wow. I’m going to go upstairs and get my stuff and call an Uber. I’ll wait for it outside,” I say, eerily calm. “Okay.”

I walk out of the kitchen and into the hall, up the stairs.

I leave.

No one stops me.

—

When I get dropped off at the house, Roy’s car is in the driveway.

It’s humid, sweltering even now at twilight. I mop sweat from my forehead with my T-shirt. My jeans slide down my hips.

Being back at Edgewood, I’m reminded why I left. Why I called Roy in the first place.

I’m reminded of my fear.