Page 100 of The Bargain

“Ophelia. What did you ask him to do?”

She looks at me, and then away with a sigh, chin wobbling. “Birnam… Birnam filmed me,” she says, low and hoarse.

And I can tell from her body language, from her voice and how she speaks, that she doesn’t want to tell me this. That she’d rather be dead than tell me this. But her guilt for involving Elias must be greater than I could possibly imagine, because here she is, telling me.

At last.

I listen to her and don’t say a word until she’s done.

“He… he told me he’d never show it to anyone, and by the time I realised it was too late, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know who to tell, and he promised me, after, that it was our secret and just harmless fun. And I know I shouldn’t have listened, I know I shouldn’t have trusted him, I don’t know why I did. I was just so happy that he liked me, that he wanted to spend time with me, that he wanted me. And I know it’s stupid and pathetic, and I wish more than anything that I could go back to that moment, slap my stupid self and grab the phone from his hands and smash it to pieces. But I didn’t do that and I know it was dumb. Mum and Dad would be so ashamed of me, and I knew you’d be too. And I was scared William and Austen would go crazy, maybe even kill him. So I kept it a secret like he said and I hoped he’d do the same, but then I found out he’d started showing the video to some of his friends, that he was telling people about it, and then⁠—”

Her voice by now is a low, pained squeak. She sounds like a little girl, like a little wounded girl, and my entire body feels like it’s been hit with incomprehensible pain, like whatever wounded her then reached right through her and hit me just as hard.

“Then he got beaten up, and I was hoping, secretly, that maybe he’d never wake up. But then he did, and I got scared, so scared, that he’d think it had something to do with me, that he’d show everyone my video. He’d joked a few times about sending it to the Inquisitor for a laugh, and I thought he was joking, but I knew he could do it. And I… and I was so scared, but then you brought Elias home for Christmas, and I could see how he looked at you, how much he got on with Dad and the twins and everyone, and I remembered the rumours about him doing favours for people and…”

She stops once more, shaking her head as if appalled at her own self, as if this is somehow the worst part out of all these awful, heartbreaking things she’s pouring out at my feet.

“Dess, I asked him to help me because I knew, deep down, he’d never say no to me because of how much he loves you. I knew that, and I asked him to get rid of the video for good, and I even made him swear not to tell you, even though he wanted to. He wanted me to tell you. But he still did it, and I know he would never have done it if I wasn’t your sister, because Elias never does anything for free, but he did. He did it all. He even got his hands on Birnam’s phone and destroyed it. He showed it to me. And now people think he’s the one who beat Birnam up, and people know he’s been breaking into phones and deleting stuff, and I know the police are going to find the phone in his room, and it’s all my fault.”

By the time she stops, my heart is so utterly shattered it barely feels like an organ in my chest. Instead, all I feel is a bleeding mess, a gaping injury right somewhere beneath my ribs. My eyes are burning with tears.

“Why would you ask him for help and not me?” I say finally.

And this time, it’s me who sounds like a little girl.

“Because, Dess, I—you don’t understand what it’s like.” Ophelia swallows so hard I hear the wet gulp. Her knuckles are white from how tightly her fingers are clenched. “Being your sister, it’s… it’s so fucking hard.”

My chin wobbles and I feel the tears drop from my cheeks.

This is the last thing I expected her to say. The worst.

I can’t do anything but weep.

“Dess,” Ophelia says, pleadingly. “I love you, I don’t mean it like that. You’re so…” She catches her breath in a sharp hiss. “You’re so perfect. You never get bad grades, you never lose a match. You never mess up or say the wrong thing. You’re never late, you’re never messy. And I can’t—I just can’t compete. I don’t even want to compete!”

Ophelia presses her cheeks between her hands, sounding shocked at her own words.

“God, I love you, I admire you, but I think if I was you, I would fucking crumble under the pressure. Being Mum’s favourite, and having to work so hard to get into law school just like her, and being Dad’s favourite and spending all your summers playing tennis and getting trophies, and being William’s and Austen’s favourite, so always having to deal with them and their problems. I would hate it! But…” She sighs, a low, self-deprecating rasp. “I… I feel so stupid and small and insignificant when I’m around you. The way you always help me, look after me, solve my problems. It doesn’t make me feel safe; it makes me feel useless. The truth is that when I’m around you, I don’t feel like you love me, or even like me. I just feel like I’m just another one of your responsibilities. Get good grades, get into law school, win tournaments—keep Ophelia out of trouble. It makes me feel so pathetic.”

She’s stopped crying now, and as much as I can tell it’s hurt her to say all this, I can almost feel a strange relief emanating from her.

“I begged Elias not to tell you because I didn’t want you to fix yet another one of my problems. And…” She hesitates. “I didn’t want you to look at me for the rest of my life and think about Birnam.”

She shrugs and smiles through the tears still staining her cheeks.

“I fucking love you, Dess. I love you to death. I only wanted you to love me back, that’s all. And now, I’ve fucked everything up. You know the truth, and you know how stupid and weak and pathetic and immature I’ve been, and Elias is going to get arrested, and because of me, you’re going to lose the only boy you’ve ever actually liked. And it’s all my fault.”

She hangs her head.

“And I still end up having to ask you for help.”

Silence finally falls between us. The walls of the library, its bronze lights and towering bookshelves and buzzing radiators, walls of heat and paper and plant leaves, seem to close in around us, blocking us off from the rest of the world. Nothing exists except me, and my little sister, who’s been carrying so much fear and self-hate and doubt—and the whole, ugly truth.

So I swallow hard and open my mouth.

And I, too, tell her the whole, ugly truth.

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