Page 91 of Succubus

“It matters to me! I know you’re sneaking around.”

I wince, rub my forehead. So much for being subtle.

“Where are you going at night?”

I take a breath. “I’ve been—seeing Joel.”

She looks unsurprised. Which isn’t really fair. It’s shocking, or should be. If she’d believed me to begin with and I’d been able to tell her the recent truth, she would be terrified now. But instead she says, “That’s good, T. I’m happy for you.”

“It’s not good!”

Dee seems to steel herself like she’s facing a toddler having a tantrum. “And he’s . . . okay?” She’s trying to ask it carefully. It comes across as condescending, but maybe that’s just me.

“Yes!” I lower my voice with effort. “He shouldn’t be. But he is.”

“That’s so good!”

I close my eyes, exhale, grip the edge of the counter, knocking an unpaid dermatologist bill and a cascade of junk mail to the floor.

“You have feelings for him,” she says patiently. “You’re letting yourself care about him.”

“I can’t,” I say. “I can’t.” I realize a second later that I’ve used the wrong word. I should’ve said “don’t.”

“Love is hard,” says Dee, sounding wise. Or completely trite. Or just utterly oblivious.

“It’s not love,” I hiss. (The way he was playing, though. He was playing that song for me. Or about me.) I kick the envelopes on the floor.

First Al and then this.

She raises her eyebrows at me. “Come on, T. How long are we going to do this for?”

I grit my teeth. I know what she’s talking about. My delusion. Her tacit agreement to humor my overwrought metaphors for being afraid to commit. “Until I die,” I say.

She sets the sorbet down hard, like banging a gavel. “Stop it.” And now she’s angry. Maybe she’s been angry for a long time, forcing it down, choking it back. “Just stop. I’ve tried to support you, but damn it, T, you do not make it easy! With this fantasy stuff!”

I let out an animal sound, a stifled growl. My fingers are claws on the counter. “Fuck you, Dee,” I snarl, and her eyes jolt to mine. I’ve never spoken to her like that before. “I wish it was a fantasy!” And now I’m going to cry, out of fury. I feel like my tears will be fire, they will burn my face.

How can I stay here? How did I ever think it would work for me to pretend to be normal? To live a little life in a little town in a little brown house with my normal little sister? It was never going to work. I will never fit into the world.

“What the hell am I supposed to think?” she spits.

“I don’t know!” I hurl back. “I don’t know! But it would be nice if you believed me! It would be nice if anyone believed me. But Grub is dead. He’s dead, Dee. He was murdered for being—for being like this.” I gesture violently over myself. “And the man you’re telling me to fall in love with— ” But I stop myself. I shake my head hard.

“Murdered?” Dee whispers. “What are you talking about? This is out of control— ”

I look into her eyes. “Go to sleep, Dee. Leave me alone.”

She stares at me. “No.”

“Yes.”

She blinks. And for a confused second, I want her to resist. I want it not to work. And I also want to stop her, to shut her off, to make the whole terrible exchange go away. I look down. “Good night,” I say.

“T! You’re freaking me out!”

“Try to forget about it,” I mutter. “Just do whatever you usually do.”

I take the steps two at a time. She doesn’t follow me.