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Oh, okay.
“I know this is too much to take, Angel, and I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but I don’t want you to kill your happiness because of adults’ mistakes.” He pats my hand. “You live in the present, okay?”
I’m an adult, too, and I’ve already made a lot of mistakes.
Most of all, hiding and allowing the fog to swallow me whole.
“So…” I gulp, the question burning at the back of my throat. “So this means Xander isn’t my brother?”
“Not at all.”
I smile as I give Dad the hug I’ve been meaning to. “I love you so much, Dad.”
Xander isn’t my brother.
Not at all.
28
Xander
“I’m here if you want to talk.”
I stare at my room’s door after Dad leaves. I might need some sort of alcohol for my ears because I think the almighty Lewis Knight just offered to listen.
It’s already weird as fuck he didn’t tell me to get my shit together, but to go as far as being an actual parent?
Who knew that concept existed in his vocabulary?
Dad is the last one on my mind, though. After our decision – or rather, his – the only thing I keep craving is a look at her, or even a peek would do.
I can be fucking selfish and ask for a touch, but that would be torture in the long run and I’ve been tortured enough through the years.
Apparently not enough, fucker, because you’re still thinking about it.
Shut up, brain.
I stand in front of my balcony, in the middle of my last spying session. However, the Reeds’ house is dark and silent, which means they’re probably asleep.
My fucker friends left earlier and Ronan made sure to wave at me from down there, ensuring I saw him.
Wanker.
The bright side, she was smiling and appeared happy, considering the way her eyes brightened and her shoulders didn’t droop.
I meant what I said in the hospital, she’s strong and will get through this. She’ll stand tall and embrace her scars and blemishes and everything in between. Kim has an unyielding spirit and while it broke, it can be mended now that Calvin and Elsa know.
It might take time, but she’ll be fine.
I’m the one who won’t.
I’m the one who’ll stay up every night thinking about her, then curse myself for thinking about her.
It’ll be an endless, vicious cycle I’ll have neither the power nor the will to stop.
Maybe I should go confess or something. Or is my sin too big for that? I don’t want the priest to drown me in holy water or chase me with a bat.
There’s another simple solution that’s hiding in my drawer in the form of a bottle. Dad banished all the liquor from the house and told Ahmed to donate them. The joke’s on them. I always have a hidden bottle somewhere.
