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After that, I can’t stop thinking about what he said and whether he was trying to warn me or threaten me. If he wanted to hurt me, he could, but he doesn’t give me Matteo vibes. Vito is definitely the type to get revenge with violence, knives, and guns, but I doubt he is into abusing women or rape. He doesn’t take me as that type, but I’m not the best judge of character.
My body aches by the time the class finishes, while Vito is just breaking a sweat. I already hate him.
After showering and changing back into my clothes, I head straight to the library. I am desperate to talk to someone, and Brittney is as close to a friend as I have. I walk, though it’s more like a run, down to the library, only to be greeted with closed doors.
She never closes the library, no matter what. Something must have happened. Oh god, what if Phoenix got to her? I’m both worried and shocked by the sudden change.
I press my hand against the heavy wooden door, willing it to open. The library is my safe place, and Brittney is my friend. If I lose either of those things, I’m not sure I will survive.
The realization that I am completely alone finally hits me. No one will come to my rescue if something bad happened. I am more alone than I have ever been in my entire time here. Quinton is gone, and so is Brittney. The two people that kept me afloat are absent from my life, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.
I look down the long, empty corridor. I don’t know what is going to happen next, but all I have is myself, and for right now, that will have to be enough.
34
QUINTON
I’ve been home for a few days now, spending every waking minute thinking about confronting my father, who is conveniently away on a business trip. Mom and Scarlet have been trying to get me to talk about why I came home early, but I refuse to tell them. I need to talk to him first. I don’t want him to have time to think of an excuse.
Leaning back in his leather office chair, I stare blankly at the framed picture of Scarlet, Adela, and myself that’s sitting on our father’s mahogany desk. At Corium, it was easier to suppress the memories of her, the grief, and the never-ending anger. But back here, everything reminds me of my dead sister. My father’s betrayal only amplifies my misery, and with Aspen being out of reach, I’m in a constant state of insanity.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head back and let it rest in the cushy leather. I imagine being back at Corium, burying my face in Aspen’s sunshine-colored hair, and not in my father’s office surrounded by the scents of expensive whiskey, rich leather, and illegal cigars.
My imaginary bubble bursts when I catch the sound of heavy footfalls coming down the hallway. Blinking my eyes open, I sit up straight and watch the door open. My father enters his office, not the least bit surprised that I’m in here waiting for him. Of course, he knows I’m here, but hopefully, he doesn’t know why yet.
“Quinton, I’m glad to see you home.”
Not for long.
I don’t greet him or make a move to get out of his chair. I simply watch in silence as he comes closer, shrugs off his suit jacket, and neatly hangs it over the chair in front of his desk.
As always, his movements are controlled, almost as if he rehearsed this in preparation. He turns away from me and heads toward the wet bar next to the oversized bay window overlooking my mom’s rose garden.
“Fancy a drink?” he asks, looking over his shoulder.
I shake my head. Unscrewing the bottle, he pours himself a healthy amount of whiskey before setting the bottle down and bringing the glass to his lips. He downs the entire contents like a shot, and I briefly wonder if he expects what’s coming.
“Go ahead, Quinton. Ask me what you came here to ask.”
“I didn’t come here for an answer. I already know the truth. I came here because I want to hear you say it.”
“Why? It won’t change anything.”
“You owe it to me, that’s why. Now tell me.”
“Yes, I killed her.” I already knew this, but somehow, hearing it from his mouth drives the knife deeper, a knife that’s coated with the pain of betrayal that burns through me. “Are you happy now?”
“Happy might be an odd reaction for getting confirmation that my dad killed my mom.” I try my best to keep my voice even, to hide the rage lingering right beneath my skin.
“Don’t call Tia your mom. Ella is your mom. Tia never deserved that title.” The way he says her name with such disdain only fuels my anger, and I basically spit the next words at him.
