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“Wrong,” she exclaims, slamming her glass down on the table loudly, liquid sloshing over. Sylvester opens his mouth, preparing to berate her most likely, but she cuts him off. “You want to know the funny thing about having a pretty-looking life? No one would ever suspect that it’s actually pretty fucking ugly. Especially not your own damn parents, who had theperfectfucking son that could do no wrong.”
She picks up her glass and chugs the rest of it, and now the flames in my chest are darkening, a terrible feeling polluting it like when plastic is thrown in a fire, creating a cloud of dense, black smoke.
Sawyer sets the empty glass on the table and pushes it away from herself, staring at the cup like it’s replaying every nightmare she’s ever lived.
On cue, the lights flicker and then extinguish, leaving us in near-complete darkness save for the candles between us. The orange glow illuminates her face, but it’s not enough to hide the pain within the shadows. A loud boom of thunder shatters the silence, followed by the sound of a wave crashing into the cliffside.
“Kev became a cop,” she says quietly, and my chest clenches. “Cops have friends. And their friends tend to have the same morals as they do.”
“What did he do?” I ask, though my voice doesn’t sound much different than a growling dog.
“Fill me up, Syl,” she says instead. Sylvester leans forward and pours her two fingers.
“You don’t need any more,” I warn.
“Do you want your question answered or not?” she snaps, grabbing the glass and taking a swig.
I clench my teeth, prepared to tell her that her secrets aren’t worth the cost of her getting sick over, but she’s already speaking.
“Kev and I used to have a lot of friends in school. We were both popular, but as we got older, he didn’t like the attention I was getting. It was a gradual progression of him isolating me. In middle school, he started nasty rumors that turned my friends into my bullies. That made for a lot of lonely nights stuck in the house. Oftentimes, our parents would go out and leave us with a nanny, and while she wasn’t mean, she was far more interested in talking on the phone with her boyfriend.”
She shrugs, as if telling whatever thought is in her head that it’s not a big deal. “That also means the nanny didn’t notice when Kev wanted to… play.”
“God fucking dammit,” I mutter beneath my breath, rage now seeping out of my pores. I’m growing restless again, though this time, it’s with the need to find her brother and fucking murder him.
Losing whatever courage she found, she shrugs again and finishes off her third glass, tipping her head back as the liquid pours down her throat. When her chin dips and her eyes meet mine again, they’re no longer clear and full of pain. They’re glazed over and lost.
I may hold on to stones from my past—keepsakes that I’m not ready to let go of—but the stones Sawyer carries are too heavy, and she doesn't think she's strong enough to throw them away.
After the shipwreck, I had told her that she was weak. But I realize now that I was wrong. Being scared and weak aren't synonymous. It takes strength to keep getting back up after constantly being knocked down.
“Sounds like he’s a real piece of work,” Sylvester says, resting his palm on hers. The muscle in my jaw pops, and the only thing that saves me from shattering this glass and reaching over to stab his fucking hand with a shard is Sawyer sliding her hand out from beneath his.
“He was, Syl, he was. Him and his cop friends. S’kay, though, they can’t find me.”
Sylvester shifts his body toward hers. “Stay here then, sweetheart. You’re more than welcome to stay here with me.”
“Absolutely not,” I bark. My bones are ready to take on a life of their own, and I’m not sure what will happen first—taking Sawyer out of here or wrapping my hand around the old man’s throat.
“Can’t say anyone would find me then,” she agrees. She pats Sylvester’s hand, still resting in the same spot where she abandoned it. “I’ll think on it. But the room is spinning, and I can't see my thoughts right now.”
Sylvester keeps quiet as Sawyer stands, wobbling and seeking balance from the table. I immediately get to my feet and round to her side, grabbing her arms and pulling her into my chest. There’s a slimy feeling crawling down my spine. Definitely from Sawyer’s story. But also from the way Sylvester stares at her.
As if he’s already decided she’s staying, and now he only needs to make sure it happens.
Chapter 18
Sawyer
The entire world is submerged underwater, and I’m swimming through it. I’m convinced the storm got so bad that it drowned us out, and my vision just hasn’t caught up yet.
Or maybe that’s not true. My eyeballs are definitely swimming.
Enzo carries me into the room—or rather, drags me—and those revolting feelings in my stomach churn like it always does when I think of Kev.
Miss me, pipsqueak? I've missed you…
“Does touching me make you feel even more disturbed than usual?” I ask, bitterness staining my words. “Now that you know my brother liked to touch me, too?”
