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I sit there trembling with rage. She has no clue—no fucking clue—what she’s doing right now.
The idea that she’d end up like Sonia is repulsive to me.
“Sonia was a mistake,” I say, growling it at her. I slowly stand. “That’s all you need to know.”
“Gavino—”
I slam my hand down on the back of the couch, startling her. Fury rides my spine like thunder. “You ask this of me, you want details of my most horrible shame, the memories that still haunt me and keep me up at night, and yet you’re unwilling to give me anything of yourself. You realize that, don’t you? You hide all the reasons you hate Malcolm, which is fine, I don’t pry, but there’s more you’re not telling me. You want the darkest part of my life? You give me something in return.”
She stares at me, her face falling slack, and slowly shakes her head. “I can’t.”
“Then don’t expect it of me.” I turn my back on her. I’m so angry I can barely breathe. “Get out.”
“Gavino—”
“Get out, Jeanie.”
I hear her walk away. If I turn and watch her go, it’ll break me, but I can’t do it. I can’t shatter, not now.
It took me so long to get to this place. Sonia’s been gone for ten years and I still bear the scars she gave me. They’re deep and raw and still they bleed, and it took so much of me to finally become the man I am today despite everything. Now Jeanie wants to jam her fingers in the wound.
The door opens and closes with a click.
I release a pained howl, grab a decorative vase from a side table, and hurl it into the fireplace. It shatters into powder. I grab my plate and break it, my wine glass, the pitcher of water. I stand there seething.
I could rip this house to shreds and it wouldn’t take this pain away.
Nothing ever will.
