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“He won’t show up at my house again.”
“Good. Because the next time he shows up and I’m around, I want to be the one to use my fingernails to dig out his bloodshot eyes and feed them to him.”
Silence.
Damon pulls away from me and I stare at him wondering if I said too much.
But what person wouldn’t want to kill his father? I change the subject, trying to keep him with me.
Keep the anger alive.
“How much did they make off you? And how long did this fighting shit go on?”
He sits back and kicks his legs out over the floor. We’re still sitting shoulder to shoulder—still have some connection—but I can tell he’s pulling away and shutting down again, his walls rebuilding brick by impenetrable brick.
“It started in high school and didn’t stop until our last year in college. I have no idea how much they made, but I’m sure it was in the millions. They took us away for it every other weekend.”
It shouldn’t be possible, but my heart splits open, one side beating for Damon and the other for Brinley.
“This entire thing is my fault,” I admit.
Since we’re sharing and all.
“Brinley wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for me.”
My voice dies off, thoughts bouncing in my head again. “If I had just told you to fuck off with the favor you asked—”
“We still would have found her.” His eyes meet mine. “This isn’t your fault. What I said to you to force the favor … it was—”
“Wrong?”
Sliding my fingertip down his arm, I trace another scar, this one smaller but still raised. “Was this a knife as well?”
I want to keep him talking, even if it’s not for the most altruistic reasons. I need something besides the worry and pain I feel for Brinley now.
Please … Please let her still be alive.
A quick glance at the scar then Damon shakes his head.
“No. That one was from a sharp edge of an old desk.”
There’s more to that story, but judging by the look on his face, he’s not interested in telling it.
Straightening my body and my legs, I sit in the same position as him, hoping Mr. Snooty Pants pilot doesn’t wander out here wondering why we’ve chosen to sit on the floor instead of the seats.
“I hate your family … well … not your friends. Not yet. Brinley sounded happy when you all let me talk to her before we left.”
Laughter bubbles up inside me, breaking apart some of the worry and rage. “I can’t believe he spent so much money on clothes for her. I should high-five him for that.”
That gets Damon to laugh, even if it’s only a soft chuckle.
“Yeah,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I have a feeling Shane’s got it bad for her.”
That’s good, I think.
It means Shane should be angry, too.
People generally say that anger is a negative emotion, one that should be avoided because it never solves anything.
