But all I got was silence. Maybe that was an answer in itself.
I stayed until my legs went numb and my eyes began to sting. Until the cold crept in through my jacket and made me feel small again.
Before I left, I looked at our slashed initials one last time.
We ruined everything.
But somehow, this place still stood. Just like us. Broken. But not gone.
When I got home, the house was as quiet and as loud as I knew it would be. My father was probably with Charlotte.
I thumped up the stairs with angry steps, making as much noise as possible. I stripped off my clothes and left them in a pile on the floor and headed into the bathroom. The mirror was too clean. Too clear. The light reflected all the ugly truths in my face that I didn’t want to see. The ones I disguised at all costs.
What did Tru see when he looked at me now?
I leaned in, braced both palms on the counter, and studied myself through someone else’s eyes. Maybe I could figure out what was wrong with him—this stranger in my skin.
I didn’t look like someone capable of doing damage. Didn’t look like someone who could break a boy like Tru.
But I had. I’d broken him.
My gaze dropped to the sink where a Sharpie rolled lazily toward the drain. I had no clue where it came from. Maybe the universe wanted to make a point.
I picked it up, uncapped it, and slowly—deliberately—drew crosshatched lines across my own mouth. One. Two. Three. Thick, messy slashes, over and over until my reflection stopped looking like mine.
Now I matched his drawing. Stitched shut. Mute. Miserable.
The marker slipped from my fingers, dropping into the sink with an echo. My chest heaved, and all I’d done was stand there and stare, my fists clenched so tight they shook.
I didn’t cry, but I wanted to. I wanted to release all the feelings brewing inside of me. The anger, the guilt, the self-hatred. The shame.
Instead, I turned off the light and walked back to my room, climbed into bed, and buried my head beneath my pillow. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to see his face, but that never worked anymore.
Tru was everywhere.
In my chest. In my fists. In the echo of a kiss that never let me go. And maybe it was stupid, but for a second, I let myself wish?—
Wish I could go back and stop myself.
Wish I could go back and do it all again.
But I couldn’t. And this was what I had left. A cold pillow, a haunted mind, and a silence so loud it nearly swallowed me whole.
PART THREE: MY STEPBROTHER, MY ENEMY
CHAPTER 12
DARE
I used to be his favorite person. Now I’m the villain in every story he tells himself.
We movedinto Tru’s house because it had a pool and an extra bedroom. That’s the reason my dad gave—logical, efficient, stupid.
Charlotte didn’t want to leave her house. She said it felt like a home.
Ours never had. Just three bedrooms and a roof, no warmth, no softness, with walls thick enough to muffle arguments and hallways wide enough for silence to stretch.
So we moved into hers…Theirs.
