I don’t let her finish.
“You did this.”
Her brows pinch. “Excuse me?”
“You,” I spit. “YOU did this. You broke us up. You pushed me until I caved. And then you left her alone with THEM. You left her with the wolves, Mom.”
She blinks like I’m speaking a foreign language.
“Leo, what are you even talking?—”
“They slimed her. At homecoming. In front of the entire school.”
A tiny gasp escapes her. The back of her hand flies to her chest.
“Oh my ,” she whispers. “Yes, I saw the posts… people were asking if you were still with that girl. I told them of course not, that you had higher standards, and that?—”
“STOP TALKING.”
She does, finally.
My jaw clenches so hard I feel something pop.
“You’re disgusting,” I say quietly. “Sometimes I think I actually hate you.”
Her eyes widen.
She’s offended.
Not horrified. Not ashamed.
Just offended.
“Leo,” she snaps, “you’re being dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” My voice breaks on the word. “You are JUST as bad as the girls who slimed her.”
She scoffs, snatches her purse off the counter, straightens her robe like this is beneath her.
“Your emotions are ridiculous right now. I’m going to the club.”
And she walks out.
Just like that.
Like she didn’t just pour gasoline on everything I ever cared about.
Something in me snaps.
I grab the nearest crystal vase and hurl it at the wall. It shatters.
The sound feels good.
I knock over a lamp. Kick a chair. Rip a painting off the wall because I hate the smug little smile on my own face in the background of the family portrait.
My dad barrels down the stairs, trying to get a grip on me.
“Leo—stop. STOP.”
