“It’s fine. He can ride with me. I know you need to pick up Ford, so I’ll see you at the house, yeah?”
Tristan nods and pauses. For a minute, I think I’m about to get some mind-altering pearl of wisdom, but nothing comes out of his mouth other than a sigh.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll see you in a minute.”
I don’t say anything as I lead Cade to the car and take the keys from him. Clearly, he takes his cue from me, because he doesn’t say a damn thing the whole ride home, and for once, I’m grateful for it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Iwould tell myself I regret having so much to drink last night, but this time I feel like I’m too far gone for regret.
I was selfish. As soon as I left the house, I felt so free. Which is a horrible thing to think, and not something I would ever say to Silas out loud, because I don’t mean free from him. Every night the girls sleep with our mom, a part of me is worried about them. There’s no way for me to be totally at ease unless they’re with me, or now with Silas.
So, for them to be safe with him, for everything to be safe with him, so I could unravel in private gave me the most intense rush of liberation I think I’ve ever felt. It was so goddamn heady that I didn’t even spiral in the end. Once I’d escaped the beady eye of Sav and Wish and everyone else who knows me too well, I just relaxed and started to enjoy myself.
Staying out so late was stupid. And not texting Silas was even worse. I feel as terrible as I should. But in that moment, hanging out with those idiots, it felt like a do-over of every high schoolparty I couldn’t enjoy because I knew what a mess I had waiting for me at home.
The contradictions swirling in my mind are nearly crippling, and I lie in bed, pretending to still be asleep, for god-knows-how-long after I wake up.
I can hear Silas checking on me from time to time, and I know I don’t deserve it. In the end, my shame edges out my capacity for inner exploration, and dehydration drives me out of bed.
Once I have enough clothes on to be decent and I’ve brushed my teeth, I make my way to the living room. It’s been quiet all morning, and I was wondering if the girls were even here. Or Silas, I guess. He has work today, I think. Which obviously makes me feel even guiltier for making him run around after me in the middle of the night, but that’s becoming a scope of guilt I can’t look directly at. Like the sun. Or my mom when she’s on drugs. I just need to graze my eyes over it quickly and pretend it doesn’t hurt.
Convinced I’m at least able to stew in my guilt alone, I head to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. So when Silas steps up behind me, quiet as a church mouse, I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Jesus Christ,” I say, sputtering water over the counter after failing to swallow. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were at work.”
Silas stares at me for a long time. Long enough to make me sit in my discomfort.
“Ford told me to take the day off, after we were all up late last night. I asked your aunt to take the girls after school so they don’t have to be here for whatever today turns into.”
Oh, fuck, I guess we’re doing this first thing.
I let out a huge sigh, curling in on myself like it can protect me from the specter of guilt and shame that surrounds me.It doesn’t work, and when the threat of it seems like it might cripple me, I feel myself shutting down.
It’s too much. It’s all too much. I can’t process this without getting angry, and I can’t ever get angry at Silas. Not for real.
Which is why I know the words sound wooden and insincere coming out of my mouth, but can’t do anything to stop it. Fuck, I can barely even look at him while I say it.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Silas. I was an asshole. I didn’t mean to make you worry, I should have called, I should have… I should have done a lot of things different. I feel terrible.”
Silas stares at me, and nothing between us softens.
I don’t even know what I want him to say. His forgiveness seems like the only thing I need, but also I’m so hyperaware of the fact that I don’t deserve it, it wouldn’t feel real if I had it.
Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise that he doesn’t even bother.
“Is it going to happen again?” he asks, arms crossed over his chest and a painful foot and a half of space between us.
“No. No, it won’t.”
I hang my head like a scolded child, even though he’s barely said anything.
Part of me wants to scream, and beg him to fucking touch me.
But I don’t deserve it, so I stay quiet.
“You scared me,” he says, his voice still flat.
