I don’t know what hurts worse: the fact that my brother talks about someone else with such familiarity that you’d think he was actually his family and blood, or that McCrae is supposed to bemine—my safety, my friend, the one person who always picks me. And he’s there, with them, doing God knows what.
He’s replacing me with them, just like Mateo did.
The realization is too much, and a sob rips from my throat, sounding more like a snarl as it fills the line. There’s silence, and my heart breaks all over again.
I’ve always been too much, and yet, I’ll never be enough.
Too loud, too dramatic, too emotional, too passionate, but I’m still never enough to be someone’s first choice—they’re only choice.
“What do you want from me, V?” His voice is hesitant, like he’s afraid to ask. My heart shatters further.
I want to be able to turn to him when I feel alone. I want to tell him about everything I did for our family, about why selling the casino feels like selling my body all over again—only this time, I didn’t get it back.
I want to tell my little brother I miss him.
But I can’t—I don’t know the words. A lifetime of my father reminding me feelings are a weakness rings in my ears. Instead of giving him that weakness, I straighten my back, wiping the tears dripping off my chin, and bite out, “I fucking hate you.” Then, I hang up.
I’d like to do the right thing.Just once. But I don’t even know what that looks like anymore.
The horses continue to munch on their hay, the bird whistles fading in exchange for the crickets chirping. I look around the barn. Only moments ago, I felt peace here.
Now, I only feel like a fraud—a failure.
Tears racing down my cheeks, I bolt from the barn, not bothering to turn off the overhead light as I go. I know the path from the barn to the house, running it easily, not paying attention until I’m only feet away from the steps. I come to a screeching halt to not run straight into the car parked there. I stare at the old navy vehicle—the metal of the tire wells rusting and decayed, a thick layer of dirt coating both the inside and outside of the back window.
Walking up slowly, I expect to see someone in the front seat. When I find no one, my heart rate skyrockets. I lift my head to look at the porch, the front door, but no one’s there.
“Hello?” I shout.
I whip around to the sound of gravel crunching behind me and then freeze, the blood draining from my face.
“Hello, baby girl.”
THIRTY-TWO
VALENTINA
September 11th, 2011
“Your guests will be arriving shortly,Valentina. Don’t you think you should get dressed?” My mother stands in the entry to my bedroom, a tentative smile on her face, her hand still wrapped tightly around the door handle. Ready to flee—like always.
What kind of daughter frightens their mother?
An evil one, obviously.
“I will,” I snap. What I really want to say is, what’s the point? No one coming cares what I’m wearing; they care what’s beneath the clothes. Most of them have found out, too.
“Can I help with your hair?” She takes a single step into my room, and I whirl from the window, crossing my arms.
I want to let her in, but I don’t know how. Letting her into my room means letting her into my life, but if she sees who her daughter really is, she’ll surely be filled with such shame, she’ll reject me.I know I would.No one wants a daughter as filthy and morally compromised as I am.
A waste of perfectly good silk and oxygen, that’s what I am.
But if she sees that, it’ll ruin her life. If she sees who I am, it’ll destroy her. And I don’t think I can bare being the demise of yet another person.
“I’ll be right down. Don’t you have any respect for my space? It’s my fucking birthday after all?” My voice rises with each word—I try to drown out the little girl screaming to be let out and held by her mom with each one.
My mother’s face falls, her golden eyes—my eyes—dropping to the floor in obvious disappointment. It’s more than I can stand. “Get out,” I snap.
