But he dressed you in two gorgeous, though unconventional, gowns.
I think Duncan put the last one together himself. His own hands created something made specifically with you in mind.
I love him.
I’m mad at him.
He’s furious with Barclay. Not with me, though. Not anymore.
Something in his eyes, the pain…
Then again, he told me,“I know that’s how I got you here. You care deeply about Barclay and your childhood home. Fine by me. As I said, I’ll make you fall in love with me. That’s the only thing I care about.”
“I hate you,” I groan, knowing damn well I don’t. The sheets I’m on are new. They’re warm and soft, easily crumpling in my fist. “I hate you.”
Plagued by restless energy, I get out of bed and begin pacing the room.
Who do you really hate?
The whisper lands like an accusation.
It’s my own conscience talking to me.
“Myself. I hate myself.”
It’s true. I’m the one to blame for how things have turned out.
Years of compliance, of shrinking. Of setting my wants aside because there was always someone else whose needs mattered more than mine.
When Duncan disappeared, it was just another lesson from the universe. The day he vanished, I learned that my feelings weren’t just unimportant, but dangerous. That I did this to him.
That was the story I accepted for a long time. It doesn’t land as true anymore.
It wasn’t the universe pushing me away from Duncan. It wasn’t me either.
It was someone else entirely.
My fists clench and unclench as I pace faster now. I cross the room again and again, heat building under my skin.
“You know what? Maybe I don’t hate myself. Maybe I hate…”
The name gets stuck in my throat. Consciously, I never dared actually to hate him. I was upset, resented him, yeah. Never hated him.
But you do. You hate your brother.
The accusation hits me like a freight train. It’s not wrong either.
I hate Barclay for what he did to Duncan and me.
It was all his fault. He was the one who convinced me of his lies.
Duncan never recoiled from our kiss. He told me so, and I trust him. His anguished look, the shock on his face, they were real.
Unfamiliar anger curls around my lungs. Each breath I take tastes like ashes, like betrayal.
All this time lost. All the heartache, and for what? Why would Barclay manipulate me?
And why did Duncan leave?
