The front door clicks shut. I drop the pillow. Fling it across the room.
Heavy feet climb the stairs. I stand and put my back to the window. Close my eyes and press my phone into my stomach until I can feel his gaze on me, and I look up to find him framed by the doorway.
He’s angry. He’s so angry. I’ve never seen his face like that before, not even the times he’s gotten mad about Tim telling him he can’t write if it doesn’t make him good money. This is more than anger, it’s anger and betrayal and confusion all fused together.
“How could you n—” His jaw flexes. He looks at the ceiling. “How could you not—” His teeth clamp together. “How could you nottell me...” His voice tapers off to a whisper. He growls and clenches his fists. Tears gather in my eyes. He’s so angry.
He pulls out his phone again, exhaling hard through his nose, like an enraged bull. I wipe my eyes so I can see my screen. His texts come in rapid fire.
How could you not tell me? That whole time?
Were you messing with me?
Was I a guinea pig or something?
Were you bored?
I let you read my stuff! I let you read everything!
I brought you to my house!
You met my family!
How could you not tell me who you are?
Did you not want to?
Did you even think about it?
The tears are so thick I can’t see through them. Wallace takes a step into the room. I move my thumbs over my phone but can’t make them work. I’m sniffling too loud, anyway. Hiccuping. Hiccuping through my sobs.
I curl my phone in one hand and ball the other in my shirt when I really want to hide my face. I can’t hide myself from him, not now. There are no words I can say to him to make him understand how sorry I am, and that only makes me cry harder.
His weight makes my bed creak. When I bring myself to look, he sits there, his elbows braced on his knees and his head in his hands. Without him watching, I can bring my phone up again.
No, I type.I wasn’t messing with you.
I didn’t want to tell you at first.
I lower the phone and say, “And then I saw how muchMonstrous Seameant to you and I couldn’t tell you.”
We sit in silence for several long minutes until he says, quietly, “I kind of thought it might be something like that. I hoped it was.”
I lift my head.
“I thought,If this was me, what would I have done?I think I would have told you, but who knows? Maybe not. Maybe I would havedone the same thing.”
He runs his hands through his hair, making it stick up.
“I don’t understand. How can you be her? How did I not notice?”
He pauses like he wants me to answer, but I don’t know how, so I keep my mouth shut.
He looks up again. His gaze roams over my desk, my computer, the pen display that wasn’t there before. Then at my blank walls.
“What happened to your room?” he asks.
“I couldn’t look at it anymore,” I say.
