“Then what’s the problem?” he asks with desperation in his voice. “What do I have to do? Tell me. I’ll do it.”
I clench my fists and try not to yell at him. It’s not his fault he doesn’t get how it feels. “See, that’s what people don’t get. There’s nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can.”
He gives me that pitiful look. I don’t want that look. “Don’t do it. Please.”
“I have to. There’s no other way to get rid of everything inside me.”
He inches closer to me. “Your life could be better. I’d make sure it was better.”
That guilt feeling churns inside me, making a mess of my emotions. “You can’t fix me. I’m broken,” I say, softly.
He pounds his fist on the side of the bridge, making a noise that’s not a yell or a groan, but a combination of both. “Talk to me. I’ll help you. It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“It does.”
He turns and grabs my shoulders. “I can help you, you just have to let me. I’ll do all the work.” He lowers his head. “God, I feel so fucking helpless.”
“I never asked you to help me.” I slump in his grip.
He lets me go and backs up, shuffling his feet on the cold asphalt. “I love you, so stay. Stay for me. Fuck everything else right now,” he says between uneven breaths.
“I wish I could. I’m sorry.” I have to turn away from him and look at the river. “But loving me isn’t going to make me better.”
He grabs my arm and twists me back around. “Why?”
“Because,” I say, trying to form the words I’m thinking. “Because, I wasn’t waiting around for some guy to love me.”
He glares at me, clenching and unclenching his fists like he wants to hit me. I know he won’t. “So, I’m just some guy to you. You’re so fucking selfish. You say you love me but you’re still going to leave me—your life, before you’ve even done anything with it.”
“I lived this life and it spit me out!”
He eyes me suspiciously. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s my fucking fault she’s dead.”
He sighs. “We’ve been over this.”
“You don’t know the whole story. No one does.”
He folds his arms across his chest with an impatient tilt of his head.
“My dad was cheating on my mom. I knew he was for a while. On Halloween, it all kind of blew up and we fought. I think Tate heard us and got scared. God, it’s all my fault. I should have just told my mom when I found out, but I waited.”
I take a deep breath and fight not to break down. The memory of that night seeps into my brain like liquid.
? ? ?
“You’re a liar!” I yell, running up the stairs.
“Don’t walk away from me,” Dad says in a dark tone.
“Go see your girlfriend and leave me alone,” I say under my breath. Or at least I thought it was.
“What did you say?” he says, storming up the stairs.
I run into my room and slam the door, shaking from fear and adrenaline. He bangs on the wood, causing me to wince at each thump. I back away from the door, my breath sputtering out of my lungs.
“This is unacceptable, Ellery.”
“You promised me you’d stop seeing her,” I say to my closed door.
“I did. Where did you hear otherwise?”
“I heard you. I know you went to meet her.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he snaps. “Where did you hear such a fabrication?”
I hate when he uses his ten-dollar words to make me feel stupid or make himself seem more important. “I’m going to tell her.”
“No, you won’t,” he says, in an eerie, threatening tone.
“You can’t stop me.”
“Just keep your mouth shut,” he rumbles. I hear him walk away and my anger grows from a small flame into a huge fire.
“Fine, Daddy,” I whisper.
I scan the walls of my room. All the posters and colors and happiness stare condescendingly at me. I tear down the first poster. The crunching of the paper fills the room. It feels good. I freed it, gave it a reason to exist. I rip another down and go on a spree, obliterating everything off the walls. The flimsy paper buckles under my fingers and it makes me feel powerful, like I can conquer the world. It only lasts a moment. I fall onto my bed and the tears come again, violently. I ache for something and I can’t figure out what. It’s something out of my grasp.
I can’t do this anymore. I scratch at my eyes wanting to hack out the tears. I don’t want them anymore. I gouge my nails down my face until it’s raw and my nails are stained with blood. It doesn’t make me feel better. Pain is only a temporary relief.
I grab my keys and run out the door, my face bloody, my fingers stained red. My dad is gone.
You have to tell her.
Rain pounds hard on my face, causing my eyesight to blur. I let the droplets coat my skin. There’s no going back. He’ll hate me. She’ll hate me. Tate. Oh, God. What will she think?
No. I have no choice.
With wet hair and soaked jeans, I climb into my Escape and take off, my tires sliding down the driveway. I push hard on the gas.