"But you always sugarcoat it." She holds my gaze, staring at me like she really wants me to unleash a flurry of insults.
I did hate her, for a while, but it was hard to stay mad after she tried to kill herself.
I finish my cup of wine and place it on the tray. "You're not a cunt. It wasn't the best thing you've ever done, but you're not a cunt."
"I'd feel so much better if you hated me as much as I hate myself for it."
"Too bad. I don't."
"You didn't hate me when I told you I was in love with Edward?"
"No, I hated him." My fingers curl into fists. There's a tension in my shoulders but I shrug it off. "I hated him before that, and I still hate him. I'll hate him for a million years. He could come back to life, and devote all his time and money to helping the needy, and I'd still hate him. He could die a million times, and I'd still hate him."
"Luke..."
"Do you want the truth or not?"
Samantha lowers her voice to a whisper. "Are you ever going to get over it?"
"Why should I? He's a fucker. He basically killed my mom. He almost killed you--"
"No, I almost killed me. Twice."
"It was his fault. You were different before him. You were happy."
"Maybe we shouldn't talk about this." She pushes her blanket off her chest.
She looks so small and fragile like this, even with the sweater covering her tiny paper gown.
"Okay," I say. "I was angry at you when you told me. I mean, you were fucking my father. The guy I hated more than anything. And you were so full of shit--you held my hand during my insane rants about how much I hated him."
"Someone had to."
"He's not even handsome."
"You got it from somewhere," she says.
"Don't flatter me. You already made me angry."
"Okay." She hugs her chest. "I want to hear it. I want to feel that hate. I deserve it."
"You don't deserve it."
"Fuck, Luke. Listen to me for once. You don't know what's best for everyone. Just tell me how you really felt in that moment."
"It's getting late," I say.
"Don't back out now."
"I don't know what to tell you, Sam. I didn't hate you. I was mad, but mostly at myself. And mostly at him. The fucker stole my girlfriend."
"What happened to 'women can't be stolen'?"
"Fuck him. He stole my girlfriend. How were you supposed to react when this handsome, rich, powerful man showed interest in you?"
She folds her arms. "I thought he wasn't handsome."
"Of course he was handsome. He looked like George Clooney."