His shoulders stiffen, drawing up until his neck disappears.
“I’m not touching that fucking money unless I have to.”
“Sage—”
He whips around, smacking his hand against the black granite counter. “I shouldn’t even have that money. I’ll use that money to take care of you, Dani. But I won’t touch that fucking money to live off of because I hate my job. That’s blood money that sits in an account because our mom was murdered.” I wince, but he keeps going. I let him, because clearly this is weighing on him. “Her death won’t be my gain.”
“She wouldn’t want you to be miserable.”
He drops his head in his hands then lowers them slowly, looking at me with tear-filled hazel eyes. “I’m not … I’m not miserable, Dani. You wouldn’t understand how nasty and cutthroat this world can be.”
I feel like I’ve been stabbed. I screw my nail polish cap on tight and slide off the stool. His brows furrow as he watches me pick up my stuff.
Holding my things in my hands I look across the counter at him. “Yeah, Sage, me of all people knows absolutely nothing about this cold, cruel world.”
He straightens, horror contorting his face.
“Dani, I—”
I turn away, heading to my bedroom. Over my shoulder I say, “I ordered Indian.”
I hear his footsteps behind me but as soon as I reach my room I close and lock the door.
He stops on the other side.
He doesn’t knock.
He doesn’t say anything.
Because he can’t.
He can’t make this better.
He can’t take back his words.
He can’t bring Mom back.
I stare at the door and I realize this is what my entire existence is going to be like from now on.
There’s always going to be a wall separating me from everyone else, because they’ll never understand the true horror of what I survived.
The sad thing is how often these things are happening, the number of deaths mounting, the survivors living with guilt, but we’re being forgotten, because at the end of the day we’re nothing.
The food arrives and Sage knocks on my door.
“D? The food is here. Please … fuck, please come out.”
Clutching my pillow to my chest, I close my eyes. I don’t like fighting with Sage. He’s my brother, my best friend, the last of my family.
I wait for the sound of his footsteps retreating before I slide off my bed, dropping the pillow onto the rumpled surface.
Easing the door open I walk down the hall and find Sage spreading the white to-go boxes on the coffee table.
He straightens when I enter the room, hands on his hips. He exhales a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Dani. I shouldn’t have said that. Work has been rough and I’m a little testy. Snapping at you was wrong.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
He wraps me in his arms, hugging me tight. He rests the side of his cheek against the top of my head.