For some reason, his response hits me hard in the gut. I make the screen go black on my phone and head upstairs to my room.
He told me to go to The Grind House tomorrow.
Tomorrow when he knows he won’t be at work. Tomorrow when he knows he won’t have to look at me. The thought chokes me and makes it hard to swallow.
I hate, even though Mars is my brother, I still want him. I wish the world wasn’t so fucked up, because maybe then I could be with who I wanted and not get locked up for it.
“You’re home.” Mom doesn’t bother to knock. She comes right in. I want to tell her how rude she is, but I know she’s doing it to make sure I’m not smuggling Mars up here. Well, she doesn’t have to worry about that.
Things are so clunky and awkward between us that he won’t come near me. I probably don’t have to worry about seeing him for a very long time.
“I can brush your hair and get it nice and straight before we go out to dinner.” She’s already in the closet picking out an outfit for me to wear, and I’m too drained to care. I’m also too drained to tell her I don’t want to go to fucking dinner at Giovanni’s.
She’s practically floating on a cloud as she lays out clothes on my bed. Maybe she feeds on my heartbreak. That’s the only reason I can fathom for why she’s so happy.
Why can’t she see I’m not myself?
Why can’t she see I’m lying beneath a stone wall with no way out?
She begins talking about her day—like I care—while she takes down my bun and brushes through my long raven hair. I wish I could put up a damn stone wall around her.
“You’re starting to look better already, Sage. Now all I need to see is a smile.” She stares at me in the mirror and I look back at her with sad green eyes. With a sigh, she says, “You’ll be much happier when you get over this whole thing.”
Thing.
She reduced Mars to a thing.
She reduced not telling me about my real father to a thing.
Instead of telling her how much of a cold-hearted bitch she is, I nod quietly. I let her brush my hair and talk to herself until she deems me presentable enough to be seen in public with her.
When she’s done, I look at myself in the mirror and see every ounce of my personality polished away.
She’s heading out of the door when she pauses to look at me. “Oh, Sage, there’s going to be a charity dinner in a couple weeks to raise money for the less fortunate families in Duncan. It’s for the holiday season. You should come. It’ll get your mind off everything.” The tight way her words come out let me know it isn’t a suggestion. I am expected to be there.
“Okay, Mom.” I flash her a small smile, and thankfully, it’s good enough for her to leave me alone.
I get dressed in one of the outfits she laid out for me and put on a string of pearls to tie it all together. I grab my purse and slide my phone inside, after checking to see if Mars sent me any more texts.
He didn’t.
I didn’t enjoy one thing about dinner at Giovanni’s. I only picked at my food to appease Mom. I asked for a doggy bag to take home and pretended I was too stuffed for dessert.
Mom never noticed I was quiet and withdrawn, but Dad couldn’t take his eyes off me the entire time. I wish I could cry in his arms about it all. I wish I could spill my guts and tell him how horrible I feel, and how uncomfortable it is to walk around with crushed shards where my heart should be.
I can’t though.
If he knew I was heartbroken over my own brother, he’d probably think I was sick. A normal person would be able to shut their feelings off once they found out something so huge.
Not me.
I’m not normal.
My heart still cries for him.
All I can think of is how much he changed me in such a short time. He peeled back my layers and exposed all the colors and pixels I never knew existed, and now all that’s left are streaks of memories. They play on repeat in my mind like an old reel of film on a projector. They’re all warped and distorted now, but my sick mind finds beauty in the twisted images, and I don’t care if anyone else sees it or not.
The car ride home is just as quiet as the dinner was. When I get home, I rush to my room and peel out of my clothes. I know it’s wrong, but I put on Mars’s hoodie and sit in front of my easel.