Dia’s family is many things, but perfect is not one of them. Her parents hold secrets Remy couldn’t even begin to imagine. And just because it looks good from the outside doesn’t mean it’s not a train wreck on the inside.
“What about me? Did you not see my fucking house? I got handed everything, too.”
“Yeah, but you know pain. You know darkness. You know what it’s like to be alone. She doesn’t.”
She’s right, in a sense. Technically, Dia hasn’t been through life-altering trauma. She didn’t grow up alone like Remy did, and she didn’t accidentally send her mom to her death like me. But she’s wrong to assume Dia doesn’t understand pain.
She does.
It’s why she was able to convince me to get off Silver Bridge the night I almost died. It’s how she kept me from burning my house to the ground when Lexie got murdered.
“Did you ever think that maybe that’s why I like her?” I snap.
Remy’s mouth drops open.
“Did you ever think that maybe I don’t want someone to see my broken parts before they see the parts still held together? You want me to stay broken, Remy. She wants to see me whole.”
Remy doesn’t speak for long seconds.
“I like her because she’s good. Because she doesn’t carry trauma or battle demons, and she doesn’t see the world in black and white. She sees colors. Fuck, Remy, she’s… she’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Tears amass in her eyes. “We promised, Finn. We promised we wouldn’t be like them.” She clenches her fists until blood drains from her joints.
I remember the night we made that promise all too well. We’d just stolen my car together and parked near Silver Bridge to watch the town lights. We were looking out onto a world of unaware idiots. People with relatively normal, boring lives. People that could go their entire existence without a tragedy ever tearing them apart. We were supposed to be different. We knew how dark the world could be, and we thought that made us special.
But now, I realize…
It just made us unhappy.
“I know,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”
I hope that she’s going to see the error of her ways when a tear rolls down her cheek. She proves me wrong by stepping way too close to me and pushing to her tiptoes to level her eyes with mine.
“So, you’re saying you don’t want to fuck me right now? Like old times? Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want to bend me over that desk and rip my clothes off.”
I should be mad, but as I watch her self-destruct, all I can feel is pity. Remy isn’t evil. She does fucked-up things but not because she’s a bad person. Because she’s a damaged person. She’s made her trauma a personality trait. She’s let the worst day of her life define her.
And I did, too.
Before Dia.
“I love her, Remy,” I croak.
My admission only irritates her.
“Don’t fucking say that.”
“I love her,” I repeat. “I’m in love with her.”
“I said don’t say that.” She loses it, slapping me across the face with all her strength. I clench my jaw, the sting of her wounded ego radiating on my cheek.
I say it again. “I. Love. Her.”
I can see her already fragile heart crumbling through her eyes. She’s been acting tough her entire life—she didn’t have a choice after what she went through—but she can’t keep up the ruse any longer. I know how she feels. Like she’s losing the only person who ever understood her. I know because I felt the exact same way when Dia walked away from me.
“I’m sorry I ruined everything.” She comes to her senses. “I… I shouldn’t have sent her the video. That was a shitty thing to do. It drove me insane that you were happy when I can’t. Especially with someone who has it all.
“God, you must hate me.” She lets out a growl of annoyance and wipes her tear-soaked cheeks. She hates being this vulnerable. I’ve never seen her cry in the many years that I’ve known her.