“I meant… Was she abusing him, too?”
I swallow hard and roll onto my back. I never wanted to confront any of this, but some part of me knew he’d keep asking, that he’d want all the answers. And he deserves them.
“I don’t really know,” I admit. “He was a lot older than me. I remember sitting on the floor in the bathroom one time, and she’d left me there, but I knew she was coming back. And she was trying to get Jonathan to come in, but he wouldn’t. I don’t remember the reason she was giving for why he needed to. I just remember that I was scared he’d come in and know. I remember him saying something like, ‘I don’t want to be a part of this house of horrors anymore.’ A week later, he was killed.”
King’s jaw clenches, and I cringe back, imagining what he’s thinking of me. “Where was your dad?”
“He was at work,” I say. “He was always gone. I don’t know if anything happened to my brother when he was younger, but he was old enough to refuse then. He just walked away. But she always made me feel guilty, like I’d let her if I loved her. She always said it was good for me, that I should enjoy it. And she’d get mad when I didn’t, like there was something wrong with me.”
“Eliza, you know that’s not true, right? She was a sick person. And you were a kid, and she was the person who was supposed to love and protect you.”
I nod, unable to meet his eyes. “I know,” I say. “And the fucked up part is, she only did the right thing once in her whole fucking life, and that’s when she left. So I kept focusing on that, on the one time she protected me. And I convinced myself that meant she loved me, even after everything else she did. I kept telling myself that, until it grew like a tall tale into this legend. She didn’t just protect me one time, didn’t just love me, but she was a hero.”
“I wondered why you admired her.”
“I don’t,” I say. “You know that. I just…I guess it was a defense. I kept repeating it until if I didn’t think about it too hard, I could believe it. But I never thought about when she was here. I only thought about her leaving. It’s like she was only here to do one thing—walk out. There was nothing before or after that day. That’s all she was. The mom who left. Because if she was that, she didn’t have to be a monster.”
“And your brother?”
“Dying was his one act. He was only sixteen. When I do think about him, before he died, I remember he was so angry all the time. I was a little scared of him. So maybe Mom did hurt him, too, when he was little, and that’s why he was like that. And then when he said that he didn’t want to live in her house of horrors… I don’t know, maybe… Maybe they just said he was shot to cover up how he really died. I always thought some things didn’t add up. Now I wonder if maybe he did it.”
King is quiet for a minute. “I’ve thought about that with my sister, too. I don’t want to, but sometimes I wonder.”
“If she killed herself?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She was seeing this boy my family hated. My father was set on destroying his whole family. And we’re family, so we go along, the way you hate the Valentis because your family does. It was like that.”
I swallow hard, knowing he doesn’t talk about this to just anyone. He’s never really opened up to me before, but he’s finally letting his guard down, letting me in. I wish there wasn’t painful parts of his past, too, but I’m glad he’s sharing them now. Those are the hard parts, and when we can tell each other even the ugly things, there’s nothing left to hide.
“Your family wouldn’t let her see him?” I ask.
“We tried to stop her. I knew she’d get hurt, that if she loved him, and we hurt him, it would hurt her. I tried to make her see that, to make her stop, but it was like she couldn’t. Like she was addicted or something.”
“She was in love,” I say softly, running my fingers down King’s chest.
“Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”
“So, what happened?” I ask.
“We had this big fight with their family,” he says. “She wasn’t supposed to be there. But she insisted on coming, and even though I knew I shouldn’t, I let her come along. I…I was supposed to watch out for her.” His voice catches a little, and he looks away.
“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” I say softly.
“It was,” he says fiercely. “I was worthless that night, Eliza. I got myself shot, and then I couldn’t even fight when things went down. Crystal ran off, and my brother was so mad at her, he said we should leave her. I argued with him, but I didn’t stop him when he drove off and left her.”
I run my finger over his hipbone to the scar above it, soft and still slightly pink with freshness. I remember Bianca telling me how recently his sister died. “You were shot,” I say. “You weren’t in any condition to be stopping anyone from anything.”
“But I should have been,” he says. “It wasn’t my brother’s fault. He was her twin, and she chose her boyfriend over him. Over us.” He’s quiet for a minute, staring off. “I told myself she’d be fine. We’d left her with her boyfriend. We went to this stupid party, and my brothers started a fire. There was a big fight. By the time we went back for Crystal, she was gone.”
“Gone… How?”
“It was in the middle of this storm,” he says. “We looked for her, but by the time we did, it was too late. The river had come up and taken her boyfriend’s car with both of them in it.”
“Oh my god,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”
“They found the car a couple days later,” he says.
“They were… Stuck in it?” I ask, swallowing hard.