Bran, however, doesn’t drop it. He takes a long detour, then stands between me and the painting I’m totally going to throw in the nearest fire.
“Is it about Devlin?”
I flinch, my throat bobbing up and down with a swallow at the name of my friend.
At one point, my closest friend.
The boy who understood my haunting muse as much as I understood his lonely demons.
Until one day, we were ripped apart.
Until one day, we went in different directions.
“It’s not about Dev,” I whisper.
“Bullshit. You think we haven’t noticed that you haven’t been the same since his death? His suicide is not your fault, Glyn. Sometimes, people choose to leave and nothing we could have done would’ve stopped it.”
My eyes blur and my chest constricts until it’s impossible to breathe properly. “Just drop it, Bran.”
“Mum, Dad, and Grandpa are worried about you.Iam worried about you. So if there’s anything we can do, tell us. Talk to us. If you don’t express yourself, we’re unable to go anywhere with this situation.”
I feel myself disintegrating and losing ground, so I stop mixing and push the palette into his hands. “You can probably make a beautiful forest à la Bran style with all that green.”
He doesn’t refuse the palette, but he sighs deeply. “If you’re so intent on pushing us away, you might not find us when you actually need us, Glyn.”
A small smile grazes my lips. “I know.”
I’m good at keeping it all in.
Bran isn’t convinced and stays around to try and fish information out of me. This is probably the first time I’ve wished it was Lan who found me and not him. At least Lan wouldn’t push.
He doesn’t care.
Bran cares too much.
As do I.
After a while, however, he takes the palette and leaves. As soon as the door clicks closed, I fall to the ground in front of the painting of a dark cliff, a black star, and reds of passion.
Then I hold my head between my hands and let all the tears loose.
* * *
By the time day breaks,I’m ready to escape without facing anyone in my family.
I pack my suitcase for the new semester, then I take a shower that probably lasts for an hour. I scrub my mouth, my hair, my hands, my nails.
Anywhere that psycho touched me.
Then I put on a pair of jeans, a top, and a jacket, ready to hit the road. I pull out my phone and text my girls. We’ve had a group chat since we were basically in nappies and it’s where we always talk.
Ava:Is it weird that I’m losing hair because of Ari? She won’t shut up about wanting to join the group chat.
Cecily:Tell her to reapply in two years once she’s of age. We only talk big girl stuff here.
Ava:Big girl stuff? Bitch, where? Didn’t see that on your prude menu in the last…nineteen years.
Cecily:Very funny. Rolling on the ground as we speak. Not.