“No.” He shakes his head. “I know why you came to my apartment that night. I’m talking about you marrying that old ass man. Why, Sylvie? Why did you do it?”
Panic suffuses me and I climb off the rock, marching away from him, my feet making prints in the wet sand. Tears stream down my cheeks and I let them flow, not bothering to wipe them away.
I don’t want to admit why I married Earl, when I barely understand it myself. My weak explanations won’t make any sense to him because they don’t make sense to me. I could’ve fought against it. Against her. But I didn’t. I gave in and I did what she wanted, damn the consequences.
“Sylvie.” His voice ripples on the wind, making me break out into a run, and soon enough, I hear him drawing closer, until he’s practically on me, his long fingers encircling my upper arm and yanking, so I have no choice but to whip around and face him.
His expression is a steely mask and it drops the moment he sees my tears. Men are always weak when it comes to tears, even this one. Especially this one. “What the fuck? Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know how to explain to you what happened,” I admit, backing away from him.
He lurches toward me, grabbing hold of both of my arms so I don’t run. “Just start with the beginning.”
I gape at him, struggling to find the words, and he gives me a little shake. As if that’s going to jump-start my explanation. “It was my mother’s fault. She made me do it.”
Doubt clouds his already stormy gaze and he shakes his head, his lips thinning into a straight line. “I don’t buy that. You were an adult.”
“Still under her care.”
He barks out a laugh. “Under hercare?By the way you always made it sound, she was out to get you every chance she got. I always believed she cared a little too much.”
“You’re right. She did.” My throat is dry, my stomach roiling. Like I might vomit at any second. I’ve never talked about this with anyone, not even her. “She cared about me, but not in the right way. More like she wanted to kill me. She tried to kill me for years.”
His gaze scans mine, his expression turning to disbelief. “What are you saying?”
“All those years I was sick? That I said I was going to die? It was because of her. She wanted me sick. Dying. It got her attention, it got me attention, but it was all fake. None of it was real.”
FOURTEEN
SPENCER
“Wait a minute.”My grip loosens on her arms and she uses it to her advantage, slipping away from me and launching into a run, headed for the trail that leads back to her house. “Damn it, Sylvie!”
She doesn’t turn around. Just keeps running, her blonde hair streaming behind her. I go after her, slower this time, trying to process everything she just said.
Could she be lying? It sounds like some sort of fucked-up fantasy. But her entire life sounds like one giant fucked-up fantasy, if I’m being real with myself. Ultra-rich parents who don’t give a shit about her…
Well. That’s not quite it. But how was I supposed to know her mother was making her sick on purpose for attention?
That’s some straight-up, weird Netflix-type documentary shit right there.
I pick up the pace, chasing after her, slightly winded thanks to running against the stiffening breeze. But Sylvie isn’t running very fast either and I catch up to her easily, until I’m jogging alongside her, as if it’s just another normal day and we’re out for a run on the beach.
Like she didn’t just tell me her mom has been trying to kill her for years.
Anger churns low in my gut as the memories hit me. The weird things Sylvie would allude to. She spoke in mysterious terms, never coming right out and saying anything of substance in regards to her health. I always knew something was up with her relationship with her mother. I just didn’t think it went that deep. That serious.
That messed-up.
“Sylvie…”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“We have to.”
“No, we don’t. I said it. You know. That’s all I can say about it for now. Whatever else you want to know, has to wait.”
“Until when?”