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“For God’s sake!” he scoffed. His brow furrowed. “Seriously? I never asked you to change. That’s not fair.” He flung my earlier words back at me.

  “No. It really isn’t.” I crossed my arms, jutting out my jaw. My anger swelled like a living thing in my belly, its companion that all-too-familiar pang of guilt. I knew this would happen some day. That this serenity between us wasn’t going to last.

  He stared at me in silence for several long moments. I refused to squirm under the scrutiny, though on the inside I could feel myself crumbling into pieces. How had everything gone so wrong? It had been a great start. A great evening. But like usual with me, it all went to shit.

  “After everything we’ve been through so far,” he said in a tone so low I could barely hear, “I would have thought I’d earned the respect of your honesty and openness.”

  “You want openness?” I blurted out. “You want honesty?” I tugged my shirt up and showed him my deepest shame. I kept my eyes fixed steadily on the ground. There was no way I wanted to see the flash of revulsion that would surely be on his face. “That’s what I hide from you, from everyone.”

  My heart hammered against my rib cage so hard I was sure it would smash its way through.

  I dropped the shirt but kept my gaze away from him. I looked at the floor, studied the patterns of the square tiles. “My dad was depressed. Bitter. Angry. A drunk. He was hardly ever a happy man. Hated taking his meds, said they ‘numbed’ him.” I paused to suck in a shaky breath. “Mom tried to be patient with him. Encourage him. Smile and do everything that made him happy.”

  A sudden image of her smiling face hit me, and my throat closed up. How long had it been since I’d told anyone all of this?

  I knew the next part of the story. Knew what was coming, but it still hurt for me to rip the words out of my tight throat. “One night Dad was in a particularly bad mood. He’d yelled at Mom, yelled about how miserable he was.” So many cruel words about how he hated his life. It still killed me as much then as it had that night. “I was only thirteen. Lila, my little sister, was ten. We stayed in the living room with each other for a full hour while they argued, quietly listening.”

  Tears burned my eyes. I blinked. They multiplied, slid down my face. From the edges of my perspective I could see Daniel’s feet, frozen in place. I still couldn’t look up into his face. I was simultaneously here and back in our old home. I could smell the apple candles Mom loved so much, their scents wafting to us from the coffee table. I could hear a distant train rumbling on tracks. The neighbor’s dog barking.

  “Finally things got quiet. I took Lila upstairs after that. We got ready for bed and went to sleep.” I couldn’t breathe. I pressed my hand to my chest.

  “Casey—” Daniel began in a tentative voice.

  “I woke up when I heard the first shot,” I said, talking right over him. The words tumbled out of me now like a gushing river; I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to. The story begged to be purged, come hell or high water. “I didn’t know what it was. I thought someone had broken something, a thunderous crack from the direction of my parents’ bedroom. I woke Lila up, and we stood in the middle of our room, holding hands, unsure what to do. Then our bedroom door opened . . . and there stood my dad, eyes dark and a little unfocused, a rifle in his hand.”

  “Oh God, Casey.” His words bled with emotion.

  My eyes blurred. I couldn’t see anything anymore. “He shot my sister, right in front of me,” I managed to squeak out. My chest began to throb from all the anxiety building beneath my rib cage. “He shot Lila, and she just . . . fell. And then he turned the rifle on me. It all happened so fast. I didn’t do anything, just stood there, staring at him.” I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth, and a sob ripped out.

  It’s okay. But you have to finish, I soothed myself. I pulled my rampant emotions back in.

  My voice was a painful whisper as I pushed words past a closed throat. “I don’t quite know why I survived. How I survived. I don’t remember much about what happened after that. I have dreams about it, but I don’t know if they’re true or if my brain is just trying to give me answers. But in my dream, his hand twitched right before he shot me. The shot missed vital organs, though it did damage my intestines. Then he . . . he shot himself. One of our neighbors must have heard the commotion, because I woke up in a hospital. And when I did, I asked where everyone was. And they were all dead.”

  Dead because my father couldn’t control himself, wouldn’t take his medicine, could never seem to be happy.

  Dead because he wanted to die and wanted us to die with him.

  My knees gave out, and I gripped the edge of a nearby chair. Daniel rushed over, but I held up a hand. I didn’t want him touching me right now. If he did, I’d shatter into a thousand pieces right here on the floor. I was barely hanging on, a scrap of ragged thread. “Just . . . give me a second.”

  Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Grandma’s voice soothed me. I followed her instructions, the same ones she’d said to me every night after every nightmare during the first year I’d moved in with her.

  I steeled my spine. Courage, Casey. I finally looked up into Daniel’s eyes. Hot tears had streaked down from his face, splashed on his dark shirt, leaving tiny puddles. The pain in his eyes was so vivid that I felt my own tears spring up again.

  “I’m going to go home,” I said in a whisper. I needed to curl under my sheets and sleep for a year. I’d tried so hard to keep this in my past. But Daniel couldn’t be satisfied until he’d gutted me.

  He wiped at his face. “We need to talk about this. I can’t just let you go after . . .” He waved his hand. “After all of this.”

  “I’m going to go home,” I repeated. I walked into his bedroom and with careful movements took off his T-shirt. I folded it and put it on the rumpled bed; with fastidious care I ignored the pillow creases where our heads had just rested together. I donned my tank top and dug under the bed to find my shoes.

  “Please.” His plea was so raw, it splintered me. “You have to stop running away from me. You just . . . opened up to me, and now you’re going to leave. But we need to talk about this. Please. If we’re going to work, we need to talk.” He paused, his voice rich with an emotion that sounded dangerously close to pity. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Casey. Not in a million years could I have guessed—”

  I looked up at him. “I don’t want pity. I’m a strong person. I’ve spent the last eight years building a new life for myself. But you needed to know the truth, no matter what. You pushed and pushed me. And I resent that, Daniel.”

  He reeled back, blinking. “Pity? It’s not pity. It’s empathy.” He took a tentative step toward me. “I’ve never faced anything traumatic like this, I know. But it doesn’t mean I can’t share your pain. But you’re so determined to be independent that you won’t let anyone in.” Frustration poured anew from his voice, even though I could see he was trying to rein it back.

  “You can’t share my pain,” I said. I stood and grabbed my purse. “You have no idea how it feels to know your own father wanted to kill you. And even worse . . .” I sucked in a shaky breath, made myself continue. It was all out there now. Might as well rip off every bandage and show all my scars, physical and emotional. “Even worse, knowing there’s a possibility of me becoming him. Losing control and snapping one day.”

  “You’re not him.” The words were hot, impassioned, and I could tell he believed it.

  But how could he? Like he said, he didn’t know me. I’d been fooling myself, thinking we could work. “You don’t think so? I can’t even think about my father because if I do, I want to rage. I miss my mom and my sister every day because he was a monster who stole them from me.” I walked past him to the bedroom door, to the front door, flinging them both open.

  Daniel was hot on my heels. “You can’t drive like this.”

  “I’m fine.” I didn’t need him to parent me. I just wanted to run away, try to flee these dark, violent, scary emoti
ons surging in me.

  When I made it to the front of his apartment building, I fumbled in my purse for the keys. Where the hell were they? The panic in my chest spread to my lips, my fingertips. Oh God, not here. Make it home. Not here.

  “Let me drive you at least. Please.”

  “No.”

  “Dammit, Casey!” He growled. “Stop doing this! Just let me help you.”

  I turned to him. “I want to be alone, Daniel. Leave me alone. Haven’t you made me hurt enough today?” Anger made me say the words, but as soon as they came out, a part of me wanted to take them back. The pain in his eyes flared, and he stepped back.

  I swallowed and dug once more for my keys, finding them tucked into a corner. Finally. I was just barely holding myself together. I jumped in my car, started it and pulled out of the lot. I could feel Daniel’s damaged gaze still fixed on me, but I couldn’t look back.

  I fumbled for a random CD and popped it in, cranked the music up as loud as it could go. It was heavy and intense and throbbed in my cells with every beat. I let the bass-laden song fill my ears and head so I wouldn’t have to think or feel.

  My solace.

  I drove around like that for an hour, just listening. The tears had dried into crusty streaks on my face. My hands clenched the steering wheel so tight my fingers ached. But the music finally did its work and eased the pain enough so I could face going home.

  When I made it to my apartment, I rushed through the front door to my room, not stopping to talk to Megan, who was sitting on the couch. Shoes on, I curled up on my bed. My chest ached so badly, like someone had dug beneath my rib cage with a spoon. I was breaking apart, and I had no idea how to make the agony go away.

  Chapter 19

  My stomach was a tangle of knots as I got out of bed for philosophy on Monday morning. I wasn’t ready to see Daniel. Not yet, not when I was still so devastated. I’d slept like shit last night, tossing and turning, reliving the nightmare over and over again each time I tried to close my eyes. Seeing my sister’s body hit the floor, her eyes rolling toward me, blood gurgling from her wounds.

  Instead of taking my shower and getting dressed, I lingered on the edge of the bed, trying to get myself under control. A half hour passed, with me no closer to getting ready than I’d been when I woke up. I felt like I was going to vomit. I wanted to kick myself for being so weak and overemotional, so under the mercy of my emotions, but it was what it was.

  Daniel’s face flashed in my mind, the harsh edge of his breathing as I explained my past. My chest tightened. I sat on the edge of my bed and made myself draw in slow breaths. My shaky fingers gripped my knees. No, I was not going to let this turn into a panic attack. I was in control of myself, my emotions. They did not control me.

  I wasn’t like my father. I wasn’t going to fall into those dark places.

  The mini pep talk finally took the edge off my panic, but it didn’t resolve the situation with Daniel. I needed time and perspective. I was afraid to see him today, knowing there would be hurt and possibly anger in his eyes. Emotions that would be reflected in my own.

  And when I did see him, what the hell could I say—Hey, sorry I dumped all of my freakish past on your shoulders?

  Were things messed up with us for good? A hot flush burst on my cheeks. He’d pushed me to the point where I couldn’t hold anything back. I’d lifted my shirt and so cavalierly showed him my scars. Like it was so easy, like it hadn’t cost me everything to do that. He had to be repulsed.

  My fingers slipped to the dimples and knots and thick, scarred tissue. I was used to them, but they still grossed me out sometimes. Especially when I looked at how perfect and smooth other girls’ abdomens were. And I knew mine would never be like that. The doctors had saved my life; I was simultaneously relieved and guilty about it.

  Guilty because I was alive.

  Guilty because I hated being so damaged, permanently etched with a reminder about what had happened to me.

  Ungrateful Casey, that was me.

  A soft knock on the door startled me. I dropped my hand to my lap. “Yes?”

  Megan peeked her head in. “Hey, you okay?” Her eyes were filled with concern as she took me in, still wearing the shorts and T-shirt I’d thrown on last night before bedtime. I’d stayed in my room all day yesterday, only coming out for bathroom breaks. Hopefully she hadn’t heard my crying jags.

  I blinked. “I’m . . . I don’t know,” I finally said. “I’m not feeling well.” It was a bit of a lie, since I wasn’t physically sick, but my soul still ached from yesterday’s fight. And I didn’t know how to make that any better.

  My heart throbbed with a deep, resonant sorrow I couldn’t shake off, and I was flat-out exhausted. I wanted to escape into sleep. I wanted to cry more. I wanted to scream and get out of my own head, even if just for an hour.

  “Can I get you anything?” She stepped in my room. “Normally you’re on your way to classes right now, so I figured something must be wrong. You’re never late.” She paused. “And . . . you seemed upset yesterday when you came home. I didn’t want to pry. Not trying to be nosy. But . . . I’m here if you want to talk.”

  My throat tightened. She was trying to help me feel better, and I appreciated it, but I couldn’t even begin to tell her everything that was wrong. I gave a short nod. “I think I’m going to stay home today. I don’t feel like going out.”

  “Been there,” she said as she gave me a small smile. “We have some cans of chicken noodle soup in the pantry. Sometimes comfort food and a little soap opera watching can get you back on the right track. Want me to stay with you?”

  “No, that’s okay,” I said. If I was going to be a coward and not face him, I wasn’t going to make anyone else do it with me. “I’m . . . just going to curl up here and take a day off. Maybe catch up on sleep.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d skipped classes. Probably not since I got that heinous flu going around campus my freshman year. Even then, I’d only missed a couple of days.

  I was owed some time off.

  “Rest up, girl,” Megan said. “Oh, I have some melatonin on my bedside table if you need more sleep. They’re not habit-forming. . . they just help you fall asleep. Take one if you want.” Then she exited my room.

  A moment later, the front door closed, and I was alone in the apartment. After a minute I ventured out, going to the bathroom to pee. I saw my reflection in the mirror—eyes swollen and red, hair a total mess. No wonder Megan had been so worried. I looked like an utter disaster.

  My stomach was too upset to eat, but I did wrap up in a blanket and lay on the couch. I turned on the TV, needing the mindless noise to fill the spaces. Hoping it would help me escape the thoughts ramming across my head. Anger with Daniel. Fear about losing him. Guilt over hurting the people who cared about me. Anger. Fear. Guilt. A never-ending spiral.

  I stretched out on the couch, tugged the blanket tighter around me and closed my eyes. They were gritty and heavy. My body hurt.

  Eventually I fell asleep. I wasn’t sure what time it was, but a gentle hand on my shoulder roused me from a deep sleep. I blinked heavy-lidded eyes and saw Megan, smiling down at me. The room was dark—someone had closed all the blinds, and the TV was shut off.

  “I made you soup,” she whispered. “It’s there on the coffee table. Try to eat, okay? You haven’t had anything since you came home yesterday morning. You need to stay hydrated if you’re sick.”

  I swallowed. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t sick, but she was being so sweet, trying to take care of me. Instead, I nodded and sat up. My head swam a bit from lightheadedness, and my mouth was all cotton. I sipped at the rich, warm soup, surprised to find myself hungry, and finished it in no time.

  Megan came back from the kitchen, grabbed my bowl and spoon and whisked them off. She sat beside me and turned the TV back on, flicking to a rerun of some popular sitcom. “Nothing like a few laughs to get your mind off everything,” she declared.

  She was ri
ght. Halfway into the show I found myself chuckling along. It was nice, sitting here with her. The tightness in my chest eased a fraction.

  The following day I went to all my classes. I didn’t see Daniel anywhere on campus, which relieved me yet made me sad too. I skipped philosophy the rest of the week, though I went to my other classes. I saw my grandparents at Friday dinner and managed to fake my way through the meal, blaming my weirdness on just being super tired. I deejayed at the club, I did homework, I ate, I slept. All without Daniel.

  And my heart wouldn’t let me forget about it for one damn second.

  Sunday morning, I sat on the couch in sleep shorts and a T-shirt, watching some stupid cartoon and eating a piece of toast. Megan hadn’t come home last night, had sent me a text saying she was staying with Bobby—filled with exclamation points and lots of squealing—so the place was quiet.

  There was a knock on the front door. I rose and answered it.

  It was Daniel. The first thing I noticed was the deep fatigue in his eyes, the dark smudges underneath them. “Hey,” he said, that familiar husky tone washing over me.

  “Hey,” I said back. My heart thundered in my chest. I felt so unbelievably awkward with this man who had held me, kissed me, been inside of me, made me feel special. I hated this.

  He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. “I . . .” Pause. “We need to talk about this more. I’ve—You haven’t shown up for classes, and I . . .”

  My chest squeezed. I’d never seen him this off-kilter before. Daniel always seemed so self-assured. But right now his dark green eyes were filled with anxiety. His brow was furrowed with deep lines. Mouth pinched, like he was afraid of speaking.

  I swallowed and opened the door wider, trying my best to not devour him with my eyes. He was still so attractive, in spite of his obvious turmoil. “Come in and sit on the couch. Let me get dressed, okay?” My hands began to shake, and my stomach fluttered. I darted into my room and threw on a thin, red long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and slipped on my black flats.