Chapter 11 #2
And I know he knows I'm fucked.
There's the barest hint of a smile wriggling on his lips, dying to show me how smug he is at his success.
I lick my lips and swallow, realizing that for a second, I forgot all about the impending doom of meeting their archnemesis in the face of crispy fried chicken tenders. Atticus pretends not to watch me as he goes back to take a seat opposite me at the table and digs into his grilled chicken salad.
But I know he's watching as I open the bag and pull out spicy chicken strips, a chicken sandwich, waffle fries, and mac and cheese. And the drink isn't soda, it's a chocolate shake. My favorite. Seven must've told him.
Elijah and Seven are still staring. I can feel their eyes on me, but when I look over at them, they both shoot their attention elsewhere as if they weren't drooling all over my meal.
I snort and shake my head.
"Fine," I say dramatically, deciding to enjoy this with them before the anxiety can creep back in. "I guess I can share."
"You don't have to," Elijah is quick to say, but when I hold up a spicy chicken strip for him, he's powerless against it.
He eyes the bag. "Is there any Chick-fil-A sauce?"
I pass him the strips and sauce and push the waffle fries to Seven—I saw him eyeing them.
And as I unwrap the chicken sandwich and groan around the first bite, I try not to look at Atticus, but it's impossible not to notice it. No man has ever looked as happy eating a roast chicken salad sans dressing as he does right now.
"Hey," he growls at Seven, who's almost polished off all the waffle fries already. "Save some for her, asshole."
The clock on my phone says it's nearly two in the morning, but I can't fucking sleep.
I groan, turning over onto my other side to try to get comfortable. Fail spectacularly.
My gaze snags on the nightstand and I bite my lip.
I don't care what the note says.
I don't need to read it.
It doesn't matter.
Atticus is right about that—it won't change anything.
It might piss me off even more.
I flip back around and yank the covers higher, closing my eyes.
My stomach grumbles, and my mouth waters remembering the fast food from earlier.
I don't know why he was so impressed with himself. He didn't make it. He only ordered it.
"Ugh," I groan again, sitting up and reaching for the little drawer to fetch the folded piece of paper. Once I have it, I punch the pillow into place at my back and reach over to flick on the small gold lamp on the side table.
Flattening the sheet of paper against the covers, I lift it to the light.
I don't think I've ever written a girl a letter, so this might be a complete disaster, but I have to try. First off, I know there's nothing I can say or write that will fix what I broke. This isn't about that. It's me trying to explain why I reacted the way I did.
Not to justify it. There is no justifying it. But you once tried to get to know me and I brushed you off. Gave you a glazed-over version that didn't really explain anything. You asked where I got my issues from, and I told you that's just how I am. But that's not entirely true.
I wasn't always like this.
Okay, maybe I was a little.
I think it started because of how out of control shit was with my dad at home. I craved order and structure. It's why I got the scholarship to the private school.
There was this big pimply kid who used to bully Elijah there.
I asked him once why he didn't tell the teacher and he said he didn't want them to tell his parents.
I thought it was because he was embarrassed.
Turns out it was because he was worried Sev would find out, and he knew Sev would hurt the kid and get in trouble.
I took care of the issue for him, and for a long time Eli was my only friend.
After a while, he brought me round the pond to hang out with him and Sev.
And then eventually I met Julian and Florence.
I got to see what a real family looked like.
They weren't perfect. Far from it. But they treated me like I was important from day one.
After the shit happened with Sev's family abandoning him and Julian finding out he was on the streets, things changed.
They took him in. I'd confessed to Florence what was going on with my dad at home and she said I was welcome, too.
I couldn't stay, though. I knew if I did, my dad would be dead inside a month.
But I did spend a lot of time there, and after a couple years, and my dad OD'ing for the tenth time, I finally walked away. I packed a duffel bag and showed up on the Ashfords' doorstep at sixteen, legally emancipated and praying they would still take me in.
That day, Julian brought me and Sev into his library and declared us honorary Ashfords. It was the best moment of my life. Sev's too, I think.
Then he said as a family, we should know the family secret.
I left that library with two brothers, a new family, and a real purpose for the first time in my entire bleak, miserable fucking existence.
Julian noticed my skill with computers and got me started in an early college program for cybersecurity and digital forensics. Within a couple years we were working alongside the infamous White Rose. And by the time I turned nineteen thinking life could not get any fucking better, Flo got sick.
There was nothing I could do. All the planning and fail-safes in the world couldn't save her. Couldn't fix her. It drove me mad. I kept thinking we should've noticed sooner. I should have. If I did, then maybe the doctors could have done more.
She was the only mom I ever had. Not by blood, but in every way that mattered. She was the one person I could tell anything and not worry about feeling judged or misunderstood. I'm convinced there was no better human being on this planet than that woman.
And then Ambrose
I should've seen that, too. It was preventable. All of it was preventable.
Julian trained me to see every variable. Every fucking possibility. And plan for it. He trusted me to do that, and I failed him. I failed all of them.
After we got Eli back I swore to myself I would never fail them again.
It was my last promise to Florence. She told me she wasn't worried about leaving the others when she passed because they had me to watch over them.
She said she knew I would do whatever it took to protect them, and I promised her I would.
Fuck, this isn't what I meant to write. What I'm doing a shit job of trying to say is that I don't have the ability to trust easily. I know I have control issues but I've never really had a reason to want to fix that—at least until now.
At some point, I stopped trying to connect with anyone outside of Eli, Sev, and the Ashfords. Didn't see the point. I even fucking contracted and scheduled time with women—because it felt safer to control even that.
Every time I tried otherwise it was clear my shit was too heavy for anyone else to carry. The more I shared, the more they pulled away. Recoiled from me like my truth made them uncomfortable. Even Céline at first. She called me tête de n?ud (which I think is basically a brickhead) for years.
And then my time in the service sharpened all those protective instincts and reinforced my need for control.
I reacted the way I did with you because I thought you were a threat and I couldn't stand the idea of waiting even one more second to eradicate that threat, because I know what can happen.
And I am not ever going to let anyone hurt them again.
They're my brothers. They're mine to protect.
And if that means I have to be the villain, then I'm the fucking villain, Aurora.
I'll be that. I'll be whatever I need to be if I never have to see them hurting again.
So, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for betraying your trust and for the things I said and did to you. I was wrong, and I fully admit that. But I am not sorry for trying to protect them. For that, I'll never apologize again.
- Aman who does not exist
P.S. Destroy this letter.
When I finish reading, my fingers are stiff from clenching the paper so tight. I will them to relax, dropping it onto the bed, and let out a stilted sigh.
Why did I read this?
I wish I could unread it.
I don't want to understand him. I don't want to know how he justifies his actions to himself. How can I hate him and still be glad Seven and Elijah have him, even after what he did to me? How does that even work?
Crumpling the paper in my fist, I throw back the covers and stomp to the bathroom loud enough to wake Ellie. She nudges her way in as I thrust the paper beneath a stream of warm water beneath the tap.
She makes a low groaning sound like she disapproves.
"What?" I ask as I mash the wet paper between my fingers until it starts to disintegrate. "It doesn't change anything."
She paws at my bare foot and chuffs.
"It doesn't matter," I repeat, not sure if the words are meant for her or myself. "What's done is done—" I rinse the pulpy remnants from my hand and watch as they're sucked down the drain. "And now we all get to live with our choices."