SYLAS
Every part of me is vibrating with rage as I walk out of Everything Everything.
I’m burning up with anger. It swallows me whole, suffocating me with its fury.
I drag my trembling hands through my hair, keeping them anywhere but on my phone. But every few seconds, as my anger spikes to levels it’s never seen before, I’m tempted to say fuck it and call my parents.
They knew, they fucking knew.
I missed being there for Anna. I missed Rosie’s birth. I missed it all and they are to blame.
I inhale sharply, each step heavier than the last as I stalk to my car. I’m thinking of the fastest way to get to their home in New York. I don’t care the mode of transportation, I just need to see them to ask what the fuck?
I look over my shoulder at Anna’s bakery and have to stop myself from going back.
I force myself to keep walking, to keep going straight because I know seeing me was a lot for her.
I can’t blame her for hating me, for believing I didn’t want to be part of their life. I’m the one who broke up with her.
“Fuck!” I shout into the night sky, causing a few people walking by to look, but I couldn’t care less.
Anna spent all this time thinking I wanted nothing to do with her or the baby.
I bite back the expletives that threaten to claw out from the back of my throat. I don’t need the police being called on me again. I don’t need the media on me—dammit, I need to tell Harlow before this gets out.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath and speed faster to my car. I need a cigarette or the whole pack. But I make it a few feet before I stagger and stop. Marc is leaning against my driver’s door, scrolling on his phone. “What are you doing here?”
“Moral support or whatever.” He offers me a pitiful smile.
I stand next to him and take the cardboard box and lighter he holds out for me. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s either this or I see my parents and end up in jail. The latter isn’t an option.
“So it’s true?” He doesn’t waste a second to ask as I light up my cigarette.
Inhaling deeply, I draw it out and blow the smoke into the air.
“Yeah, I have a daughter.” The words feel surreal leaving my mouth, despite hearing it from Anna and seeing Rosie’s picture. It’s like I’m not really processing it. “My parents knew.” I bark out a wry laugh. “You know when Mom called me yesterday…” I grind my molars, her words stabbing my brain.
I tell him what she said and the little that Anna shared with me.
I scrub a palm over my face, furious and so close to saying fuck it and flying out to their Upper East Side home.
“Don’t think about it,” he warns, plucking his own cigarette out of his mouth. “I know you’re mad—what they did is so fucked up, but you know what our parents are like. You know they don’t give a shit, so before you do or say anything you’ll regret, think it through.”
“I know,” I say, but resentment is clouding my judgment. I tip my head back and stare up into the flickering streetlamp.
“So what does this mean for you and Anna?”
“She’s going to let me see Rosie.” I still can’t believe she’s allowing that, especially after everything she went through, what she had to deal with. I don’t deserve her; I never did.
“And…?”
“And what?” I know what he’s asking, but I can’t bring myself to say it out loud.
“Don’t act stupid,” Marc presses.
I roll my eyes, grunting my exasperation.
“Where is your common sense? We have a kid, a daughter I knew nothing about. Who for the longest time Anna thought I didn’t want.
Nothing is going to happen or will ever happen.
I’m lucky she doesn’t hate me, that she’s allowing me to see Rosie.
I’m lucky she let me be near her, but I’m certain she’s doing this out of pity. ”
“Pity?” he asks, confused.
I shake my head, embarrassed. “I threw up.”
“Jesus Christ, Sy.” He’s trying hard not to laugh, but the snickers squeeze past his lips.
“You—you…” His shoulders shake as he tries hard to conceal his laughter, but it bulldozes out.
“You couldn’t have waited until you got out?
You see the love of your life again and what do you do? You throw up. Real classy, Sylas.”
I stare at him, unimpressed, the cigarette dangling from between my lips. “Are you done?”
“Y-yeah.” He’s wheezing, trying to smother his laughter but failing miserably. “Way to make an impression. She’s definitely not taking you back.”
“Fuck you.” I pluck it out and drag my tongue across the top of my teeth. “I’m close to committing murder.”
“I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry, but out of all the things I expected to hear tonight, that wasn’t it. I get it, you’re under a lot of stress, but—”
“Marcello, shut the fuck up.” I punch him hard on his chest.
He chokes and lets out a groan, face contorting in pain. “Goddammit, okay, I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad you’re finding my misery hilarious. Some best friend you are,” I grumble, although I’m not as angry as I’d been feeling. “I can’t stand you.”
“I’m here with you for moral support!” he says in exaggerated offense.
I roll my eyes. “I know…I’m just…I can’t believe I have a daughter.
I missed out on so many things. I don’t even know what a two-year-old does, what they like, what she likes.
” I take a drag and exhale. “And then there’s Anna…
” I toss my cigarette on the ground and stub it out with my foot.
“I need to go home.” I need to be alone.
“Call me if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay.”