13. Reckoning
RECKONING
"This is all my fault," she cried, throwing herself down the bed and rolling over to face the wall, giving her back to her problems.
"Not—" Arturo paused for a moment, and when he spoke again his words were measured, as if he were holding a teaspoon steady and concentrating as he poured each one out onto the tiny surface.
"Not everything is your fault. There were things that happened before your birth that you couldn't control. Not even if you had wanted to."
"That's not what I'm talking about!" Twyla jerked upright and twisted toward Arturo.
He stood near the bed but just out of reach.
If she wanted to touch him, she would have to get off the bed and walk over to him.
She waved a hand between them. "I'm talking about this.
Whatever this is between us now. Everything we've been doing. "
He looked pained. "That part is my fault. You didn't do anything—I came to you."
Bringing one hand to her hip and the other to her forehead, she blew a breath out through her nose. "Well, I didn't stop you."
He huffed. "I couldn't even stop myself." The shame in his voice pulled her gaze from the ceiling to his face. She hated that sound. She hated this.
"I know, but it's—" Pressing her lips together, she stopped talking.
That wasn't what she'd meant to say. Not like that.
And because her eyes were on his face, she saw the way he cocked his head to the side and furrowed his eyebrows as she spoke.
Immediately, she realized how it sounded and began to scramble, trying to think of a way to make it not sound like what the fuck it was.
She brought her fingers to her lips, willing them to say something.
Her brain was empty, the words that could be strung together to make herself sound less terrible having escaped without a trace.
The room was eerily quiet. Arturo stood there in obvious consternation, his face pinched, brows damn near one dark line, and lips twisted.
He dropped his chin and his gaze down to the floor.
Twyla stared at him, breath bated, both hands moving to cover her mouth as the realization of what she'd done pierced the cloud of anguish she'd been shrouded in.
"Arturo," she whispered.
Lifting his head, Arturo lifted his eyes to meet hers and tears immediately sprang forth at the pain she saw there.
"You knew." It wasn't a question but she tried to answer him anyway.
"No! I mean, yes, but not in the way—"
He scoffed and cut a hand through the air.
"You knew!" He began pacing the room, hands at his sides, clenching and unclenching.
"I've been miserable this entire trip because I thought I was hurting you!
I thought I was forcing myself on you! I thought you were afraid of me!
" The way his voice cracked when he said afraid pulled a sob from her throat.
At the sound, he whipped his head in her direction.
"I wish I could say that you're just like them," he added, swiping at his nose, "but that would be too kind.
" He shook his head as he continued, pure disgust marring his features.
"You're worse. Selfish, calculating, manipulative.
" Raking his hands through his hair, he chuckled but the sound was more haunting than humorous.
Twyla reached up with both hands and swiped at the tears steadily falling from her eyes.
It wasn't just his cutting words or his tone that basically said he hated her.
It was how everything he said was the truth.
She had been all of those things. She'd only been thinking of herself when she attempted that ritual.
Her comfort was all that mattered to her in that moment.
The words she'd been searching for finally returned to her. Twyla threw her hands up and screamed, "I didn't know!"
Momentarily taken aback, Arturo jerked away from her. Twyla's chest heaved, her breaths heavy and loud between them. After a couple beats, Arturo spoke again, his voice low, words once again measured.
"What didn't you know, Twyla?"
"I—" her breath hitched as she realized that she would have to be completely honest with herself if she wanted to be honest with him.
"I didn't know how badly I wanted you." It was obvious in the way his eyebrows shot up and eyes widened, that he didn't expect her to say that, but he didn't respond so she continued.
"I didn't know how far I was willing to go to have you. Even a sliver of you."
Arturo looked stunned. Twyla wasn't so sure she should keep speaking—certain she was digging herself into a hole she'd never be able to climb out of, however, she simply couldn't. Stop.
Talking. The dam holding her emotions had finally cracked and now everything on the other side was spilling forth at rapid speed.
"You were supposed to be mine!" she shouted, her voice fraying at the edges.
Just like her sanity. "I knew it from the first time you walked your swole ass into that break room and asked me what I was drinking and why it smelled so good.
Being with you was all I'd been able to think about for months and I finally got you.
I finally had you. I finally tasted you and touched you and saw that the future I'd imagined for us was possible.
All of that, only for you to be snatched away from me before your scent could permeate my sheets!
I can't even cry myself to sleep clutching my pillow pretending you're in the bed with me. I didn't get the chance!"
Brows furrowed, Arturo lifted a hand. "I—"
"You don't understand!" Twyla continued, ignoring his attempt to respond. It was too late for a back and forth. He was going to hear everything that had been bottled up inside of her for the last few months and shaken like a polaroid over the last few days.
"I’ve gone my whole life never having something that was truly just mine.
I’m an only child but I’ve always had to share every.
Single Thing. Always!” Huffing a mirthless chuckle, she shook her head and swiped another tear from her cheek.
“Even when I didn’t know I was sharing. But you?
” She pointed at him. “You should be mine right now, on this trip with me as my man!
We're supposed to be fucking in the woods, and in the pool, and on the lake, and every damn where because that's what couples who like to fuck do!
But because my—our—family is too busy being hateful and petty to just tell the fucking truth, we can't even be in the same room together without my heart breaking!
So, yes, I did a bad thing, and I'm sorry!
" She went to him, dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around his legs.
He stared down at her, bewilderment etched onto his chiseled face.
"I'm so so sorry, Arturo. I was miserable.
Depressed. Losing my damn mind. And nothing could fix it because all I wanted was you.
Stupidly, I thought some root work would at least help me survive this trip, but I fucked that up.
And seeing you shattered me. All I could think about was what would've been if things had been fair.
I didn't—" she swallowed. "I didn't know that you—"
"Weren't in control?" He interrupted abruptly, his words sharp, short. "At your mercy. Bending to your will?"
Her eyes watered but she dared not even blink for fear of breaking eye contact and losing the opportunity to explain herself and hopefuly fix things between them.
"No. Not at first. Not to that extent."
When he narrowed his eyes, Twyla felt his body tense and, anticipating that he was about to pull away from her, she tightened her grip around his thighs.
"I didn't!" She insisted. "I was scared in the beginning!
Not of you, but of myself. I went through the trouble of going to see a voodoo lady and trying to get rid of my feelings for you, but when it came down to it, I never tried to stop you.
" Her throat swelled and she fought back the surge with a swallow.
"When I realized you only came to me after I thought of us being together, I knew that I should've put a stop to it, but I didn't because I wanted you and I was getting you.
You're right. I am every bit a selfish, manipulative bitch. "
Clutching his legs, she stared up at him, willing him to hear how earnest she was, to believe her. Telepathically begging him to understand.
"When did you realize?"
His quiet question struck a fear in her that she'd never known before. Everything in her knew that if she told him the truth, there was no coming back. And as much as she wanted to lie, she owed him her honesty. Inhaling, she spoke as she exhaled.
"In the forest."
From her spot on the floor, she watched his face, waited for a reaction, and winced as her stomach twisted when he sort of deflated.
The fight seeped out of him, leaving behind a sad resignation that made her want to scream and rage.
He huffed a breath through his nostrils, scrubbed a hand down his face, and shook his head as he looked up at the ceiling.
"I felt it," he began, his voice even, matter-of-fact.
There was no need for specifics. She knew exactly what he was talking about.
"I woke up the day of the trip and felt it on me like the weighted vests I wear when I train. I thought I was just tired. These last couple of weeks have been…rough, with…everything. As I was getting ready, my mother called me. She said she had a dream I was possessed and told me to take a cleansing bath and pray. She didn’t want me to come on this trip—was adamantly against it from the moment I told her about it.
Assuring her that Rafe would be with me didn’t help convince her it would be okay.
The night before my flight she called me and prayed for me.
Said she knew I would do what I wanted so the least she could do was pray for my heart and my mind. ”
Lowering his head until they met eyes once more, he shrugged. "Against my better judgement, I came here because I wanted to be near you. Because even if we couldn't be together anymore, the proximity was enough for me." He tried to take a step back but Twyla still had him in a vice grip.
The proximity was enough for me.
Those words were an indictment, stabbing her in the chest and slashing at her excuses.
"Let me go, Twyla."
Those four words stole the breath from her lungs, leaving her unable to protest or even cry harder.
All she could do was as he commanded, and as soon as she loosened her grip, he backed away from her.
She sat back on her haunches, eyes trained on his face, waiting for what was next.
The ball was in his court. It had to be, after everything.
Maybe the worse of it all was that his own eyes weren’t hard as they stared back at her. His features weren’t pinched in anger; they were open and exposed—drawn with undeniable hurt.
She had hurt him.
Selfish, calculating, manipulative.
That’s how he described her and of course she’d hurt him when that had been her behavior over the past five days.
Was it only the past five days though?
The question niggled at the front of her brain, growing in size, spreading like wildfire until it had overtaken every other thought she possessed in that moment.
She stared at him, eyes red and wet, silently begging him not to leave.
Silently—mentally—willing him to stay and listen and understand and forgive her.
Oh.
And there it was. Her breath hitched, chest heaved as she realized what she’d just done.
What she’d just attempted after everything.
Her fingers twitched with the desire to reach out to him, to hold him tight while she apologized again, but she curled them into fists and shook her head.
She was everything he’d named and more and the last thing she deserved in that moment was for him to hear her out and offer her grace.
He kept his eyes on her as he backed away as if she were a wild animal that couldn’t be trusted to give his back to.
When he reached the door, he turned and left the room without sparing her another glance or a final word.
She’d been anticipating his departure from the moment he’d asserted that she knew, and still watching him leave shredded her apart.
All she could do was crumple onto the floor like a used and discarded tissue and cry her heart out.
She stayed that way until she felt slender arms wrap around her back and heard Vanessa whisper in her ear that she would be okay.
She insisted that everything would be okay all while helping Twyla onto her feet and leading her out of that bedroom.
Over the course of Twyla and Arturo’s conversation, everyone had found their way into the great room—likely in an attempt to listen to the conversation happening on the other side of the door.
And even while passing every member of her family and knowing they’d had a front row seat to her greatest embarrassment, Twyla was too devastated to feel ashamed.
She was in this predicament now because of them and caring about their opinions was something she didn’t have it in her to do.
Twyla cried the entire time that she and Vanessa repacked their bags.
She cried while ordering the rideshare to take them to the airport.
She cried while Vanessa ran interference as her Aunt Mable tried to convince them to stay as they headed to the front.
And she cried as Nelson loaded their bags into the car and hugged her tight to him.
“I’m going to let you have this,” he whispered in her ear, “because this shit is a lot.” She swallowed audibly, face wet and splotchy. “But know that you’ll be seeing me when I get home next week.”
She nodded. All Nelson knew is Twyla thought that she’d been fucking her uncle, and while that was positively bizarre, it wasn’t the craziest part of the trip.
The other details made the situation stickier than she could explain, and for that, she’d keep everything else herself.
With a final nod, she accepted his kiss to her temple and climbed into the car after Vanessa.
As she made her way to the airline counter prepared to pay whatever it cost to secure a seat on the next flight back to Houston, she wiped her face and decided then and there that changes needed to be made in her life.
It wasn’t until she was squeezed into a middle seat between Vanessa and a strange woman who kept smelling her fingers, that Twyla really considered how much she’d fucked her life up.
None of this was fair.