Chapter 23 #2
But how was I supposed to know that meant she’d stop me telling the truth?
I thought she wanted to get me the best legal defense there was, someone who’d help me know what to say, but that wasn’t what she had in mind at all.
Her plan was to cover up what I did, and I was too cowardly to fight against it.
“If you want to speak to a therapist, I’ll send you some numbers,” she says calmly.
I shake my head, pulling at my hair. “You don’t get it. You don’t want to get it. How can you want to cover up a thing like this?”
“How can you want your sister to have her brother publicly shamed even when there are alternatives?”
I grind my teeth so hard that my jaw cracks. “Leave Cleo out of this.”
“Think about your family. You’re a Fantino, and that comes with responsibilities. Now you have the chance to prove that you’re capable of acting like an adult.”
“Do you ever listen to yourself?”
“Colin, you think you’re so smart, but the truth is that you still have a lot to learn in life. This is your first challenge—take it with dignity. Anyone else would be grateful that their family supported them like this.”
“This isn’t supporting me,” I manage. “This is emotional blackmail.”
“You will stay at that school and not say another word about it,” Mom declares. “Think about your sister. Think about your future. And I don’t want to hear another word on this subject.”
I bite my bottom lip because there’s so much I want to say.
To ask my mother how she can seriously believe she’s doing the right thing.
How she can look at herself in the mirror, how she thinks I can look at myself in the mirror.
Whether truth and justice aren’t more important than our family’s goddamn appearance.
But I know the answers to all those questions.
There’s no need to ask them. Tears sting in my eyes.
I’m weak, and I don’t want her to hear me like this.
“I hate you,” I whisper, and I mean it. But I hate myself too, more than anything, and I can’t see any way out except taking action myself.
Even if it means getting in touch with the police from here, confessing to what I did.
She can’t stop me. And I have to do it. Even though the thought of it sends me into a blind panic.
I have to call them. And today, not tomorrow.
Except that I should think about what to say.
And how to explain why I’ve kept quiet this long.
“One day you’ll thank me,” Mom says.
I end the call—I can’t take any more. I hurl my lighter onto the floor and the sound makes me jump.
I instantly regret it, but I prick my ears and listen, there in the dark, for a few seconds, and nothing happens, so I take a shivery breath.
There’s nobody here, nobody to have heard me.
If I really want to go through with this, I have to prepare myself. In peace.
OK.
I stare up at the ceiling, I gulp hard. I bend down for the shitty lighter, which obviously didn’t break. And then I lose the last of my self-respect as I flick back the lid and hold the flame to my skin.
Olive
He walks past me without once looking me in the face, and for a moment, I don’t know how to keep breathing. There’s just this pressure in my chest and the buzzing in my head.
He’s walking away.
I told him what happened and he’s walking away.
I don’t care, but apparently my body does, because when Colin goes, I feel sick. The door shuts, I stand in his room wearing nothing but my leggings and a bra, asking myself what just happened. A dry sob bursts from my throat as it sinks in.
How could he do that? How could he just walk out?
I don’t know how long I stand there before I hear voices and laughter outside the door.
I have just enough time to pull my top back on before I spin around to face Tori and Sinclair. Sinclair frowns in confusion, and Tori’s eyes fill with concern.
“Er . . . hi, Olive?” Sinclair says as Tori comes over to me. “You’re in my room.”
“What happened?” Tori asks. I don’t ask myself how she knows that something must have happened. Apparently, the sight of me is enough. “Fantino?”
I nod with compressed lips and feel the tears well up again.
“Can you give us a moment?” Tori asks Sinclair, not taking her eyes off me.
“Hey, this is my room. Can’t you two—”
“Out,” says Tori curtly, and Sinclair groans.
“Am I being thrown out of my own room yet again? What am I doing wrong here?”
I wrap my arms around my upper body, and as the tears run down my cheeks, Sinclair seems to twig. He backs out of the room without another word and shuts the door quietly.
“Spill,” Tori insists, but I can’t get the words out. All I can do is shrug. My throat laces up tighter than ever as she hugs me.
“Livy, you’re scaring me,” she whispers.
“We had a fight,” I manage. “He . . .” I pause.
He had a lighter in his hand, and I had a panic attack.
That’s what I should tell Tori, but for some reason, I can’t.
All I can think of is Colin’s wrist and the flame on his skin.
It was only for a split second, but I saw it.
And there’s only one explanation for what I saw.
“God knows. We argued and he walked out.”
I can’t tell her. That I told Colin about the fire.
That he saw my scars, that he let go of me and ran away.
I’m not naive enough to think he wasn’t fazed.
I saw his face, which froze into a mask as his eyes rested on me.
He couldn’t stand the sight of me. Fuck knows what it reminded him of, what emotions it stirred up in him, why he didn’t fucking stay, to help me, to console me.
Because it’s not his bloody problem. Because the guy clearly has enough issues of his own and doesn’t need someone who freaks out the whole time.
But part of me, a tiny wee utterly pathetic part of me, remembers the night he slept in my room.
Colin’s arms around my body as he held me tight.
I thought we’d made progress. I thought things were serious.
“Really?” Tori asks. I can hear that she’s cross, and I know I could fool her. “What kind of arsehole is he?”
I don’t defend him. It hurt too much to see Colin go.
Why did he just walk out? Why does he sit around in his room with a lighter, and why does thinking about it give me bellyache?
I don’t want all this. I want to get back to when he was lying in my bed and we were kissing and it felt like the rules of this game we’re playing might actually be a bit simpler than I thought.
But clearly I was wrong. Nothing is simple, nothing.
“Forget him, Livy, seriously, he’s not worth it,” Tori tells me, because she’s trying to be a good best friend, but the truth is, she has no idea.
She doesn’t know that that’s not an option anymore, hasn’t been for ages.
OK, at first, I wanted to tell him “Fuck you,” but I’m afraid that too many people in his life have said that to him already.
I can’t explain why I get that feeling, not to myself, not to Tori.
Maybe she’s right, maybe I really should finish it with this guy—after all, he clearly can’t wait to get kicked out of the school.
Because what will I do if he achieves that?
There was a time when I’d have been fine with it, but things have changed.
I’d miss him. More than that. I don’t know what I’d do if Colin suddenly wasn’t here.
This is the moment I realize I’ve got a major problem.
My phone buzzes in my hoodie pocket. I free myself from Tori’s arms and pull it out.
It’s Dad, asking if I’m ready. What’s he talking about?
Then I remember. I’m meant to be going home this weekend because it’s been ages since he and Mum and me were all together, just the three of us.
I haven’t spent a weekend with my parents since I got back to school.
It’s not like I used to be over there all the time, but since Mum and her affair, the idea of sitting around the dinner table with her and Dad, playing at happy families, makes me want to boak.
Even now, the thought of it ties my stomach in knots.
But I don’t want to be a bad daughter either, and to be honest, what is there for me here?
A choice between not sleeping for fear of nightmares and bumping into Colin in the corridors.
I don’t want either. I want some peace and quiet.
Maybe a weekend at home is actually what I need.
“Dad,” I say, looking up. Tori frowns at me. “He’s waiting for me. I’m going home for the weekend.”
“OK,” she says, after a wee while. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
I force myself to smile. “We’ll see.”