21. Declan #2
“It’s crunchy. I don’t understand.” Then suddenly something clicks and she drops the fork. “Shit, I think I was supposed to cook the pasta before I baked it in the oven.”
Yes, Skylar, you were definitely supposed to cook it first. But I don’t say that.
She looks up from the table, a question in her eyes. “You lied.” It’s not accusatory, more matter-of-fact.
“It wasn’t that bad,” I say as I walk closer to her.
“You’re lying again.” Even as her hands find her hips, her resolve seems to slip a little. Then understanding washes over her face. “They all ate my disgusting food. What did you do, threaten them? Oh my God. Luke. I can only imagine what you have on him.”
“I don’t have anything on him. Luke really liked your cooking. I’m not sure what that says about him, but it’s the truth.”
“Yeah, right, because I can trust anything that comes out of your mouth.” Her sarcasm surrounds us like a thick cloud.
“You worked hard on this dinner, Skylar, and it was great. People laughed and had fun. That’s what matters.”
She sighs, wordlessly stacking dishes to bring into the kitchen, but I stop her, placing my hand on hers. “Let me.”
“Okay,” she says softly as she heads over to the stairs. “I’m going to bed then.”
I get to work stacking the dishes she left behind, placing forks and knives on top of plates and am about to bring them to the sink when I hear soft footsteps returning.
“Why did you do it?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it makes me freeze before I can make it to the sink.
“Why did you say all those things? Why did you break your promise?” Her tone is louder now, more frantic.
“Skylar.”
“Answer me, Declan. Why the fuck did you do it? Why tell me I was yours only to gut me hours later?”
I place the plates down on the counter, taking a step toward her, but she backs up.
“Because I was trying to protect you.” Saying it out loud doesn’t make it sound any better than it did in my head. It doesn’t excuse what I did in the same way I thought it would at the time.
“From what?”
“From becoming my mother.”
For as long as I live, I don’t think I’ll ever get over the look on her face when I told her she meant nothing to me. Not that I deserve to forget it, but the look she’s giving me right now isn’t far off. It’s hurt, pained, haunted all at once, but also confused.
“That night after we were together—”
“You mean after we fucked? Call it what it was. Don’t sugarcoat it now.”
I take a deep breath. “I snuck into my house, but my father was still up. He was sitting in the living room, drunk. He said some awful things and… I don’t know, I didn’t want to trap you like he trapped her.”
“So you took it upon yourself to make the decision for the both of us? You said things you knew there was no way I could forgive.”
“Yes.”
“And you lied? That’s what you meant the other day?”
I nod this time.
“God, I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re not.”
“I am!” she yells, spinning around, grabbing a plate from the counter, and hurling it against the wall.
“I’m not sure which is worse. The fact that I believed you when you said you wouldn’t break my heart, or that I thought I could stay married to you for six weeks.
Neither decision speaks very highly of my intelligence! ”
She lets out an exasperated sigh and bends down to start picking up the ceramic shards scattered across the floor. I can't help but recall what she said the other day about the ring I made her.
It’s called a cage, Declan.
Have I done exactly what I tried to protect her from? Did I trap her just as my father trapped my mother?
“Fuck!” Skylar looks at her index finger as blood wells at the tip and sticks it in her mouth.
“Let me see it.” I crouch down to take her hand.
“No,” she snaps. “I can handle a little blood. What I can’t handle is you breathing down my neck every five seconds.”
“Skylar, let me help,” I insist, more firmly this time.
She lets out a humorless laugh. “Help? We drunkenly got married online and now I’m bribing you to stay married so I can get my inheritance even though I hate you.
You told me you were using me the day after I gave you every part of myself.
I think we’re past the point of help.” She takes her finger out of her mouth to inspect it.
Satisfied that the bleeding has stopped, she starts picking up the broken pieces again.
“Maybe we should go back to the way it was before…before we kissed. Bide our time until I get my trust fund and you get your cut.”
The scoff that leaves my mouth is immediate. “My cut? You don’t know anything if you think I’m doing this for the money.”
She releases a sound of frustration, a cross between a scream and a growl. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”
I crouch down to where she’s still holding a piece of plate in one hand, her other hand pressed firmly against her forehead.
“Hey.” I gently reach out, moving her hand from her face. She smells like cinnamon and green apple shampoo. “I’m not trying to make you crazy.”
“You don’t have to try,” she whispers, taking back her hand. “You’ve never had to try.”
Before I know what I’m doing, I bend down and grab a shard, extending my hand to offer it to her.
“What are you—”
“Throw it at me. Stab me with it. Do whatever you need to do, Skylar. I’ll take it. Whatever it is, I deserve worse.”