Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
VALENTINA
When Banon returns carrying two of Marissa’s crystal glasses, each is filled with a pink liquid and a helping of ice.
Then he gestures for me to follow him to the stairs, which take us down to the rec room.
That’s more or less what I call the open space by the old fireplace where we used to play video games and watch TV.
I set up on the couch while he takes up the desk-chair-ball thing we’ve had since we first moved in. Once upon a time, Marissa had an office down here and used the inflated ball instead of a chair, but then she changed jobs and didn’t need it anymore. Now it’s just part of the furniture.
Picking up the remote, I’m about to turn on the television when Banon says, “Wait a sec. Try the drink first.”
“What, are you trying to roofie me?”
His ears fall back. “Come on, I just think you’ll like it.”
Something about his behavior tonight is so strange that I can’t wrap my head around it. Why, after years of pretending we’re happy siblings, is it suddenly like he’s trying to make up for being a shithead?
I sample the drink, and it’s sweet and tangy on my tongue—but not too sweet, just the right amount. It’s got cherry in it, I know that, and maybe some lime to set it off. There’s an herbal element, too, that I can’t quite place.
“Vodka, cherry cordial, lime juice, a bit of thyme simple syrup that your dad made,” Banon supplies.
The cocktail goes down smooth, and I could easily see myself drinking this entire thing in five minutes flat.
“I love cherry,” I say, letting out a long breath.
“I know.”
My eyes fly up to his. “You do?”
“You always got cherry and chocolate ice cream. Then you had that whole infatuation with Cherry Coke.”
“Oh.” I don’t even know what to make of it. He paid attention to what flavors I like? “Wow, thanks.”
Taking another sip, I relish it going down. Something about the air feels strange—charged. I lower my glass, and Banon is watching me again, studying me like he thinks I might hold the answer to a question that hasn’t been asked.
After a long moment of us simply looking at one another, he sighs and says, “I’m sorry, Val.
I’m sorry that how I behaved when you were just a freshman set you up for four miserable years in high school.
It doesn’t excuse what I did, but I really, truly had no idea how much of a ripple effect it had.
” His hand tightens around his glass. “I knew it was wrong, letting my friends behave like that. But I…” His breath hitches, and he swallows down what he was about to say.
“You what?” I prompt, because I’m not going to let this go.
“I had my own stuff going on. I didn’t want to get involved and… play favorites.”
I frown. What? Play favorites?
“I’m your sister!” Suddenly, I’m incensed. “You were supposed to protect me, Banon. Not let them make jokes about my tits!”
“You are my stepsister,” he says in a low voice, and for a second, I think he looks angry.
Oh.
I see. I get it now.
He didn’t have to stand up for me because we’ve never really been family. He didn’t want his friends to think he had any bias toward me, and instead I was just some freshman, some trash, the same as all the others.
“So it’s like that.” I get up and slam my drink down on the coffee table. My eyes are burning. Then I turn around and head to the stairs.
“Tina? I mean, Val?” Banon struggles to get off the ball chair. “Where are you going?”
“If I stay here, I’m going to say things I regret.”
“Then say them!” he calls after me. I pause halfway up the steps. “I would rather you say it than storm out and be mad at me all week.”
“Fine.”
I spin around, glaring down at him—at his stupid big sexy horns, and his stupid big sexy face, and his equally stupid big sexy and extremely toned body, which is pulling at the edges of his T-shirt. My face is on fire, and tears are definitely welling up in my eyes as hard as I try to stop them.
“You want to know? Sometimes, Banon, I do hate you. I hate that you left for college and didn’t come back.
I hate that you sleep with these bimbos all the time, and I worry that you’re gonna get an STI.
And I really hate that you’ve always kept me at arm’s length, like we were never really part of the same family. ”
He opens his mouth like he’s going to deny it, but then he grits his teeth and looks down.
“You’re right.” Both his hands curl into fists. “I have always put a distance between us.”
Somehow, it doesn’t feel as good as I was hoping or expecting, that he would say this. That he would agree with me.
I turn around fully, lowering myself to sit on the stairs. “Why?” The tears I’ve been holding back finally break free. “Why wasn’t I good enough for you?”
His brows rise to his hairline. He approaches me on the steps, kneeling a few down so we’re almost at eye level.
“It’s not that,” he says, his voice turning to a whisper. “It’s that you’re too good for me. You were always so soft and innocent. Sweet and naive. I shouldn’t have gotten you drunk that one time. I regretted it a lot.”
Now it’s my turn to be perplexed. “What? That was the best night ever. It was the only time I felt like we… like we were friends.”
There. I said it.
Banon lowers his head, ears drooping. Even his tail falls to the carpet.
“I corrupted you. You were so young, I shouldn’t have.”
I want to tell him no, that didn’t corrupt me. What corrupted me was seeing him fuck Lillian Esparzo on prom night, his thick cock gliding in and out of her while she tried not to make noise.
“And why not?” I ask. “That’s what older siblings are supposed to do. Corrupt. Show us things about the world.”
“We aren’t siblings!” Abruptly, Banon stands up. His mane rises and his fur bristles. “We aren’t related, Tina. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I…” He slams his mouth closed, so hard I can hear his teeth chatter.
Here we are again. The truth.
“I’ll never really be family to you.” It hurts just to say it out loud. “I get it.”
I rise to my feet. Banon follows me with his eyes but doesn’t deny it. Then I turn around and go the rest of the way up the stairs.
He doesn’t follow me.
The rest of the weekend is miserable. Banon and I studiously avoid each other. Our parents shoot us odd looks when there’s silence over the dinner table. On Monday, Banon goes home, even though he said he was going to stay for the whole week.
He doesn’t come back.
One night, I’m sitting on the porch in my big coat and texting with one of my friends from school, who’s also gone back home for the break, when the sliding glass door opens. Marissa steps out, wearing her coat, and sits down on the porch beside me.
I put away my phone to be polite.
“What’s going on, girl?” she says in that voice she uses when she’s trying to be hip with me. “Talk to me.”
“About what?” I’m not sure where she’s going with this.
“What happened with Banon? Clearly something did. You two haven’t spoken a word to each other, and then he went home.”
Ugh. I knew this was going to come up eventually when he peaced out for the week.
“It’s nothing. Just… hashing out old stuff.”
“What kind of old stuff?”
I grumble. I don’t want to open this wound again.
“Just about back in high school. He wasn’t really great to me, you know.”
“He was a bit full of himself.” She cocks her head. “Not as much now, though.”
Little does she know, I’m still nothing to him.
“Yeah, all right,” I say, noncommittal.
A pregnant silence passes between us as I fiddle with my phone in my pocket.
“You know, I met Banon’s father in a really unusual way,” Marissa finally says. “He was my bully in grade school.”
“What? You married your bully?”
She nods, rubbing her cheek. “Yep. He was so mean to me because, well, he liked me and didn’t know how else to show it.
And he didn’t want the other kids to notice he had a crush, so he was extra mean to me.
” She chuckles. “We met again not long after I graduated college. We were both in line at the DMV. The first thing he did was apologize to me.”
“Wow. I guess you forgave him, huh?”
“I mean, he was a kid at the time.”
“True,” I say. “I’m glad you had him while you could.”
I don’t really know what this has to do with my situation, though. Unless she knows that…
No, I don’t think so. I’ve always kept hidden very carefully how I feel about Banon. If I outed myself, that could do terrible things to my family.
Marissa pats my back. “Me too. Anyway, I hope maybe you can forgive that idiot kid of mine for what he did when he was younger. It’s not representative of who he is now.”
I don’t want to tell her that just last night he told me we weren’t family. That we’ve never had that. That we’re just strangers bound together by our parents’ marriage.
“Okay,” I say with a shrug. Marissa pats me on the shoulder.
“Want some leftover pie?”