Letter Twenty-Nine #5
“When was this taken?” you asked, still staring at the picture.
I forced myself to answer. “Your first summer here. When you went back to England.”
“So this is why you ruined everything.”
“Casey—”
You finally looked at me, a dark storm raging behind your eyes. Anger—but devastation, too. Devastation mainly. “You and him?” you whispered, as if you were trying not to picture it: me and him. Together in his bed. Intimate.
I nodded, eyes stinging. “It’s over. It’s been over.”
But that didn’t undo the damage. And nothing on your face said you believed it ever could.
“Since when?” you croaked.
“Since that week we were all snowed in together.”
“The bite mark,” you said, realization dawning. “On your lip.”
“Yes.”
“How many times did I ask if you’d been with him?” you demanded. “How many times did you deny it?”
“A lot.”
“Bree was right,” you said as you looked me up and down, like you were truly seeing me for the first time. “You really are a liar, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t know how to tell you.”
You moved toward me now. “All that talk about honesty, about how much it hurt when your dad lied or withheld information about your mum. And the whole time, you were lying, too. Lying to me.”
“I know. But with Michael, it wasn’t—what you and I have—”
“Don’t,” you said, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t even try to compare us. You let me believe I had you in ways he never did.”
“You did, Casey. I was a virgin with you—”
“And if I hadn’t seen proof of that with my own eyes, I’d think you were lying to me again.
” You laughed. Dragged a hand through your hair.
Shook your head. “I knew something was off. I felt it every time he looked at you. Every time he got jealous. Every time he touched you like you already belonged to him. Every time you dragged your thumb down his fucking lip.” You pulled a face, disgusted. “And you made me feel crazy for it.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“Fool me?” you cut in, gaze flashing sharply enough to cut. “What would you call it, then? Letting me pursue a relationship with you after you’d already been with my brother? No wonder he hates me.”
I opened my mouth to speak.
“No,” you said, voice breaking now, fury and pain blurring. “Don’t say anything else.”
You turned for the door, then slowly turned back, shoulders tight.
“Did you tell him you loved him?”
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“Yes,” I whispered. “But I wasn’t in love with him, and he knew that. It was different. The way I love him is different.”
You turned away, the devastation—somehow deeper than before—dragging down your shoulders. I hadn’t given Michael my body, but I’d given him something I’d never offered you: the truth.
You gave the smallest shake of your head before walking away from me.
I stared at the empty space, my breath coming in shallow bursts, face burning with shame. I blinked hard, hoping the sting in my eyes would pass, but it didn’t. The truth was out. You knew. And the way you’d looked at me—like you didn’t recognize me anymore—had already seared itself into my memory.
I stumbled out of the study, the music louder now, rap instead of classical, the crowd thicker. Everything blurred, too many bodies pressing close.
Then it hit me. I hadn’t told you the truth that mattered most: Michael knows your secret.
Rage festered, spreading through my veins, burning hot in my chest. I turned in a slow circle, searching the crowd.
She was still there. I could feel it.
Up ahead, near the front door, I caught a flash of bright red.
That bitch’s trademark color always gave her away.
I pushed my way through the throng of people—through the stench of red wine and the smog of cologne—until they spit me out, back into the chilly night air.
And there she was, standing on the sidewalk, still clutching her phone.
“Sienna!”
She twisted to face me, red lips curled into a wicked smirk.
I took a few steps toward her. “I told you not to mess with me.”
Sienna laughed. “Please. We both know you won’t do shit in front of all these people.”
I don’t know where the strength came from, but I pushed her to the ground.
She landed flat on her back, gaping up at me, appalled and speechless—though it’s possible I might’ve knocked the breath out of her, too.
I dropped down to her chest, pinned her arms underneath my knees, and tossed my phone to the ground.
“I warned you, didn’t I?” I said through clenched teeth, putting my hands to her throat. “I fucking told you, bitch.”
Later, I would learn this moment was being recorded—by a few people, from a few different angles—but at the time, I was so blinded by that sizzling rage I didn’t register the small crowd gathering around us.
Or their shocked voices. Or some drunk girl’s insistence that someone pull me off her.
I didn’t register anything, apart from the color of Sienna’s face—red like her lips, like her dress, like her phone, like the plastic cups at that pretentious party—or the fear in her eyes, bulging unattractively inside her pretty little skull, her freckles blurring as I floated off to some dark void where futures and consequences didn’t exist.
There was this. Only this.
Ending her. That stupid bitch.
Was this what Greer had experienced when he choked me? What you’d experienced when you broke his hands?
This cold buzz. Your body full of static. The rage, blotting you out, all sense of morality gone.
Flames didn’t exist there, either. I know that now. There’s only pure, all-consuming blackness.
But then—
An arm tightly coiled around my waist. Someone pulling me off her. Someone much stronger tugging me back.
“Stop it.” Lips pressed to my ear. An arm, digging into my ribs. Dragging me away. “Fucking stop it. For fuck’s sake.”
You, Casey. Always you. Saving me from myself.
“I have to go back. My phone.”
“I’ve got your fucking phone,” you said, dragging me along the sidewalk. You pushed my phone at me, and I grabbed it. I tried wrenching my arm free, wanting another go at her, but you jerked me back. “You’re done here. Where did you park?”
I couldn’t answer, too busy watching a couple of guys help Sienna off the ground. She stood, red-faced but victorious. She looked right at me—and smiled.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” you spat, hauling me down the sidewalk, your fingers digging into my arm. “What the hell were you thinking? Or maybe the better question is, what the hell was I thinking? Ever trusting you? Ever believing a word that came out of your mouth?”
We stopped at the car, and I must’ve been shivering, because you slipped out of your jacket and draped it across my shoulders.
That small gesture has always stayed with me, Casey. Despite how angry and heartbroken you were, your character prevailed. You saw that I needed something, and you took care of it. Took care of me. Even at my worst.
“I never lied to you about how I felt,” I tried, voice cracking on the words. “Casey, I love—”
“Don’t you dare say that to me,” you said, jabbing your finger at my face. “Not now.”
“But I’m yours,” I said, reaching for you, trying to tug you back, my fingers just barely grazing your chest before you swatted me away. “I belong to you. Not anyone else.”
You pulled a face. “What makes you think I still want you?”
I flinched. “You don’t mean that,” I whispered.
“I do. In fact, thank you. Thank you for shoving me away. Thank you for helping me to dodge the raging bullet that is you.”
I shrank back, my shoulder blades hitting the car, tears sprinting down my face. You were hurting me—intentionally hurting me, stabbing the knife deep, twisting the blade in my heart.
“Oh, you poor thing. You poor, pitiful thing,” you whispered, swallowing hard, your gaze piercing mine.
I flinched again as you pressed your thumbs to my cheeks and proceeded to roughly swipe my tears away, your eyes shimmering with tears, too, threatening to fall down your beautiful face.
“You think you’re the only one who can do the hurting?
It isn’t nice to have your heart broken, is it? ”
I knew you didn’t mean it, Casey. This wasn’t you. This was someone reeling from a massive betrayal. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. Especially because I deserved every bit of it.
“I regret coming here. I regret ever meeting you.” You pressed your forehead—painfully hard—to mine. “I regret spending the last few years of my life stuck in that house, dreaming of a future with you. What a giant fucking waste that was.”
“Stop,” I sobbed. It was too much. Too harsh. My heart couldn’t take it.
But you kept going. “Thank God you ended it. The reality of being with you couldn’t have possibly lived up to my dreams. Like everything else with you, I’m sure it would’ve left me disappointed.”
Disappointed.
Was this your long-buried truth? Were you finally saying how you really felt? Had often felt over the last three years?
Disappointed in me?
Your anger didn’t kill me—that did. That single, devastating word.
You wouldn’t forgive me for Michael. I could see that now. Which made it easier to torch everything else—to give you the final truth, the one about Michael knowing your secret—and watch the last shred of my hope burn to the ground.
I looked away, blinking through fresh tears, my fingers curling around your jacket. “I need to tell you something else.”
“I don’t want to hear another word,” you said, still heartbreakingly close to my face.
“But it’s important.” I pressed my hand to your chest, pushing you back, needing space.
“I’m done,” you said, finally stepping back. “Get in the car.”
I turned, peering inside the passenger window. No sign of Bree. “Bree.”
“What about her?” you asked, halting at the front of the Range Rover.
“She must be in there looking for me,” I said, nodding at the house. “We came here together.”
“What?” You tossed a glance over your shoulder, mildly alarmed. “I’ll have to find her, then.” You swore under your breath. “Get in. Lock the doors. Don’t move. Think you can handle that?”