Chapter 19 Michelle - Twisted Sister
MICHELLE: TWISTED SISTER
“Michelle?”
I felt a tug on my arm and quickly pressed stop on my Walkman, silencing the mixtape Scott had made me. I’d lost count of how many times I’d played it, how many tears had soaked into the foam headphones.
I looked over to find Melanie nodding toward the stewardess.
“Miss Carver, can I get you something to drink before we take off?”
“Oh, um, no. I’m fine, thank you.”
Melanie ordered two glasses of champagne without hesitation. She’d only been twenty-one for three months, but she was taking full advantage of its benefits. When the stewardess walked away, she leaned in and whispered, “One for me. One for you. Something to take the edge off before we’re airborne.”
“No, thanks. I’d need a tranquilizer for that.”
She reached over and smoothed a piece of hair from my face, the same sweet gesture she used when I had nightmares as a kid.
“Stop beating yourself up, Michelle. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why does it feel like I’ve committed a crime?”
Last night had been brutal. Every hour that passed made the regret sink deeper.
I hadn’t considered how deeply this would affect him.
The last thing he said to me—I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you—looped through me like punishment.
Why had I been so arrogant as to believe I’d be the only one bleeding after this?
I shouldn’t have slept with him again. All it did was tie a tighter knot right before I cut the rope.
“He’ll be fine,” Melanie said, as if reading my mind.
“How do you know?”
“He’s a guy.”
“A guy who loves me.”
Her eyes jumped wide. “He told you that?”
“He didn’t have to,” I said. It wasn’t wishful thinking. He loved me, and I loved him back. Yet here I was, on a plane, leaving him behind.
“Gavin and I didn’t have that kind of relationship,” Melanie admitted.
“What kind did you have?”
“The kind that doesn’t require a messy goodbye.”
Of course. Must be nice.
Trying to pivot me to a better mood, she launched into a chat session about the fashion spread in the magazine on her lap, the cute boy she’d seen in the first-class lounge, and the club she planned to sneak me into when we got back to New York.
Although technically, I wouldn’t be sneaking at all thanks to the fake ID Scott had doctored for me.
I let her talk because I needed the noise to drown out the memory of Scott’s mixtape.
Every song was a breadcrumb trail through our summer.
Hours of effort, spliced together for me.
If you ever forget me, rewind.
As if I could.
A hand touched my shoulder. “Are you okay?” Melanie asked.
I nodded. My tears said otherwise.
“I’m so sorry. I know it hurts,” she said with a sympathetic frown. “But you did the right thing. You chose family. Stability. No one will fault you for that.”
Except me. And him.
“If anyone understands, it’s me,” she continued. “I broke it off with my guy too.”
Sure, Mel. The one who didn’t require a messy goodbye. Totally comparable situations. Basically twins.
Melanie exhaled dramatically, like she was tapping into some deep well of mutual heartbreak. “Neither of our boys was ever going to be good enough for them. And it was better to let them go now before we got in too deep. Before there was no turning back.”
Oh, I’d already crossed the point of no return. I’d run past it, heart first. Melanie spoke like we were shoulder-to-shoulder in noble sacrifice. We weren’t. She’d ended something casual. I’d ended something that had already remade me.
We were not the same.
The stewardess returned with the champagne, catching my eye as she handed both flutes to Melanie with a look that very clearly said, ‘Not for you, but I’m pretending I didn’t see a thing.’ Melanie passed one to me before the woman even walked away.
“Cheers.” She tapped her glass against mine.
“To what?”
“To being young, rich, and free.”
“Free?” I said, more sharply than I meant to. “I just got told who I can and can’t love, Melanie. Remind me which part of that is freedom.”
She sighed, like my heartbreak was becoming such a drag.
“Look, I know you think you’re doing something revolutionary, running off with the pool boy, but your little romance is a love story as old as time.
And I promise you, real life doesn’t end like it does in the movies.
Scott can’t give you what you need, Michelle.
It’s better for both of you to make a clean break now. That way you can move on.”
“How do you know what I need?”
“You need what I need. What any girl who grew up in fabulous wealth needs: a life that looks perfect from the outside, even if it’s rotting underneath.”
“Wow. Sounds dreamy. Maybe we can decompose side by side in matching pearls.”
“There you go,” she said brightly. “A little perspective.” She tossed back her entire glass. “I mean come on. Majestic Waves Resort doesn’t pay Scott enough to even afford your face cream.”
My glass froze halfway to my lips. “What did you say?”
Melanie blinked, confused. “What? I’m just saying, he’s not exactly rolling in—”
“No.” I cut her off, my pulse hammering. “You said Majestic Waves. How do you know where he works?”
The color drained from her face like someone had pulled the plug. “I—uh—maybe you mentioned it?”
“I didn’t.” My voice was low, dangerous. “Melanie. How do you know that?”
“I knew you were taking surf lessons there. And then you said he was a surf instructor. I pieced it together.”
She averted her eyes, and I knew there was more. So much more.
“What did you do?”
She looked down, twisting the stem of her champagne glass until her knuckles turned white. “Michelle, don’t—”
“Tell me.” My voice rose.
She lowered hers. “Daddy just wanted to pay Scott off so he’d stay away from you.”
My stomach dropped. “You told him where Scott worked?”
“I thought if he was out of the picture, you could move on.”
“Do you even—” I unclipped my seatbelt with shaking hands. “Do you even know what you’ve done?”
Melanie’s composure cracked as she scrambled for anything that might excuse her behavior.
“He took the check, okay? He took it instead of fighting for you. That should tell you the kind of man he is. And then… I overheard Daddy say Scott made some rude comment about you, so he sent Miller in to… to teach him manners.” She shrank under my stare.
“Scott’s fine. Just a bruise, Daddy said. ”
But I was already standing.
“Michelle, what are you doing?”
“What I should have done yesterday.” My voice shook with fury as I yanked my carry-on from the overhead. “Getting the hell away from all of you.”
I wove through the oncoming passengers and walked off the plane.
The taxi dropped me off at the driveway, and I sprinted for the garage. The side door was open, and so was the door above. I heard voices echoing from inside, frantic and overlapping, as I raced up the stairs, my heart hammering.
“…he’s got at least two broken ribs,” a woman was saying, her tone clipped and controlled. “If one of them punctured a lung—”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Scott rasped. Except he didn’t sound fine.
When I stepped onto the landing, nothing could have prepared me.
Scott was slumped against the wall, his legs sprawled, one arm tight around his torso like he was literally holding himself together.
His right eye was swollen completely shut, the lid so purple it looked painted on.
His shirt hung open, soaked through with dark stains that spread out from his ribs, and every shallow breath made his whole body flinch.
I stopped cold. My hand flew to my mouth as the truth sank in. This was my fault. My father’s order. The price Scott had paid for loving me.
Thankfully he wasn’t alone; he was being tended to by April and another woman. With their backs turned, neither noticed me. But Scott did.
He tilted his head, found me with his one good eye, and said, “You’re not going to believe this… but I don’t think your dad likes me.”
The comment was so unexpected and so miserably accurate that my shock tangled with a laugh and escaped my throat like a frog’s ribbit.
April spun around, blazing with fury. “You!” She jabbed a finger at me. “Do you see what you did to him?”
Despite everything, Scott managed a ghost of that reckless grin. Through a jaw that could barely open, he said, “Hey, give me some credit. I didn’t get taken down by no girl.”
The other woman looked up from her triage, also assessing me with contempt. Clearly April’s mother. “Not now,” she snapped at her daughter. “We’ve got bigger problems.”
“What can I do?” I asked.
“You’ve done enough,” April shot back, her gaze dragging over me. “We wouldn’t want to get blood on your designer dress.”
My cheeks burned knowing how this must look to them. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I get it.”
“Do you?” she snapped. “He was lying here alone for hours before we found him. All this blood is on your hands, and you look like you stepped off a damn Concorde flight.”
I stood there in my midnight blue Donna Karan silk wrap dress and diamond studs, the picture of privilege, while Scott bled into the towels she was pressing against his flesh. I understood the scorn, but I’d already apologized to April once. The next one belonged to Scott.
“I can take my dress off if it’s distracting you.”
“Yes,” Scott said, raising a bloody hand. “I vote for that.”
April shook her head, disgust flashing across her face. “Go home, princess. You don’t belong here.”
She turned back to Scott, muttering something under her breath.
Her words didn’t matter. If anything, they made me dig in, and before I even realized I was moving, I was on my knees in front of him, taking his face in shaking hands.
His skin was hot and slick under my palms, his pulse thudding weakly at his temple.
“I thought you were on a plane,” he said.
“I was.”
“You jumped out?”
“No.” I smiled weakly. “But I would have, if we hadn’t still been on the ground.”