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It’s been far too long for that.
Why did my father choose to die by fire? After all the pain he suffered, I can’t imagine that anything terrified him more. Was he trying to prove to himself at the end that he wasn’t a coward?
How could he destroy the only home I’ve ever known—the only reminders I had of our old life, the few good memories.
The one blow we struck against the Gallos was to burn their ancestral home.
Now he burned ours too, as if to wreak revenge upon ourselves.
I don’t understand him. I never did.
I hear the scraping of chairs and shuffle of feet as class dismisses.
I step to the side to let the exiting students pass, watching for Cat.
When she spots me, her eyes get bigger than ever, and her mouth opens in shock. I really must look like shit.
“Dean!” she gasps. “What happened?”
For me, the opposite effect occurs.
The moment I lay eyes on Cat, the maelstrom of sorrow, anger, and resentment swirling inside of me finally eases. I throw my arms around her and hug her hard against me, pressing my face into her thick black curls smelling my favorite scent in the world—the scent of this girl.
“What’s going on?” she says, pulling back just a little to look up into my face.
“Something happened today. I had to come tell you.”
“Tell me what?” She says.
“That I love you, Cat. I fucking love you.”
“What!” Cat squeaks, sounding as terrified as the very first time we spoke.
I laugh and then I kiss her, harder than I ever have before.
18
CAT
Dean and I skip the rest of the afternoon of classes. We go up to the Bell Tower and Dean spends two hours exercising his aggression on my body, before we lay under a pile of blankets just holding each other.
It’s freezing in the drafty tower, but Dean’s body heat is always more than enough for both of us.
He tells me everything, from the moment he stepped foot in the Chancellor’s office, to his encounter with Snow, to his relief at seeing me afterward.
I barely recognize this man who speaks to me with such raw honesty. Just last year Dean wanted to kill me for witnessing him in an emotional moment. Now he tells me all his darkest fears and deepest regrets.
“He died alone,” Dean says, his deep voice vibrating against my ear as I lay my head on his chest. “I can’t help but feel I’m bound to do the same. Everyone leaves me, Cat. They always have.”
“I don’t think your father wanted to die,” I murmur. “I just don’t think he knew how to live.”
“I don’t want to be like him,” Dean says. “A prisoner to the past.”
“You’re already letting go of it.”
“Only sometimes.”
I wish I knew how to help him better.
