Page 129 of Play Nice

I turn. Leda’s propped against the refrigerator. There’s a welt on her forehead. “You’re both insane.”

“Leda knocked you out. We fought. And she confessed to reading the book.”

“What?” I’m dizzy. I slap my hands down to steady myself.

“Apparently, I’m the only one who hasn’t read it. Who kept my promise. So fuck it. I’m catching up on my reading,” Daphne says.

“You read it?” I ask Leda.

“You two don’t understand. I’m the oldest. The pressure on me…I had to know. I had to be aware of what was out there. I had to—”

“The pressure on you?” Daphne says, standing. “What pressure? It all falls on me. Do you get how, like, crushingly exhausting it is to have to navigate all your bullshit? Everyone’s bullshit. What about my bullshit? What if I want to be the asshole for once? What if I want to throw a fucking tantrum.”

I reach up to the counter and pull myself to my feet.

“What if I’m angry?” Daffy carries on. “What if I want it to be about me for fucking once!”

“It’s never about me either. It’s always about Clio,” Leda says. “That’s why we’re here. Because of her.”

“You showed up here,” I say. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

Daphne’s expression doesn’t change. It’s disturbingly blank. “Let’s just say it all, then. Let’s just have it out.”

“What’s happening?” Leda says, breaking down in tears. “What’s happening?”

“Exactly what it wants,” I say. “We’re putting on a good show.”

“I hate looking at you, Clio. I hate that you’re so pretty,” Daphne says. “And I hate your stupid fucking outfits. I hate that you’re spoiled. I hate that everything just works out for you. I hate that I hate it. I hate that Leda found someone to love her, but I’m somehow still alone. I hate how badly Mom messed me up. I hate that the truth of who she was and what she was doing to us wasn’t enough to get us out of this house. That a lie was what saved us from her. I hate that she never changed, never got better. That she fucking drank herself to death and no one’s surprised. I hate that I know Dad cheated on Mom with Amy, that deep down I’ve always known it. I hate that Dad hates that I’m gay but will never admit it. I hate so much about our family. I hate that I need you all.”

“Daffy…” I say.

She looks down, a sob escaping. She slumps over, slides back to the floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t…I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“But you meant them,” Leda says. She gathers up her hair and pulls it high over her head, like she’s holding a noose, about to hang herself. “You meant every word. It was honest. And if we’re going to be honest, fine. I have a healthy, happy relationship. My life is stable. My career is stable. That’s why you don’t like me. You’re jealous. You’ll never admit it to yourselves because you think you’re too cool to want what I have. But you do. And you’ll never have it. You’re too dysfunctional. You’ll both die alone, likely in debt, and no one will be around to mourn you.”

“Jesus, Leeds,” Daphne says. She tongues her busted lip.

Leda lets her head back and releases a wild laugh.

She turns and stumbles out into the hall, then down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” I call after her.

“What do you care?” she says, still laughing. “I’m the least favorite sister.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Daphne asks, grabbing my arm. I flinch at her touch, and she retracts her hand. She stares at it as if she’s surprised to see it there at the end of her wrist. “Sorry…”

“No one cares about Leda. She’s no fun,” Leda calls out from downstairs. “She doesn’t do anything fun. You both have substance abuse issues and self-medicate with drugs and alcohol, you sleep around, slut it up, but Leda’s the issue, the wet blanket. All she ever tries to do is the right thing. Color inside the lines. But somehow, no, that’s not good enough. Nothing is ever good enough.”

“Leeds!” Daphne shouts.

“Who cares about Leda? She’s so boring!”

“Leda,” I say, lurching toward the stairs. My head feels like a cement block, and my vision is blurred, and my mouth still tastes of blood. “Leda, what are you doing?”

“What if I told you I knew about the demon. What if I told you that sometimes, if it couldn’t wake you, Clio, it would come into our room at night and watch us sleep. It would go up in the corner, and it looked like a shadow, only I could see its big white eyes staring out at me from the dark. And it had this long, thin red tongue with a slit like a snake’s…”