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Grandpa yells something from the other room, but I ignore him, scrubbing harder, trying to ignore everything. I feel as if the back of my brain is itching. Thoughts demand to be let in.
I miss my friends.
Shit, no. I hiss, dipping the brush in the bucket and attacking the corner of the kitchen with more determination. Not that thought. Not that…
It was during that stupid brunch. I don’t know what happened. I was going to talk to Nate about the bruises, I was concerned about him, and then I was so pissed at him I all but threw him out of the apartment.
My best friend. My only real friend.
Pulling off the gloves with a loud curse, I rub my hands over my face. Jesus Christ. It has been a rough month, I know that. My sister went nuts for the second time in a matter of weeks, Grandpa has been on my case for every and no reason, and being around Sydney was… is pleasure and torture.
Knowing Nate wants her too? It’s crippling my rational side, making me see red.
And then black, when I realize what it means. If Nate wants to date Sydney… I can’t get in his way. I won’t.
If she wanted Kash, I could have coped. I could have tried. Fought him maybe.
A duel. I snort. Whatever.
But not Nate. I couldn’t fight Nate over her, and even without a fight I lost. I’d never win against my best friend, and I’d never give him up for a girl.
Sydney, fuck. Not just any girl. She’s the only girl I can’t stop thinking about. I swore I wouldn’t lose either of them, and now it feels as if I managed to do just that.
It’s my fault. Every time I thought about talking to Nate, telling him all this, my brain freezes, and I need to clean something, fix something, and by the time I’m done, the day and night have passed and I’m too damn tired.
Too tired to think, unable to muster the energy to knock on Nate’s door and have it out with him. Fix the rift between us.
Find out if he still wants to talk to me or if he’s done.
That’s the fear that clamps like a vise around my chest. And the more time passes, the harder it is to take that step.
If I fix this apartment and everything in it, if I scrub every dirty part of it, of me, clean… if I become who Grandpa wants me to be, if I use enough bleach to erase myself from the world, then maybe everything will be okay.
Everyone will be fucking happy.
Unlike in my dreams.
“What the hell are you doing?” Bony fingers dig in my shoulders, hauling me backward until I’m on my ass on the wet floor. “Jeez, West, stop. You’re such a fucking disaster.”
I grunt, shove off my sister’s hands as I fall all the way back, dizzy. “Get off me.”
“God, look at you.” She sneers and straightens, and I get a clear view of her thin legs and her panties under her skirt. They’re stained. “You’re so useless.”
Bile rises in my throat. “Go away.”
“You’re crazy. I’ve always known.” She wipes her hands on her skirt, her face contorting in disgust. “You should be locked up in a nuthouse where you belong. You should be in a fucking straitjacket, not here, making our lives miserable.”
My heart thumps heavily in my chest, even if I’ve heard it all before. I struggle to clear my thoughts, the pull of the brush and bleach still gripping my mind. “What do you want?”
“Nothing from you, that’s for sure, not in the state you’re in.”
That’s rich, coming from her. How many times did I have to drag her indoors when she was too wasted to stand? “What do you want, Della? Spit it out.”
She purses her lips. “Just some cash. To tide me over till the end of the month.”
“And you seriously thought to ask me?”
“You never know. You could be of use for once. Miracles happen.”
