Page 24 of Queen of Ruin

I drag in a deep breath. “It reminds me of what I didn’t finish,” I admit.

“Why didn’t you take the Bar exam?”

If I could give her the answer I’ve given countless people – the polite answer, the bullshit answer – I would.

“Hope should be something that fills you up and carries you forward, but for me, it felt like an anchor. I was on this path that had been mapped out for me since I was born, and that’s a heavy burden to live up to.”

I don’t know if I’m explaining myself correctly.

“I know how pretentious that sounds, but…” I pause, “there are so many what if’s – what if I don’t pass? Worse yet, what if I do?”

“What if you do pass?” she prompts. “Would that be so bad?”

“The attention I got when my father ran for office was alarming, and they’d just dug up a bad report card. Can you imagine what it would be like for me if I actually tried and failed?” I admit.

“Failure isn’t a crime, Darren,” she shakes her head, “but aiming low is.”

I tilt my head down towards hers. “If that’s true, then I am the worst kind of criminal.”

She stops me by placing a finger against my lips, and it feels like an electric shock running through my body. I want to open my mouth to take a bite.

Every instinct in me screams to press her against the wall so she can feel what she does to me, to grip her hip, and lift her leg to curl around me, reminding her of the way we fit together so easily.

She removes her finger and takes a step back and it leaves me restless.

“What are you thinking?” I’m desperate to know.

“You’re a very complex person, Darren, and I wonder how many people have actually been able to figure you out?”

“Have you?” I ask.

Her eyes search mine. “Why did you have Bethany show me the Emerson letters?”

“It would seem masochistic, wouldn’t it?”

“Under the circumstances, yes.” She tilts her head, and I track the strands of hair that fall over her shoulder.

“I want to believe that when you look at me, you don’t see my father,” I explain, “because that is the common thread that binds us, isn’t it?” I ask, but I’m not looking for an answer. “And what a precarious thread it is.” I tug on the end of her sweater, pulling her an inch closer to me. “One pull, and everything unravels.” My eyes meet hers.

Her lips part, the gloss shining in the dim lighting of the hallway.

“I have the means to fly you to Paris, buy you a closet full of designer gowns, jewels, whatever the hell you want, but this…” I point down the hall and sigh, “do you know how much I want to hate Emerson? And yet I can’t.” I run a hand through my hair in frustration.

“Why?” she asks, touching my arm, and I can feel the heat from it pierce right through my jacket.

“Because of you,” I admit. “I asked for the truth, and you gave it to me. Do you want me to punish you for it?”

“No, but Darren, you don’t have to do those things for me,” she pleads.

How do I explain something I can’t even understand myself?

“But I do.” I let out a frustrated breath. “Because one day you will look at me, and you won’t see him.”

The door opens and Bernie, the security guard, peers in. “You have fifteen minutes,” he says.

9

THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE

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