Page 62 of The Villain

“Don’t apologize, Athena.” My sister’s stare pinned mine, unforgiving. “This has nothing to do with you.”And everything to do with me.

Her apology was worse than her tears. Worse than the pain on her face or the hurt in her eyes. Her apology wasn’t her own guilt, it was mine. It was my guilty verdict, proclaiming me asone more person who’d promised to care for her and instead made her the victim of my weakness.

“She’s right,” I rasped and dragged my hands through my hair, forcing myself to breathe against the weight that threatened to cave in my entire chest. “This had nothing to do with you.”

I left for the same reason I had twenty years ago:so I wouldn’t hurt her any worse.

Chapter Twelve

Dare

It should’ve been a celebration, not a funeral. A celebration of her life. Her strength. Her trials and triumphs. Not a funeral.

How do I say goodbye to her? To you?

The door to the gym banged against the wall. I didn’t care. My vision saw nothing but red. Nothing but the tears in her eyes until my bare fist connected with the punching bag suspended from the ceiling.

I punched the bag over and over again. Each hit—each thud—resonated with the too-familiar sound of Athena’s apology on her lips.

I’m sorry.

I was the asshole. The angry, blind asshole.And she was the one apologizing.

Again and again, I hit the bag, sending the weightwobbling and spinning as unsteadily as I was. I didn’t feel it when my knuckles broke open, but I saw it. The blood slashing the fabric.Finally.Every strike after that meant I was hitting myself—the real villain.

After everything…to assume the account belonged to GrowTech…to assume she’d been paid by them and then lied to us about it…I hadn’t just made an ass of myself. I’d proven why, after all this time—all these years—I didn’t deserve any more from life than the bare minimum.And definitely not something as good as her.

I continued to swing, blind to anything and everything except the torture of my own mind, until my foot slid on something, throwing me to the side and almost taking me to the ground.

“What the…” I stilled, staring at the mess on the floor.

Her letters.

I’d completely forgotten they were in my pocket. The way I was beating on the bag had sent them onto the floor. Dirt and blood now scuffing the envelopes.

“Shit.” I grabbed a towel from the rack, and the rest of the room with its racks of weights, wall of mirrors, and handful of other lifting equipment came into focus.

I blotted my knuckles, staring at the mess I’d made. I hadn’t thought I could make this any worse, but the dirtied, torn letters proved me wrong.

Crouching, I started to gather them up. Some were bent. Others ripped. I shouldn’t look—I had no right to. I shouldn’t have even taken them. And now…I sat back on the floor, staring at the gentle curve of my name as it stretched over the front of one envelope.

But she’d written them to me.

Something clawed inside my chest like a beast against a cage. Something that fought for freedom, ripping my breathsinto a ragged rhythm and tearing down the speed of my pulse.

Carefully, I organized the stack back in order by date like I’d found them. But when I reached the last one—which was the first one—my fingers fumbled and then acted in spite of my restraint. I slid one letter out and unfolded it, my gaze greedy for the contents—for more punishment.

I don’t know why I’m still writing to you. I know I’m not going to send this, but I can’t stop myself. Writing to you is the only thing…the only thing that can stay the same as before, and I’m just not ready for everything to change.

I just need to hold on to you—onto this for a little longer.

Air started to burn inside my lungs, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling it overwhelm me. She’d kept writing as though it were a diary—her diary that she’d still wanted to share with me.

I folded it back up and returned it to the envelope. Every few days, it looked like she’d written, a few dozen before the time between them grew longer. That was where I pulled out another one and slid out the letter from inside.

I met someone. He’s funny and outgoing. He gets me out of this…tomb of grief it feels like I’ve been living in. He’s a little wild, but I think I need it. Like adrenaline to bring me back to life.

He’s there for me. He’s…there.

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