Page 8 of Thorns from the Fall

“Jesus, Sash,” Hale says. “That’s pretty fucked.”

“Mind your business,” Sasha retorts.

He walks down an aisle of books, plopping himself down on an oversized, tufted loveseat, and leans back. He mutters something about this definitely being his business, but Sasha doesn’t hear him. Hands behind his head, he settles in for what he believes will be a long argument. When Sasha inhales deeply, I realize he’s probably right.

“You think you’re so goddamn unlovable that you salivate at the heels of anyone who might give you an ounce of attention. But I’m right fucking here, Gwyn. I’ve been loving you for as long as I can remember, and that’s never been enough.”

I roll my lips inward, tamping down my emotions. A tear rolls down my cheek, and if I say anything now, she’s angry enough that she might call me manipulative—even if she doesn’t mean it. Despite the apologies in the past for her half-mumbled accusations, part of me wonders if Sasha truly believes what she says.

But would she be wrong? I’ve never done anything more manipulative in my life than I have these past few weeks. But I hadn’t done it toward her, had I?

“Has it?” she asks as she sits down at the table nearest the electric fireplace inset into the wall. “Has it been enough?” She doesn’t look at me as she places her head in her hands.

“It’s…It’s not like that. There’s just no way for you to understand?—”

“You don’t have to understand to love someone,” she mutters, and when she looks up at me, I realize she’s crying. I haven’t seen her cry since we were kids. She didn’t cry when our parents died. She didn’t cry over boys or grades. Over anything.

Sasha doesn’t cry.

She’s my big sister and best friend, and she is practical and strong, and she doesn’t cry.

And yet, her sclera have gone red and she blinks hard. She doesn’t look at me as her fingertips dip beneath the black satin hair band she wears for sleep and travel. When she massages her temples and twists her neck to crack it, I know I’m in for it. And for some reason, that frustrates me all the more.

“I just don’t know why?—”

“No, you’re right. You can love me even if you can’t understand. And it’s okay that you don’t get it. I don’t…I-I don’t begrudge you for it,” I stammer. “But the truth is, youdon’tunderstand. Neither do Hale and Roman,” I say, pulling myself up to my full height as I utter the name of the vampire who would likely enjoy seeing me succumb to my mental illness. “But at least with them, they don’t tell me to ‘just go outside and get some fresh air.’ That’s not how it fucking works!”

Her eyes widen a fraction. Sasha and I rarely yell at one another. In fact, I can’t remember the last time we exchanged anything more than exasperation. Her posture goes taut as she attempts to interrupt. I don’t let her.

“You can’t just put a spring breeze air freshener around my neck and expect that rope to suddenly stop being a noose!”

Sasha’s mouth is a tight line and she doesn’t stop staring at me. For a moment, I don’t move, stuck in our standoff. Briefly, I wonder if I saw some sort of recognition flutter across her face, but her jaw tightens. I wonder if Hale plans to interject on my behalf, and I look past Sasha to find him. He’s in the same relaxed position as before, but his gaze meets mine.

I don’t understand, but I’m here.

And that’s been enough. It’s been fine. It’s been appreciated beyond measure. But while Hale was there for me through the thick of it, always ready to lend an ear and force me to bathe, I can’t help but think of Roman.

Roman refused to give quarter to my depression. Roman poked and prodded at that evil little beast in my mind, making me talk about it and capitulate to its existence. Roman coaxed the monster from the shadows and attempted to tame it.

Roman made me feel seen in a way Hale hadn’t been able to accomplish, and now I know itispossible.

Not for the first time, I wish I would have told Roman everything in the cemetery. His words had made me doubt his feelings, but I’m not stupid. I felt it. I knew in the back of my mind. And even if I still couldn’t believe the depth of his affection for me when he’d screamed that he loved me as his father dragged me away, I saw the truth on his face in the ballroom.

I saw his relief and confusion and heartbreak when he understood what I’d done.

He’d loved me, truly, and the weight of that still threatens to overpower me.

Despite my betrayal of him and my betrayal of my sister, I won’t allow her to turn the only good thing that happened these last few weeks into a mistake.

“You’re right, Sasha,” I say, stepping close to the table. My thighs press against the edge, and Sasha stares at my favorite jeans, probably wondering how they got here. I decide not to tell her Roman bought them for me. Defiance hardens my sister’s features. Her eyebrows raise, and every line of her face is contemptuous. The tip of her wide nose is red, the only physical sign of her emotion.

“It wasn’t on purpose, but you’re right,” I say. “Remy was just…just…proof of concept. That its feasible.”

She sits back in her chair and crosses her arms—vindicated. Her lips twist as if she’s won the argument, but then she softens.

I’m still her sister, after all.

“Gwyn, I know. It’s okay, I just?—”

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