Page 5 of Hate Wrecked

“Double murder, Rowan? Have they made a movie about it? Maybe I could?—”

“They already made a movie about it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so there’s no using that excuse.”

I try again. “They remake movies all the time.”

“Who’s going to help you get it made? Your dad? Desi?”

I flinch. For many reasons. First, my mother wouldn’t help me because I won’t speak to her. Second, I can’t have it made on my own because I have no real power. I am their child. My whims are entertained, riding on their clout.

“Maybe,” I say, though I don’t mean it. Not because my father wouldn’t help me—he would, if he were passionate about the story—but because I don’t like this game anymore. The one where I put my heart on the line, and Rowan stomps on it. It reminds me of all the ways I trampled on his.

“I’m sorry, Riley. But it’s a vacation for me. I want it to be exactly that. A vacation. Not a working trip, not a few days of worrying about your feelings, or any of that. I just want to forget everything.”

“I get it.” I do. I also get that itch. The red button in my head urges me to self-destruct.Be just like her the night you found her on the floor. Let the dark voice inside consume you.

I am my mother’s daughter, and I hate her for it. Hatemyselffor it.

“Okay. I’m ready to go to the hotel,” I say, gathering my belongings in my hands. Rowan reaches out to take some of my things, but I shake my head, dancing out of his reach. His eyes darken as he turns to the door.

I want so badly to touch him. But I don’t.

I’m not sure I would recover from it.

He is auburn and dark. He is a shadow on my heart in this paradise.

As I walk ahead of him down the hall, I feel his presence shielding me from the world. Once, he sheltered me. But that burden couldn’t be his forever. I had to start protecting myself. And I do, for the most part.

I stave off that voice inside for as long as I can, until it’s too loud.

I can hear it speaking to me now.

I should engage him in conversation so his low voice will drown everything out. But I don’t.

I let it speak to me in slow, even tones, telling me to let it in.

To let it take over.

* * *

That night, I find myself at the hotel bar with the manuscript. It sits on the mahogany wood next to me as I order two drinks. One for me and one for my mother’s words. The bartender cocks his head in response to my request, but gives me what I want. They always do. They can see her when they look at me. They see her face, body, fame, and mistakes. But, when I speak, the spell is broken. I don’t have her husky voice. I don’t have her cadence, her beautiful words.

I glance at the stack of bound papers containing her life. What is truth, and what is a lie? Will they mix in there? Exist in harmony? Will she tell her life’s tale with honesty and brutality?

I reach into my bag and grab the pills there, slipping two out, downing them with my drink. The burn is delicious and inviting.

I haven’t been reckless in a while, staving off the dark voice inside me. But soon, I’ll be back home, and what happens here will be a fading memory. I’ll leave this island and never see Rowan Finn again.

Unless I choose forgiveness. Because forgiving my mother means facing Rowan again. And I’m not sure I can handle the rejection. Will I ever stop asking him questions with my eyes that his heart will not give into?

Though I crave silence with my drinks and my mother’s words, eventually a man sits next to me. I stare at the liquor bottles lining the wall behind the bar as he eyes my profile. His eyes widen a little as I reach for my drink again.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, but are you Desi Monroe’s daughter?”

I turn to him, put on my fake smile, and nod. “That’s me.” I offer my hand, and he takes it. It’s warm, and he’s handsome. His skin is tan, and his hair is long. He’s a local—I can tell. So that begs the question: why is he at a hotel bar? He probably comes here to hit on tourists.

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