Page 6 of Endless Anger
Warmth spreads across my cheeks. I spent the morning carving that design into it, unable to think of any other way to help.
Her fingers brush against mine under the covers. I stop breathing for a moment.
We don’t mention how her forgiveness benefits me or our friendship. When her hand slides closer, her fingers interlocking with mine, I feel I might explode into a million little pieces.
I think this must be what death is like, and I wonder how she’d react if I told her.
Dying doesn’t seem all that bad. Not if it’s like this.
Not if it’s with you.
“You won’t leave me again, right?” she asks, moving her head to my shoulder.
My heart pounds a wild rhythm against my ribs.
Glancing down, I note the deepening of her breathing and how she gets heavier on me within seconds.
She’s asleep, her long black lashes resting on top of her pale, freckled cheeks, and there’s no point in me answering.
Still, I can’t help it.
My “no” is whispered into the dark room, drowned out by Keats’s snoring and the hum of the mini fridge on the far wall. The crickets outside and Mom’s rustling down the hall as she gets ready for bed—all of that is louder than the single syllable I utter, yet the weight of the one word is unbearable.
Because it makes me a liar.
2
ASHER
FOURTEEN YEARS OLD
I don’t wantto be visiting Quincy on this stupid campus. It’s dull and dark, the clouds hanging so low in the sky that it looks like they’re clinging to the buildings.
I’ll never understand why my sister chose this tiny college over the bigger and less expensive schools she was accepted into, except that she was going through a box of things from Dad’s childhood—onesingular box—a few years back and discovered an old brochure from Avernia College in Fury Hill, New Hampshire, where our grandmother had apparently graduated top of her class.
Dad’s dead, biological mom, not Aunt Violet’s mom. I doubt Grandma would step foot anywhere as creepy as this. She likes sunshine too much.
From there, Quincy did a deep dive into the school’s history and discovered we had an ancestor who helped found the place, and her obsession only strengthened.
Lucybeggedto tag along on the trip because she worships Quincy. And Noelle. And my parents. Everyone except me, it seems, even though I’d do pretty much anything for her.
Noelle says I want it too much. I don’t know whatitis.
But I told Lucy there wasn’t room in the car. There’s no way I’m spending a weekend listening to her drool over my boring sisters or fantasize about how cool this school is and how she can’t wait to go here one day.
Ever since Quincy ditched Aplana Island for higher education, the idea that Avernia is Lucy’s ticket to getting out is all she can fucking talk about. That and the litter of puppies her mom is fostering.
Frankly, I’d rather let Foxe take a whack between my legs than listen to her talk about either one.
My hands are in my pockets as I trail behind my family, not paying a lick of attention to the campus tour guide as they explain the school’s “rich, vibrant history” and the influences of ancient Greek and Roman cultures on it.
The thick trees lining the property and the stained glass windows in many of the pointed stone structures don’t make any of this less soul sucking.
I don’t even really understand why we’re here—Quincy’s been a student for two years now and never invited us to a family weekend before. The tour feels unnecessary, but Dad wouldn’t let me skip and hide out in the car, waiting for Lucy to call me.
Mom hangs back like she’s worried I might slip away at the first opportunity.
“And this is the Obeliskos—the largest and oldest library on campus.” Our tour guide is a tall person with spiky white hair and thick, purple glasses resting on the bridge of their wide, pale nose. “Legend has it that certain floors are haunted by the spirits of students who’ve passed on before graduation.”
