Page 70 of The Nightmare Before Kissmas
The air in the room is too heavy. “Closer to what?”
“I do take care of you,” he whispers to the bed. He flicks the tray. “But I won’t be able to stop it, will I?”
“Stop—?”
“You leaving.”
My head dips to the side, mind working overtime to interpret what he said like he spoke to me in an entirely different language. But eventhatwould be less difficult to figure out since our magic lets us understandeverylanguage—it does nothing to help me piece together what he means.
“Leaving? Why would I leave? Like to school again?”
His look cuts me off. “Not to school. Go to school—go to a hundred schools. I meanleaving.Because you don’t want any of this. Because Dad is forcing you into something shitty and controlling and you’ve never been okay with it, and you’re getting to the point where you’re going to realize that the only way tostopit is to go.”
I stare at my brother for what feels like hours. Days. So long that my eyes burn from being open, absolute, wrenching horror tearing long shreds into my soul.
“You think,” I start, a whisper, “that I’d leave you like she did.”
Kris doesn’t look at me.
I push out of bed. I can’t be still right now. My bare feet hit the floor and I shiver but I’m not at all cold, my skin is too tight, stifling, and I pace next to my bed before I cut around and stand over him.
“You honestly think I’d do what she did?” I gasp the question. I think I might splinter into pieces right over top of him.
Kris pushes a fist into the bed. “You fight him every chance you get. And you should—I don’t blame you for that. He’swrong,about a lot of things, but I’ve been watching you all my life.” Finally he looks at me. And I wish he hadn’t—his eyes are glossy, and it kills me. “You’ve tried to buck these chains forever, Coal. Tell me you’ve never once dreamed about giving it all up.”
“I’ve never once dreamed about giving it all up,” I tell him immediately, Ipromisehim.
Kris’s brows pinch.
“I’veneverconsidered leaving.” Even saying these words is unimaginable. I’ve never, not once, thought about running. The idea hasn’t been in my brain until this moment. “Not just because all this shit would fall on you—and Iwon’tput all this on you—but because she left me too. And what’s worse, what makes it so I will never forgive her, is that I had to watch her leaveyou.And Dad, even. And I have to watch her keep digging that knife in deeper every time she texts us, every time she gets it in her head to torment us. To tormentyou.I failed you, unforgivably, if you think for a second that I’m capable of hurting you the way she did.”
My whole face burns up with how much I’m trying to convince him of all this. Desperation builds in my body and I think it will fillet me right in half, but if that’s what it takes, I’ll let it.
The conversation I had with Iris comes roaring back on me. Where she hadn’t wanted to talk about the marriage competition stuff because she knew I’d make jokes about it. That’s what I do. I twist every conversation into either jokes or something light but whatever it is, it ends up being aboutme,about what makesmecomfortable, about whatIcan offer, rather than what my friends need.
Kris has never talked to me about how Mom leaving affected him. I know he feels more deeply than I do, because I’m only ever furious with her; but he stillhopes.He still reacts to her attempts to reach out as if her passive-aggressive narcissism could somehow hatch into maternal love. Iknowthat about him, but I’ve only ever responded to his feelings from a place of my own rage, being pissed that she’s hurting him. I’ve never stopped toseehis hurt.
He presses the heel of his hand to his forehead and drags in a shuddering breath.
“What was it like for you? When she left,” I ask. It’s stilted.
Kris glances up. That glossiness to his eyes has intensified. “You were there. You know.”
“I was. And I remember you crying. A lot. For weeks. I rememberDad—shutting down. And no one could really tell uswhyshe was gone. I remember being mad at her.” I shake my head, restart. “I’m not talking about whatIexperienced. I asked what it was like foryou.”
Kris looks down at his hands in his lap. “We don’t need to talk about this now. Dad did something to fuck with your head, and I came in here to help with—”
“Kris.” I cut him off so forcefully that he whips his eyes back up to me. “Please.”
It comes out of him in a jerky rush, “I don’t think I’ve ever been mad at her.”
He blinks, surprised by his own admission.
He looks down at his hands again.
A kernel of my own anger flares up, but I ignore it. “Why?”
He shrugs, picking at his thumb.
