Page 92 of The Worst Kind of Promise
“You didn’t,” he says.
Sobs and hiccups somersault out of me, and all I can manage is an incoherent line of driveling. Tears leave infernal tracks on my torrid flesh as a smokescreen covers my vision, my body trembling with cries that pilfer the air from my lungs.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Hayes, I’m so sorry.”
My brother rarely cries. The only time I remember him crying was when he’d lock himself away in his room at night, weeping over the memory of our late mother. I’d hear him through the crack of his door when he thought I was asleep. He’d never cry in front of me. He’d never even tell me anything was wrong. He was good at compartmentalizing. He had to be, because looking aftermewas his priority.
But I can see the fresh tears now, spilling over his waterline. I can see the amount of control he’s enforcing over the quiver of his lower lip. I can see the broken boy—from my childhood—hidden underneath.
We never kept secrets from each other. My brother would never do anything to hurt me, tobetrayme. I did both. I did both willingly.
I want him to yell at me, to reprimand me, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything. All he does is refocus his attention on Kit.
“I told you that you weren’t good enough for her. I confided in you.” Even with choked breath, the rage swimming in the undercurrent of his tone is evident. Veins jut from his reddened face, pulsing like a live wire beneath his skin. He looks nothing like the Hayes I know. He’s traded that comforting smile of his for bared teeth.
Not good enough. What is he talking about?
I insert myself in front of Kit, forcing my brother to face me. “I don’t understand,” I wail, reaching out to grab Hayes’ arm.
He wrenches his arm away, as if the mere thought of metouchinghim repulses him. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? Why would you keep this secret?”
“I didn’t know how to tell you!”
“So you were just going to keep lying to me? How long? How long would you lie to my face? Through Thanksgiving? Through New Year’s?”
Saliva and snot congregate on my face. “I didn’t…I d-didn’t want to h-hurt you.”
“Then what do you call this?” Hayes asks. “What was it, Faye? Was I never there for you? Is that why you decided to do this?”
Kit doesn’t move me aside. He doesn’t shadow me. He stays behind me, trying his best to deflect the shower of bullets spitting from my brother’s mouth. Trying to call a ceasefire.
“Hate me, Hayes.I’mthe one who wanted to keep this from you. Not Faye. She wanted to end things. She wanted to tell you the truth.”
He’s lying for me. Oh, God. Their whole friendship…I’ve ruined their friendship. I can’t. I can’t…dothis.
“You willneverbe good enough for her,” Hayes sneers, blinking away the moisture in his eyes.
Kit recoils. I expect him to retaliate, to stand up for us,to fight for us, but acceptance is the only expression he bears. No flared nostrils or clenched jaw. Just defeat. Defeat that drains the life and color out of him. I wait for his hockey-worn hands to reach out for me, but that comfort has been long extinguished.
War drums beat against my skull, turning my sorrow into potent fury—even if only for a split second. “Stop, Hayes. You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, I fucking do. You know how he’s treated women in the past. Are you really going to let yourself be one of them?”
I swallow back bile, acid hissing in my belly. “Did you ever wonder why I didn’t want to tell you? I knew you would react like this!Youare the one to blame. Not me. Not Kit.You.”
“Excuse me?” he growls.
“If you wanted what was best for me, you’d accept whoever I fell in love with, no matter who they were. You think you know me. You say that you know me. But you don’t. You don’t know anything, and I’m tired of you acting like you know better.”
He doesn’t comment on the fact I used the L-word, even though I know he wants to. I can’t believe he calls himself Kit’s friend when he thinks such horrible things about him. Is that why Kit tried to pull away from me at the party? Has my brother been feeding him lines about staying away from me? I’m so fucking mad that I can’t think straight.
I step out of Kit’s protective circle, throwing my arms out in a fit of frustration. “You say Kit’s not good enough, but he’s the one who’s been here for me this entire summer.”
“Because you fucking pushed me away!”
“How else am I supposed to tell my brother that I was raped?!” I scream, silencing the entire room, shaking the walls with the weight of the truth as it curls past my chapped lips like a tendril of smoke.
Shock befalls my brother’s face, his pupils blown wide in disbelief—stagnant pools that reflect the deepest blue, the kind of blue that sadness is born from. “What?” he grates out.
