Page 24 of Tell Me Softly
“If Kamila had kept her trap shut, our mother never––”
“You can’t blame her for that, dammit!”
He was making me angry.
“She swore to me she wouldn’t say anything,” I said. It was true. I remembered her looking me in the eyes and promising me that no matter what, she’d never repeat what we had seen. “I begged her not to, and she did anyway, and the consequences of that––”
“Whatever. It’s past time you got over it.” He rarely talked to me so bluntly. “I don’t know why you’re obsessed with finding someone else to blame. Looking outside our family. Dad’s the one who fucked it all up, Thiago! Not our mother, not Kami, not her father, and not us, even if you keep asking whatwecould have done differently…”
“I never––”
“You think I never heard you at night?” His words surprised me. “You think I didn’t hear you crying at night saying her name? The way you’d shout in your sleep about how if only it had been you or me who––”
“I never said that. You’re my brother, and I love you. I never…”
“I know you love me. But you loved her more.”
“You’re being an idiot.”
“No, I’m telling you what I think. What I believe. What I know.”
“Well, you’re wrong!” I shouted, wishing the conversation would end. “And we’re never talking about this subject again. Look through that window and you can see the home of the person whose fault this is, and nothing you or anyone else does is going to change my mind about that.”
I didn’t wait for him to respond before walking off, slamming the door, and shutting myself up in my room.
When I peeked out the window, I saw she had been watching us. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second; then she drew the curtain and hid behind it.
Had she heard us shouting?
I hoped so.
Maybe that would help her finally get it through her head.
Chapter Nine
Kami
Look through that window and you can see the home of the person whose fault this is, and nothing you or anyone else does is going to change my mind about that.
His words had echoed clearly through my bedroom window, which I’d kept propped open in the muggy night. I guess the brothers didn’t mind airing their dirty laundry. That was something my mother never would have stood for. When we fought––and fights there were, and lots of them––the first thing Mom always said was,Shut the damn windows, I don’t want the neighbors hearing!Sometimes it was me versus her, sometimes her versus Dad, sometimes she even dragged Cam into it. She could be so cruel, but it didn’t matter as long as the outer image of the perfect Hamilton family remained intact. She knew people loved to gossip about us, she never ceased to remind us of that, and I’d learned to control myself and to speak softly and slowly. Trust me, though: with her, it wasn’t easy.
Knowing Thiago blamed me for what had happened eight years ago, for the suffering he’d been through, broke my heart. I’d always felt guilty. I’d always known if I hadn’t opened my mouththat none of this would have happened, and growing up with that knowledge had scarred me.
For years, it was even hard for me to sleep. My father wanted to send me to a psychologist, but my mother kept saying I was just trying to get their attention. Me! I was the one who’d always stuck to the shadows. I hated being the center of attention, whereas my mother was the one who’d always wanted to show me off, like I was a little doll she could dress up in fancy outfits for others’ delight. The Di Bianco brothers were the only ones who ever helped me figure out who I really was, who allowed me to explore my wild side, indulge my curiosity, my will to push things to the limit.
There was almost nothing left of that Kamila now, though.
I lay down in bed and grabbed a drawing pad that I always kept under my pillow. It was full of sketches. I loved drawing: it was the one thing left over from the girl I used to be, and I would never stop, no matter how much people thought it was kids’ stuff. My parents didn’t mind it, strangely enough. I guess my mother saw it as another thing about me she could brag about to her friends. When she took my drawings to show them, I always died of embarrassment. I usually wouldn’t even let Ellie see what was on those pages. For me, they were more like a diary. My thoughts, all the emotions I never let anyone see, could come out there thanks to my number two pencil.
But I didn’t like the eyes on the portrait I’d been working on all week. I wanted them to be perfect, but it was hard to match the perfection of the real thing: Thiago’s eyes. His chin I’d captured, his aquiline nose, but his eyes… There was just no way to bring that vividness to life, the intensity he looked back at you with. I tried to think back to a few minutes before, when I’d seen them boring holes through me across the distance between our houses. But the pain in his words, the ache of knowing what he really thought of me, drove me to despair.
At least things with Taylor were going better. He’d been nice to me that morning, but then Thiago made me feel like a fool. I closed my pad and put it back under my pillow, turning off the light and promising myself I’d try to get reacquainted with my old best friend tomorrow. Maybe things with Thiago were ruined forever, and I’d have to accept that, no matter how sad it was. I’d have to settle for the brother who still seemed to care about me.
***
“Give me an L!” we shouted with all the enthusiasm we could muster in cheerleading practice. “Give me an E! CARSVILLE!”
I felt the air swish around me, twisted with my arms pulled in tight, and after my turn in the air, I fell into the arms of my teammates. They tossed me again, I did a front flip, and I landed in front of them, taking a bow as they stood behind me in a pyramid.
