Page 80 of Dove
“What do you want me to say?” I asked, resigned.
He barked a low laugh, harsh and humorless. “You could at least try and deny it.”
Defend myself? What would be the point?
My lip curled into a twist. “You saw it with your own two eyes,” I replied lazily, my chest hollow. “How can I deny that?”
His eyes blazed. “Get out.”
I looked up at him in shock. “What?”
“Leave. I want you gone and out of here by morning.” He turned to leave, opening the screen door. “If you’re still here when I wake up, I’ll throw you out myself.”
I stood up, panic and fear gripping me. He wouldn’t really…
“Wait, Dad?—”
“Don’t,” the man who was supposed to be my father interjected coldly. “You know, I always wondered why I couldn’t bond with you. I always thought it was because of Ceclia. Because in her place I was given you, and I never thought it was a fair trade.”
The harshness of his words shouldn’t have hurt, not when I already suspected as much, but it lanced through me like a spear regardless.
“Now I know it’s because something wasn’t right with you.” The disgust on his face and in his words had me stepping back as if he’d slapped me. The man in front of me was unrecognizable in his coldness.
“Gone by morning,” Gareth ordered as the screen door slammed behind him, not bothering to look back. “No later.”
My heart ripped apart inside of me, not just for the home or father I’d lost.
But for Dove.
Fuck.
How was I supposed to explain this to her?
I was quiet as a church mouse packing my things.
It wasn’t like I had a lot.
I was downstairs, grabbing myself a quick bite to eat before I left, the sun not even a thought in the sky, when I heard the stairs creak.
I froze. The unmistakable shuffle of feet hit my ears, and I turned to peek over my shoulder.
Dove stood there, her hair in disarray with the clothes she’d worn for graduation sleep rumpled and wrinkled.
“What are you doing up, Dove?”
She startled and squinted, as if even the darkness was too bright for her to handle.
“Josh?” she croaked. “What are you doing in the dark?”
“Just grabbing a midnight snack.”
She chuckled, taking a few more steps into the kitchen. I flipped the light switch by the sink, the lightbulb over it flickering on as her bare feet slapped against the floor. “It’s definitely past midnight.”
Her voice still held a bit of slur to the words, as if the alcohol hadn’t fully let its hold up on her.
My heart pounded in my chest, looking for any sign of recognition of what happened between us earlier. But as she passed me to get to the fridge, opening up the door to peer inside, I saw no remembrance on her face.
Good. That fixed one problem.
