Page 67 of Distortion
‘Was it Shade’s idea?’ I ask.
Was that what the kiss was about? Was it meant to fuck with my head, too?
I take a step forward. ‘You can tell my stepbrother that I’m not the dumb littleretardhe knew. I don’t act like thatanymore thanks to a decade in a facility where that kind ofunacceptablebehavior has consequences.’
I’m giving too many details. I shut my mouth and look at his face just in time to see something that I might misconstrue as concern if I didn’t know better.
I scoff at the laughable thought.
‘It wasn’t his idea,’ Mav says a little stiffly.
‘You?’ I ask, feeling oddly ...betrayedeven though that’s laughable, too.
He averts his eyes and I approach him slowly.
‘Did it make you feel powerful?’ I ask him in a burst of courage, and he stiffens.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I slap him hard across his cheek. The crack echoes through the room and I’m shocked at myself, but I press on.
He does nothing but watch me.
‘Did you enjoy it? Making me feel that way? Scaring me? Making me cry?’ I lower my voice. ‘Making me so upset I couldn’ttalk?’
He shakes his head. ‘No,’ he whispers.
‘Liar.’
His eyes find mine. ‘I didn’t enjoy it.’
‘Why not? Everyone else in this house seems to love being cruel.’
He takes a step closer and his eyes flash. ‘Because hurting those who are lesser is wrong.’
My genuine, yet caustic laugh surprises us both.
‘Get the fuck out of my room,’ I snarl.
He turns and stalks out, closing my door behind him. I stare at the vacant spot where he was standing.
Lesser.
My lips curl.
I don’t know why, after everything else that’s been going on, that stands out the most and makes me the angriest, but itdoes. Perhaps it’s because it’s the root of the problem. John, Shade, Mav, Blake, and most others here think I’m stupid.Lesserthan them. I let out a small breath.
A girl does something bad, gets a diagnosis, spends a decade in the loony bin, and suddenly she’s not as good as everyone else?
Not very fair.
The night that put me in The Heath will haunt me all my life, but I’ve done my time. This is my life, my chance, and I’m not going to let them steal it.
I look at the books on the table and narrow my eyes. And I’m not doing English Lit, either. There are subjects I’m actually good at.
I’ve had enough of this.
I go to the closet and put the comforter back on my bed. I take off my clothes and put them on my chair for tomorrow. I get into bed, close my eyes, and, despite the time, I go back to sleep, putting everything out of my mind for now.
I don’t wakeuntil my alarm sounds on Monday and the morning brings with it a sense of purpose. I feel better physically and stronger mentally, too. I haven’t felt this positive since I first got here almost three weeks ago. Has it really been that long since The Heath? Since the funeral?
