Page 30 of Ominous: Part 1
I freeze, teeth clenched together as I grip my pen so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t snap. No longer coloring in my windows, I don’t lift my eyes as I wait for him to speak again, knowing he will. He’s trying to bait me, but he doesn’t have enough patience to do it properly.
Even Mom’s was bigger than his, sometimes. But he doesn’t snap like she did when she lost her temper. He tries to hold it in, but I can usually see his chest swell with the effort it takes to swallow it down. His back still to me, with a single glance, I can’t see much but the rigid set of his broad shoulders beneath his suit, his hands clenched into fists at his side.
No wedding band.
He wore it for years after she left, there’s still a pale circle of skin set against the tan of the rest of his fingers.
“You’re going to the vigil tonight?” He phrases it as a question, but I don’t answer him. “It’s at Dom’s?”
“I didn’t see her walk out.”
“You slept in the living room, how the fuck could you not?”
“I know things have been rough between the three of you, but you need to stick together, you know? And if Dominic is headed to Columbia, and Luna is applying there too, I think it’s a good idea for the three of you to—”
“How many friends from high school did you drag with you to Duke?”
I see him turn to face me, but I still don’t look up. “Regardless, even if you go your separate ways, you only have until graduation and—”
“I’m not going to change my mind about school.”
“Even if you don’t, being there for Dom will make you feel a little better—”
“I don’t feel bad.”I never did.Not once. Maybe I should have. If I were like everyone else, I would have feltsomethingafter what happened to Dominic’s sister. But the whole thing about being me is I don’t feel things I should.
I thought Montford might have educated Dad on that.
But as usual, with mention of my lack of remorse, his temper starts to spike. Like if he gets angry enough, rages enough, he’ll burn away my truth.
“Have you even tried?” His voice is louder, and I imagine on those rare occasions he sees the inside of a courtroom—when he’s been unable to mitigate or mediate—this is the voice he uses. Clear and ringing, meant to squash any opposing viewpoints. “Have you ever once listened to Dom?”
I hate how he uses his nickname in a show of familiarity. Yes, we went to the same middle school, too. Private, a few blocks down from Trafalgar, same place we met Luna.Domshould understand, just like Dad, how things work for me. But they like to think I’m on their side, don’t they? That for them, I can change just enough. Fold and conform and be what they need.
“Have the two of you ever talked it out?”
I set down my pen as my phone vibrates again beneath my elbow and I turn my head slowly to look at my dad.
His eyes are a shade darker than mine, muddied with gold. His hair is impressively thick, warmer in tone than my own. More brown-black than pure black like mine and Mom’s. The streaks of silver aren’t visible from here, but I’ve noticed them. And right now, he’s got a line between his brows, furrowed as they are. Clean-shaven, his face is smooth, and he’s as tall as I am. Still in good shape, he has a personal trainer for that.
I’ve felt his blows.
He can throw a punch.
But even with his physicality, and his fucking J.D., and his accolades, and his quick rise to partner when I was a kid, the way he shut Mom up with luxury and things and control, he cannot begin to fathom the first thing about his only child.
“Have wetalkedabout it.” I repeat the words, not as a question, but maybe so he canlistenand realize how fucking stupid they sound.
But he doesn’t because Dad never listens. Not to the doctors, not psychiatrists, not even to Mom, the supposed love of his life. The one he wore a golden band around his fucking finger for while he put them inside a multitude of women over the years after she left.
My only saving grace was he never pretended they would stick around.
If another woman had tried to be my mother, it’s possible I would have killed her.
“Yeah. It’s what two people do when they have a disagreement, Eli.” He looks upward, at the recessed lights overhead, shadows of clouds from outside passing over the lean cut of his jaw. I look a lot like him, and a lot like Mom. I’m the perfect blend of the two of them.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t just in physical makeup.
“We’re fine.” It’s not true. Since I was away, things have spiraled for Dominic. But we’re still friends. What the fuck more does Dad want?
