Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Mom had read us this book about a boy who fell off a boat and met all sorts of strange sea creatures. Some were nice. Others were evil. I thought we'd meet some of the latter.
But Nick went in first. He showed me that it was okay. That I didn't have to worry about a giant octopus or a talking crab.
It was fun, running around the waves, splashing, swimming.
At the time, I would have followed him anywhere. I would have ran into the ocean even if I thought there was danger. He was my big brother. The smartest, coolest, bravest person in the world.
At the time, I thought he was right. There was no danger of an animal attack.
There's a bigger risk. The ocean itself. The current, the dark water, the limitless depths.
But that was Nick. He never did warn me about the real danger.
My therapist says I shouldn't blame him. Not for that and not for rehab. Nick was always trying to help. In his way. I should respect that.
I should forgive him. For my sake.
But then I only talk to the fucking therapist because of Nick. So I suppose it's what he has to say.
It is a nice dinner. And Nick is softer. He has two drinks. Lizzy has three.
She gets giggly and friendly and a little too open. She accidentally spills some details about their sex life. What they did before they left.
Usually, that would annoy me. Today, it makes me think of Jasmine. Her gasp, her cry, her moan. The sweet sound she makes when she comes.
I should invite this stupid panel to watch us fuck. So they can see we give each other exactly what we need.
That bastard would love it. Another chance to fuck with me. More proof he's left a mark.
I nod along with the conversation, tell my own stories about Nick, make Lizzy and Jasmine laugh until they can't take it anymore.
Then we finish. Lizzy offers to take Jasmine to the venue, to help with setup. So I can talk to Nick alone.
He nods back to her, a knowing nod that makes it clear they planned this earlier.
It shouldn't annoy me—I need to speak with him privately—but it does. Who does he think he is, planning conversations? Does he believe he's earned back his right to act like an older brother?
He hasn't.
He waits until they leave, then he finishes his last sip of rum and coke. Stands. Moves to the window. "This is what you've always wanted."
That's one way of putting it. "It is."
"You don't seem happy."
I stand. Move around the table.
It's a big room, but there's still not enough space. I don't want to be near his implications.
I go to the other window. Take in the view. Yellow lights against the blue sky. New York at night. The city that never sleeps. It's most alive at night.
"Shep?" he asks.
"Was that a question?"
"Yes."
"I'm happy." I hate that he's right. I'm not capable of happiness, but I need to pretend. I need to convince everyone I'm madly in love with my fiancée. That she's madly in love with me. I need that glow Nick and Lizzy have. The one that screams we're in love and the world loves us because of it.
"You don't have to lie to me." His voice is soft and firm at the same time. That parental voice that means you can trust me with anything, because I will take care of you. "I'm not going to tell anyone."
"You lost the right to say shit like that a long time ago."
"I know. I'm sorry."
My chest tightens. He's sorry? Does he think that makes a difference? Does he think I didn't hear him the first three thousand times?
Sorry isn't enough.
Sorry doesn't erase what happened.
Sorry only brings it back.
I don't need that. I need it gone. Dissolved.
He took that from me. Took the only thing that helped.
Fuck him and fuck his sorry.
"I know that doesn't mean anything, but I am. If I had known… I would have killed him," he says.
"I don't want to hear it."
"I know. But you need to."
"Fuck off."
He takes one step toward me. "He's going to be at the wedding?"
I turn to my brother. Take in his posture.
It's all soft, comforting, like he really believes he looks out for me.
"Are you going to say something?" I ask.
His face screws with confusion. He considers it a ridiculous question. "No."
"Lizzy knows."
"Yes."
"Is she?"
He shakes his head. "She wouldn't."
"She's drunk."
"She's been drunk before."
"Encouraging."
He tries to hold my gaze. "She won't say anything. I promise."
"You can't make promises for other people."
"Do you want to talk to her? She'll promise."
My skin crawls. No, I don't want to talk to her. Lizzy is fine. I'd go so far as to say I like her.
She's a good fit for Nick. A great conversationalist. Witty and smart with a repository of knowledges when it comes to film, TV, or tech.