“There wasn’t one day in my life I didn’t think about the letter, and about you, and about what a horrible person I am,” I confess, tears blurring my vision. It’s true. Even when I hated her, I hated myself more for what I did. I still do. This was when Mom became Mel. When my downfall started. “Please, believe me.”
The slap comes out of nowhere. Sharp as a knife and full of heat. I feel her palm on my cheek long after she withdraws it and instinctively raise my hand to rub it.
You just got slapped. My brain is screaming at the rest of my body, an echo ringing between my ears. Ad infinitum.
“And that makes it okay?” Her entire face twists. “You and my brother ruined my life. Rhett was an abusive jerk. Mama was unresponsive and passed out eighty percent of the time, and your mom was pushing me away because you couldn’t handle us being close and she didn’t want to upset you,” she tells me, and I choke on my breath. I didn’t know that. I didn’t know Via and Mom weren’t super close. “I would have never left had I known I got in! I would have made it through, Daria.”
“I know.” I’m sobbing, bracing my hands on my knees and shaking my head. The tears burn where she slapped me, but drunk and armor-less, I acknowledge that I deserved it. “God, I know.”
My shoulders are shaking as the sobs flow through me. I advance toward her, planning…I don’t know, even to go down on my knees if I have to, but she backs up again. Her legs hit my nightstand, and she picks up the first thing she can get her hands on—a golden alarm clock Luna brought me from her family trip to Switzerland a few years ago—and aims it at me.
“Stay away from me, Daria. I mean it.”
“Please don’t think any less about your brother. That wasn’t my intention at all. I just wanted you to know that everyone was to blame for what happened four years ago. But now you’re back, and we can make up for that time.”
“You can’t make up for that time!”
She is screaming at the top of her lungs, hunching her body from the effort to produce such a profound yell. We’re lucky the music is deafeningly loud outside. “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell is playing, and I can’t help but agree with the sentiment.
Love is so contaminated. It tarnishes all that is beautiful and corrupts the soul. Love is so much uglier than hate because when you hate, you’re not confused. When you’re in love, you’re dumb.
“You can’t turn back time. I was miserable and abused in Mississippi, only in a different way.”
“So why did you give my mother trouble about coming back?” I’m trying to gain control over my voice, my muscles, my heart. “Why did you want to stay there when Mel begged you to come back?”
“Because I hated you too much!” She throws her arms in the air.
“Because I knew I was going to get a front-row seat to the perfect life of Daria Followhill. Because a part of me knew you would seduce Penn. Because that’s what you do, Daria. You take everything that I have and make it yours.”
“Funny.” I sniff, my mouth filling with bitterness. “I feel the same about you.”
Via shakes her head. She dashes out my door, and I run after her. I push past people and bark at them to move out of the way. I probably look possessed, and everyone is glancing over their shoulder to watch Queen Daria running after her new foster sister. But I can’t let her walk away from this conversation. Not like this. Not when nothing has been sorted. Panic rushes through my veins like a river. The more I try with her, the harder she pushes me away.
Eventually, I lose her in the crowd and get swept away by Alisha, who wants to raid Mel’s closet and see what Fashion Week garments she has ordered this season. I comply on autopilot.
The princess’s castle is falling apart.
And I know that, soon enough, doomsday will arrive.
But I just smile and wave, as princesses do.
Even—and especially—when they crumple.
You think you are so fake
But you’re the realest thing I’ve ever seen
Painful to watch
Beautiful to see
Shattering to touch
Curiosity killed the cat, and it was about to land my ass in equally deep shit, too.
I knew coming back home before I got a text clearance that the party was over was a special brand of stupid, but my dumbass self is here anyway.
The party is in full force when I park the Prius all the way on the other side of the neighborhood, a mega creep move if I ever made one. I make my way to the Followhills’ mansion by foot, wearing a ball cap to stay under the radar, approaching it with hands tucked deep inside my pockets.
“Yo. Little shit.” I hear someone chuckle behind me and—because intelligence is not my friend tonight—decide it’s a good idea to turn around. It’s Dean Cole, Knight’s dad. He is sitting on the front porch of his colonial—a weird architectural design for SoCal, but apparently, his wife is from Virginia and he is crazy about her so he designed her the perfect Southern-style house from scratch—sipping a Bloody Mary.
“You think it’s a good idea to go in there?” He jerks his chin toward the Followhills’ mansion.
I spit my gum out and kick it all the way to the Spencers’ lawn.
“Nope.”