It had taken years, but eventually, this slow distortion of reality had become what I perceived asnormal. Of course you have to be on guard when stepping foot into your home. Of course everything’s your fault. Of course you’re the family’s punching bag. Because you’re not worthy of being treated as an equal.
I’d been gaslit, for seven years.
And not until I stayed with Maggie last Christmas did I see what a healthy family unit actually looked like.
When Dad married Blythe, Derek had been bitter. He’d been the oldest. He’d spent five more years with Mom than Vanessa or I had. He’d felt like Blythe was trying to replace the memory of her, and he even admitted years later that he’d needlessly been an asshole.
But he’d also been sixteen when Dad remarried. He only had to endure two years before he escaped to college. He also had friends and a car and football. He had diversions.
I didn’t have any of those things.
I only had Blythe’s version of events…and no voice.
When she and Derek would argue, he was just “acting out.” Vanessa had always gotten along with Blythe and never got into trouble or “copped any attitude.” So, anytime issues would arise with me, clearly,Iwas the guilty party.Iwas just “insecure” and “resentful” over the relationship she had with my sister.Ijust wasn’t “putting in the effort” to be more sociable.Ijust wasn’t good enough.
I make a beeline for the liquor cabinet and grab a bottle of single malt Scotch. The only other time I’d ever drank Scotch was when I was sixteen. Derek really likes it, and I’d asked if I could try a sip. If memory serves me right, it was like trying to swallow watered-down kerosene, but maybe my taste buds havechanged since then. I pour some into the glass and knock back the drink in one shot.
I’m right. It doesn’t taste the same…
It’s worse!
My throat burns on what tastes like straight-up gasoline scorching its way down my esophagus.
Holy hell!
I cough—or at least try—but it only makes it worse.
To add insult to injury, the voice that ignites behind me sends goosebumps up the length of my spine. “I see nothing’s changed.”
Yes, I know exactly what Jase sees.
Pathetic, little baby Birdie is still being pushed around, and—as always—she can’t do shit to stop it because she’s too fucking weak.
I don’t bother to even acknowledge his existence, heading to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of Heineken.
It seems Jase is part-ninja, because I don’t hear so much as a footstep in my direction. Yet, when I close the refrigerator door, he’s right beside me, leaning against the counter with the kind of smirk that makes me want to smack it off his face. “You might want to take it a bit easy there.”
My fist curls, but I thankfully demonstrate enough composure to not punch him. But trust me, the desire is there. Oh, is it ever. Instead, I settle for the simple, yet elegant message of, “Fuck off.”
I try to step around the douche nozzle, but he pushes off the counter and straightens to his full height, cutting right into my path.
“Well, now, that’s quite a turnaround. I seem to remember you being far more amicable last night.” He damn near croons those last two little words, all the while smirking like the Cheshire Cat.
“You mean when I didn’t realize who you were because youliedabout your name?” I fire back.
Jase has the nerve to laugh, as if there’s anything remotely funny about this, but his laughter fades the longer he stares at me, replaced by a look of complete bewilderment. “You’re joking, right? You knew it was me.”
But he doesn’t sound so sure.
“That’s why you were so pissed when you first saw me, right?”
“I was pissed because you accused me of wanting to commitsuicide. And seeing as how plenty of horrible people have recommended I do that very thing, it’s a bit of a touchy subject for me,” I hiss. “If I knew who you were last night, the only interest I’d have with your mouth would be slamming my fist into it. And let’s not forget how you looked at me when your sister introduced us earlier. You’d think Pennywise the Clown showed up.”
“No, it was because you looked fit to murder me,” he counters. “Besides, you called yourselfLexi.”
“Not sure if you forgot, but my name’sAlexandria, jackass. Shortening it to somethingyou’renot familiar with isn’t lying.”
He holds up his hands, as if trying to actually placate me. “My point is that last night, we more than proved that we can get along just fine without any of the drama. And seeing as how you’re my soon-to-be brother-in-law’s sister, I thought maybe we could, you know…bury the hatchet.”
