“I warned you. Fuck around, and find out.”
“I believe the words you’re looking for are, ‘I’m sorry.’”
“How does that quote go?” I say, tapping my chin in mock contemplation. “‘If you expect nothing from somebody, you’re never disappointed.’ Well, it’s not exactly like you’ve given me anything good to go off of, so I expect less than nothing from you. I anticipate theworst.”
“‘And nothing is more dangerous for a new truth than an old misconception,’” he fires back in kind.
“Oh? And what misconception do I have about you exactly?” I ask with sugary sweetness. “Because the last I checked, you fucked me over, threw me to the wolves, and sat on your hands while they tore into me.”
“Funny how you conveniently left out a few crucial details there.”
“Such as?”
A dark smile pulls at his lips, and it’s enough to leave the hairs on my arms standing on end. Before he can answer, heels clack down the main hallway, and Jase skirts around me to grab the folded fabric sitting on the counter.
I glimpse his back and see evidence of a rather large tattoo inked there. It’s up around his shoulder blades, but when I try to get a better look at what it is, he pulls the t-shirt over his head,hiding all evidence. All I caught was a macabre depiction of what appeared to be a crow flying away with something in its talons as a healthy amount of blood drips from it.
Lovely.
Like an idiot, I expect to see Vanessa strolling into the kitchen, only to find the Stepmonster. She hears my dad talking in the other room and doesn’t so much as bat an eye at the smell consuming the kitchen. She’s even humming. Before I allow the delusional thought to cross my mind that Blythe isn’t about to ream me out, her happy demeanor collapses when she realizes Jase isn’t the only person in the kitchen.
As soon as her eyes land on me, that humming cuts out, and Blythe looks down at the plate in my hands. Now she’s the one who looks like she’s about to transform into a ravenous werewolf with the way her upper lip peels up slightly in disgust. Sure enough, I get the same spiel as always, where she swears talking to me is like “talking to a wall” and that I clearly have no regard for her wellbeing, as I already know how the mere smell ofanythingI fucking eat makes her “queasy.” Blythe even begins to fan her eyes so as to not ruin her makeup, despite them being bone-dry.
Of all things, Jase plucks the plate out of my hands and practically shovels an entire piece of bacon into his mouth. “It’s mine, actually. Our little Ali here was just moving it out of the way so she could clean up the island.”
The fact he purposely says this around a mouthful of food makes it obvious he’s trying to goad a reaction from her. And Blythe is, cringing, regarding him like he’s a Neanderthal. However, good manners apparently precede her inherent hatred of me, because she forces a smile and spares him a lecture. Yep, it seemsI’mthe only one capable of making her nauseous.
I’d say Jase just saved me, but all I see is red, having to watch the jackass eat every last piece ofmybacon as I’m now stuck having to scrub down the kitchen island that I haven’t even used.
To add insult to injury, Blythe begins lecturing me about how I need to do a better job cleaning up after myself, because since I got back, “the stove and counters have been splattered” and “those kinds of messes aren’t ever an issue whenyou’renot here.”
I’m saved by the bell, or rather the cell, as her phone rings, and only once she’s too preoccupied with whoever is on the other line does Jase lean toward me and whisper, “You haven’t even cooked in here, have you?”
It’s not really a question, but I still offer a Pan Am smile all the same. “Nope, not one damn time.”
And it’s true. I didn’t even use the microwave until ten minutes ago. Since coming back from school, I’ve skipped breakfast, made sure not to be home during the day, and eaten leftovers from Castelli’s for dinner, always in my room and out of the range of Blythe’s “sensitivities.” Yet, I’m somehow still culpable for the kitchen island being splattered with some kind of red sauce and smeared with what looks like pink icing.
Between being hungry and Jase eating my food, I’m already pissed. Add in the lectures from both Blythe and my dad, along with now having to scrub and rewash the counter, I’m past rational thinking. By the time my sister comes waltzing into the kitchen, I’m lucky I don’t have literal smoke pouring out of my ears.
“What the hell?”I’m well aware there’s a more diplomatic way to approach this, but literally everything that’s happened this past half hour wouldn’t even be happening if it wasn’t for Vanessa and her bullshit.
She has the audacity to look as if I slapped her. “What?”
“If you plan on stealing my car again, how about giving me a heads-up first? Idohave a job, you know.”
Vanessa crosses her arms over her chest like she’s giving herself a hug. “I’m low on gas, and there wasn’t enough to make it to Bridget’s office and then back home.”
“Yes, if only there were these buildings with pumps you could use to put more gasoline into your car… Oh wait,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
My mockery evidently flips her bitch switch, because that defensiveness is obliterated as she glares at me with an expression I know all too well (though I’m used to it coming from the Stepmonster). “I’d explain, but it’s not like I’d expect you of all people to understand.”
Meof all people? What the hell is that supposed to mean? “Try me.”
Vanessa’s voice carries enough that it nabs Blythe’s attention, and like always, she’s ready to come to my sister’s defense. She doesn’t even know what happened, yet with the limited information she overheard, our stepmom declares, “Your sister has been battling severe migraines this past year, and the smell of gasoline can trigger an attack.”
She says this as if the “duh” is implied. Likeeveryoneshould already be aware of this.
Then Blythe throws out the additional slap to my face with, “Honestly, Ali, it wouldn’t hurt to have a little compassion.”
