Fast & Wet (The Fast 2)

“What? No, she didn’t. Why would she do that? My mom loves you.”

I can see the confusion in her eyes, and it guts me. I never wanted to take her family away from her, no matter how much I hate them. No matter how much they hate me.

She goes back to the letters, her hand covers up her gasps, and she wracks with sobs reading the confirmation of what I’ve been trying to keep from her. All the emails, all the letters poisoning us against each other. Years worth.

“Has she been calling you, Cole?” She looks up at me, tears streaming down her face, daring me to answer.

“Not for a long time, but recently again, yeah.”

“I don’t understand, this isn’t right. Why would my mom do this? None of this makes sense. How could you not tell me this? How could you keep all of this from me?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I repeat and try to explain, but she cuts me off, caught somewhere between livid and destroyed.

“You were never going to tell me? You were just going to let me go on thinking everything was okay?”

“I tried to warn you, but I couldn’t make myself do it, I couldn’t make myself hurt you like this. Look at you,” I call out what I knew was going to happen, Emily’s world is turned upside down, the illusion pulled out from under her.

I can’t stomach the thought of Emily experiencing even a fraction of the pain I went through because of my family, much less do it to her. No one should have to feel the kind of pain that comes when your parents willfully destroy everything you love. It’s not something you get over.

Emily’s voice elevates another octave and her face grows impossibly red, “You could have stopped all of this! Six years ago! We could have worked through this together years ago! Instead, you left me. You let me live a lie and you’ve still been lying to me! Were you ever going to tell me, Cole? You know what, never mind, fuck you!” She screams at me and throws all of the papers, the photos, in their box. She tucks it tight to her body like it’s a treasure chest instead of Pandora’s Box. “Get out of my way!”

“I know what I should have done, but I did what I thought was best. You were in school. You hated me, but you were doing exactly what you were born to do. You’re asking me now why I couldn’t hurt you even more? I can’t do that, Em. I won’t do it.”

“Get out of my way,” she tries to shove me, but I don’t budge. I can’t let her go. I can’t lose her again.

“I’ve felt nothing but shame and regret for six fucking years, and I could not hurt you more. Take your family away from you, prove her right that everything I touch is toxic and I’d ruin your life,” I point to the letters. “I won’t fucking apologize for not hurting you more.”

“You promised me! You promised you’d respect my decisions, but you’ve been lying all along! All of you! You’ve made a complete fool of me!”

“No…”

“Yes! I’ve felt naive, ugly, plain, nerdy, a thousand things. But I have never felt stupid before. Before now. Let me leave, move.”

“I can’t, Em. Please.” If I move out of this doorway, I could lose her forever.

“Move,” she wails at me, her face bright red, a vein in her temple pulsing. “Or are you going to force me to stay here against my will?”

Her eyes squint. She says the words with so much venom it nearly brings me to my knees.

“Oh fuck, come on, don’t say that shit.”

“Move.”

I step out of her way, willing my bones and muscles to move against everything they instinctually want to do—keep her here safe with me forever—and she brushes past me out of the closet.

Watching her storm away, I chase her down the hallway, my heart racing and panic pumping through my arteries. Her horrible words reverberate through my ears. “Jesus Christ, when did you become so fucking cruel?”

She spins around, strands of brown hair wet from tears, and stuck to her face, “When you ripped out my heart and made me this way!”

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you!” She’s still clutching the shoebox full of nightmares and tries to put shoes on with shaking hands before she grabs her car keys off the kitchen counter.

“Don’t leave. It’s pouring, you’re not even dressed,” I’m grabbing at any excuse, but it’s true, she’s still in her pajamas, and the rain is coming down in buckets now.

“I am not staying here with you, stay away from me!”

“Then I’ll leave, you stay,” I say, putting up my hands, offering her some space to cool down. She can’t drive an hour back to Cambridge in this weather.