Damage (Collateral Damage 2)

I’m watching the lovebirds from my place on the bed when there’s a knock on the door early in the evening of the sixth night. I barely have a chance to sit up before Stefan opens the door. He stands there and looks at me, and I wonder if the crease between his eyebrows has become permanent.

I wonder if this is what he wanted out of this whole insane arrangement. Wonder if it’s what he expected.

He may not hate me, but I wonder if he hates himself because the other night, he did what I predicted he would. He took.

But is what I did fighting?

Growing up in my father’s world, you learn. Slowly or quickly, you learn. You learn to take your lot and you plot your escape.

I think what’s hardest is that I’ve stopped plotting. I’m not the fighter I was or thought I was.

In my father’s house, I was alone.

In Stefan’s house, I am alone.

I will always be alone. I think this is what hurts the most with him, because as much as I hate to admit it, it does hurt. I thought—I stupidly thought—he was different. I thought maybe together we wouldn’t be alone.

Fuck. If I cry one more tear, I’m going to rip out my own tear ducts.

“What do you want?” I ask, getting off the bed to stand, using that moment to force those tears back.

He looks me over as he walks inside. I’m wearing a pair of white linen pants and a white sleeveless blouse. I’m barefoot.

I fold my arms across my chest as I wait for his reply.

“They’re noisy,” he says, walking to the bird cage.

“Let me take them away from here, then.”

Three things surprise me then. The first is that he puts a finger inside the cage. The second is that the female bird goes to him. The third, and most strange, is that when she does, he gently caresses her.

“Did you name them?”

“She’s Marguerite,” I say, walking toward the table. “He’s Mephistopheles.”

Stefan pulls his hand out and looks at me with surprise. “Not Faust?”

“No. Faust loved Marguerite, even if that love was misguided. Mephistopheles represents the devil.” He’s clever enough to get my point. I walk away, out onto the balcony. “And the birds are not in love. She hates him.”

“Dramatic,” he says, joining me outside.

“I have time on my hands to think up the drama. What do you want?”

“The petition was granted. I’m your brother’s legal guardian.”

“Already?”

He nods.

I wonder how much money exchanged hands for that to happen.

“Congratulations,” I say. “One more notch on your side of the who-can-be-a-bigger-asshole column. Does this mean you’re in the lead?”

I see him bite back what he wants to say. His expression doesn’t change, and I get the feeling he may be counting to ten. “Get packed, Gabriela. We’re leaving for New York in a few hours.”

“New York?” I say stupidly. I’m so surprised that it takes me a moment to process it. After that moment, though, surprise morphs into suspicion. “Why?”

“Don’t you want to see Gabe? Celebrate his half-birthday?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Millie overheard you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t I tell you about his half-birthday? Why would I? Why would I tell you anything that matters?”

“Gabriela,” he starts. He reaches out to me but I draw back. He drops his arm and walks to the railing.

I watch him stand there, looking out over the sea, and I think how different this could have been. How different I wish it were.

When he turns to me, his features are schooled. “I thought you might want to bring him here. Would you like that?”

What? He’s asking if I want to bring my brother here?

“Gabe? Bring him here as in Sicily? To live with us?”

He nods.

I’m shocked.

“Why? What game are you playing?”

“I’m not playing any game.”

“How does it benefit you?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why? Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re sad and your brother makes you happy.”

Fuck.

Tears burn my eyes and I turn my face away. “Why do you do this?” I ask, unable to keep the quaver from my voice.

He comes to me, stands behind me and puts his hands on the railing on either side of me. He’s so close, I can smell his cologne, the same one he always wears. I can feel the heat of his body. And some part of me, some stupid, masochistic part of me, it wants to lean into him. Wants to lay my head on his shoulder and let him hold me.

“It would be easier if you were just one way,” I say. “I don’t have the strength to keep up with you.” My breath trembles when I draw it in.

He wraps his arms around me and when he does, I can’t help but do what I wanted to do. I lean back into him. Because what I said, it’s worse than that.