Gabe snorted.
Tristan shot him a glare and continued, “—I knew you were the same person in the journal, the girl he’d talked about.”
“So you felt the need to find me and torture me?” That couldn’t be my voice bordering on hysteria.
“No.” Tristan shifted on his feet. He glanced up at the ceiling then settled his eyes on me. “I found you because he’s my half-brother. I went looking for you because, until six months ago, I didn’t even know he existed. I searched for you because he was sick…” Tristan’s voice cracked. “He was really sick, Lisa, and I needed to know…” His eyes pooled with tears. “…I needed to know if I had the—”A shudder wracked his taut body. “—the same thing.”
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The knot in my stomach became a huge, coiling rattlesnake, ready to strike and kill with its venom. And I was the target. I swallowed, but my throat was dry. “The same thing?” I croaked.
Tristan cursed and ran his fingers through his thick, messy hair. “He — he had narcissistic tendencies, schizophrenia, and a—” He squeezed his eyes shut then pushed them open again. “—a god complex. He took medicine, medicine I think my father’s company provided for him. I couldn’t find the paper trail, even though I tried.” Tristan heaved a sigh then shrugged. “Six months ago, I confronted my father about Taylor, and he mentioned that I had the same bad seed. He said I was the same, and the last thing I want to be is the same, Lisa. I just needed to know what set him off, what killed him, what drove him to insanity.”
Hearts don’t make sounds when they break, but there’s pain — God is there pain. One minute everything’s fine, you’re able to breathe, able to feel blood pump through your veins. And the very next minute? You’re unable to focus on anything but the tightness in your chest as the world falls from underneath your feet and takes your heart right along with it.
“Well, you should have just asked, Tristan.” I looked around at all the faces in the room. “It was me.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I’d killed him. It finally occurred to me one night when I woke up from another nightmare. Had I not gone along with that first dare, to embarrass that kid, to post the video to Shame… to hit on him then dump drinks all over his lap… I shook my head, knowing the truth. I’d said yes to Taylor the first time, and the second, even the tenth and eleventh. So by default, I’d killed him. Because I’d helped feed the monster that he was, and in the end, I’d simply run out of food. —Mel
Tristan
“NO.” I SHOOK my head, refusing to believe her words. My heart was breaking at her expression — she actually believed that to be true. “Lisa, it wasn’t you. He was sick.”
“I was sick,” Lisa said in a hollow voice. “A while ago you said that you can feed fear. He was my fear.” She swallowed. “I fed him on a daily basis, and when I finally stopped… he lost his mind. When he died, I walked away. And I wish I could say I regret it.” Her eyes flashed. “His death was the best thing that ever happened to me. And I’m not sorry.”
“Lisa.” Gabe moved in front of me. “Nobody says you have to be sorry that he’s dead. He was a horrible person.”
“You knew.” Lisa sniffed. “You all knew about Tristan?”
Gabe stared right through me, his eyes blurry, his face tight. He remained completely still.
Wes looked away and then down.
“Right.” Lisa moved out of the bed.
Nobody stopped her, but God I wanted to reach for her, to apologize, on my hands and knees if necessary.
When she walked by me, I grabbed her hand. “Lisa, please don’t go. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you. I couldn’t. What he did to you, I didn’t want to be a reminder. That was selfish. I know that now, but in my mind I thought I was protecting you.”
Lisa hung her head. “Protecting someone by lying about who you really are isn’t protecting. It’s the most selfish thing you can do, because, in the end, you’re still not giving a hundred percent to the person who deserves it the most. Please let me go.”
Hands shaking, I let her go. I let her walk out the door.
The girls hurried after her. Kiersten grabbed the keys out of Wes’s hands, and they were gone.
I slumped to the floor and banged my head against the wall.
“So…” Gabe groaned. “She’s going to hate us forever.”
“Or longer,” I added. Fiery agony pulsed through me with every heartbeat. My heart wouldn’t stop hurting; my entire body hurt. How was it possible for someone so sick and twisted like Taylor to keep impacting people’s lives even now? Two years after his death. I hated that guy, freaking hated him, but maybe not as much as I hated myself for not rising above it, for not telling her the truth she had deserved to hear.
“If it makes you feel better,” said Gabe, lifting the journal in the air, “you look nothing like him.”
“No,” I snapped. “What would make me feel better is the girl I could possibly love for the rest of my life not hating me until I’m eighty.”
Wes whistled and shoved his hands into his pockets. “So, what now?”