“Abram, man, don’t tell me about my own sister.” He sounded irritated. “I’ve known Mona her entire life. She’s my sister. She doesn’t even like people touching her.”
I snapped. “And why the fuck do you think that is, Leo? You think people are just fucking born that way? You think that’s normal? Did it ever occur to you to ask her why that is?”
“Would you listen?” Now he was yelling. “I’ve asked her, okay? I asked her why. I asked if anyone hurt her. She said no, flat out.”
She said no? That was a surprise. Had she been lying? No. She wouldn’t lie. She wasn’t a liar, I believed that now. Mona didn’t lie unless it was to protect someone she loved, unless she felt like she had no choice. So maybe—like she said in Chicago years ago—it really is just as simple as: Mona doesn’t like unexpected touch.
That didn’t seem right either. I’d touched her unexpectedly without her flinching away.
Before I could think through this revelation, Leo exhaled loudly. “You’re being a fucking psycho about this. Stop. Just fucking stop. My answer is final. I’m not giving you her number so you can make an idiot of yourself. And yeah, she’s my sister, so I don’t want guys harassing her, okay? That includes you.”
I rubbed my forehead, shutting my eyes, working to get my temper under control. “Then why don’t you call her and ask her permission? Can you do that? Please?”
“No!” he shouted. Then he continued, quieter, “I know you’re mad now, but you’ll see I’m right.”
I laughed, my chest, throat, and mouth full of broken glass, because what else could I do? “You’re an idiot.”
He also huffed a bitter-sounding laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe I am, because I’ll still be here, I’ll still be your friend when you come to your fucking senses.” Leo sounded tired, spent. “I’m just trying to save you from yourself, man. It’s not worth the pain, okay? Call me when you see reason.”
Not worth the pain.
Fuck it. The next time I saw Leo, I would punch him in the face. All those years, listening to him talk about Mona as though she had no feelings, feeding into this narrative about her being completely callous and inhuman-levels of resilient.
Before Aspen, I’d believed him. It was easy and convenient to think of her that way.
But now, I hated it. I hated how they and everyone else talked about her like she was this invulnerable, dispassionate alien thing, too perfect, untouchable, unknowable. At some point, Mona and I would have to discuss it, because I wasn’t going to be able to watch their continued abuse without seriously losing my shit.
Something has to give.
Mona opened the door and my head snapped up. Before she could close it, I was on her again, reaching for her hand to draw her through the opening, shutting the door, and pushing her back against it.
Unthinkingly, acting on pure instinct, I fit my hands under her T-shirt, seeking her skin. Smoothing my palms up, down, and then around her sides to her back, I touched my lips to hers. My heart suddenly in my throat, my irate internal rantings about her shitty siblings faded to background noise. Suddenly, I didn’t want to talk or think about them at all. I didn’t want to give them another second of this precious time.
Later. We would talk about it later. Much later.
“Hey,” she whispered, pressing her mouth to mine, catching my bottom lip with a quick nip, and then moving her inebriating kisses to my cheek, jaw, neck. “Are you okay?” she whispered against my ear. She’d also moved her hands under my shirt, pausing for a split second, and then pulling me closer.
I laughed, incredulous. “Are you kidding? I’m fantastic. Are you okay?”