The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,297

bullshit. You know what it did to my life.” I say, my voice hoarse and thick with guilt and clogged by my unshed, angry tears.

She is completely unmoved by my anguish. “If you had any balls, you’d take all those papers your grandfather’s people stole when they raided our office. If they didn’t destroy them already. If you would just look at them, you’d see what we did. And you’ll feel like shit that you didn’t help her.”

“I knew she was wrong. And, it’s my family,” to my shame my voice breaks, but I can’t help it.

“Your family turned their backs on you. And you still defend them.” She points a finger in my face, her anger building with each word. “You had the power to make a difference. Instead you used their pain to make your disgusting poverty porn and when you got bored you moved on.”

I rear back. “Matilda, how can you say that? You know how untrue that is. We all went through hell and we all wanted to do something with our pain.” I stare at her, fully expecting remorse and apology to be the next expressions I see on her face. Instead, her scowl deepens.

“A hell you led us to. All because you were so caught up in your little fantasy of rebellion, you didn’t notice he was pimp. And then, you stabbed your friends in the back, you put on your cloak of respectability and got on with your life.”

Matty’s words are heavy hands flying, full strength, through the air intent on total destruction. They wound all the tender places I’d left unprotected around her. Because I thought she was my friend. How wrong I was.

For a moment, we stare at each other.

I’m reminded of that moment in Thelma and Louise, where they sat with trouble on their rear and a cliff to nowhere at their front. When her chin tilts upward and her eyes harden, I know that just like the infamous duo in the movie, she’s decided that there’s no going back. She hits the gas and drives our friendship right off a cliff.

“When it came time for you to put some actual skin in the game, you chickened out so you could save your grandfather. Because deep down, you know what he is.” Her eyes glitter with the kind of satisfaction that comes from the relief of a burden carried for far too long.

The depth of the malice in her voice steals my breath. The absolute gall of it, though, floods my veins with ice cold contempt.

I straighten my spine and let my hands uncurl from the tight fists that formed while I listened to her speak. I put my pain away. I will not give her the satisfaction of seeing me unravel.

We face each other, twin thunderclouds. High pressure, full beyond bursting, and spitting down lighting and thunder like it’s what we were born to do.

“You are right about one thing. My grandfather did shape me. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have had anyone.” I jab a finger sharply at her. “And yes, I married Marcel to get back in his good graces, but it was also, at the time, what I wanted.”

“Because it was going to make him happy,” she charges.

I stiffen at the intonation of her word. “Why is it wrong for me to want to make my grandfather happy? Because he’s a man? He was the only person in the whole world who hasn’t ever let me down. Can’t say that about any of the women in my life.” I say with a pointed look of my own.

She flushes and looks like she might want to say something. But I don’t let her.

“I know I failed you. But I was trying to help. Because I love you, Matty. But what you just said … I’ll never forgive.” My voice is even and steady, but there is no mistaking the rage behind them. I feel incandescent with it and if my words were flames borne of it, they would be hot enough to flay the skin off her bones.

I see a flash of remorse in her eyes before she lifts her chin upward defiantly. “Well, at least we’re finally on the same page.”

I can’t hide my regret; I’m nearly drowning in it. I wish things had been different.

At one point in my life, she’d been my best friend.

But now, all of that is done. Friendships live and die by the choices we make. She’s made hers