I’m sorry for passing out, but I don’t know where to begin. If it was the other way around, and he fell asleep on me, I’d be upset. So I step back, trying to escape.
He reaches out, grabs my arm. “What are you hiding?”
I tighten my grasp on the bag full of letters. I can’t let him see them. “Nothing. It’s private.”
“Come on. Show me,” he says reaching around, grabbing for the bag.
My heart is raging like a river. I don’t know what I’m more afraid of. Him seeing the letters, or him taking them away.
He. Can’t. Have. Them. Taking them would be like stealing years of my life. That’s how it feels. I won’t let him.
“Let go, Kyle. It’s none of your business.” I twist, trying to get out of his grasp, but his hands tighten.
He gives me a strange look. One that makes me curious about whether he knows. I shove my fist into his chest. “No, Kyle. Leave me alone.”
He reaches around and rips the bag. Letters spill to the floor. His words to me in a scattered pile at our feet. My heart is among those letters, as is my pride.
He bends to pick up the envelopes. Flips one over. He realizes what they are instantly. Tension rolls off him. His shoulders tense under his shirt. I think about running away, hiding the embarrassment flaming my cheeks. But I hold my ground. I want those letters. It means everything to me to read his words.
When he stands, his expression is one of surprise.
“I’m sorry, Kyle. I-I found them, and wanted to read what you had to say. I wanted to know you, know what you wrote me.”
He crumples the envelopes into a fist. Pain travels over his features. “Then why didn’t you read them when I wrote them? Why send them back?”
“I didn’t know. I-I never knew.” Tears sting my lashes, but I force them away.
He kicks the bag. “So you go through my things? You steal them?” He’s shouting. Shaking his head in disbelief. “Have you read any of them?”
My first thought is to lie, but he’ll know the truth soon enough. So I nod. “Yes, I’ve read two.”
He grinds his teeth, his jaws hardening into a line.
A girl with frizzy red hair, a flower dress, and cowboy boots comes out of a practice room. She’s holding her clarinet. “Can you two keep it down? Some of us are trying to practice."
“Yeah, sorry.” I bend down and start stacking the letters.
“You aren’t the person I knew. I don’t know what I was thinking, getting involved. You’ve changed. You’re different.” As he’s talking, he’s pulling the letters I’m stacking from my hands and placing them closer to him.
My hands start to shake. He thinks I’m different, that I’ve changed. Well no fucking duh. I wonder how much he would’ve remained the same if he’d seen what I saw—bodies on the floor, lying in their own blood. Asleep forever.
I rip the letter I’m holding in half. Throw it at him. The pieces smack him in the face, and he flinches. He stands, and I stand too. Shove him in the chest. He falls against the door to the piano room. I stand on my tiptoes, get up in his face.
“You think I’ve changed? Well, yeah. I have. And you want to know why?”
His lips are pressed together in a tight line. He’s staring at me, searching my face for what, I’m not sure. Finally, he nods.
And I’m going to tell him. The truth. “It’s because I came home late on the night my parents died. I saw two men leave my house by the back door. One was holding a gun. He was talking to another guy. When they left I went into the house, and saw my parents dead.”
I’m so angry I’m seeing red. It’s dripping into my eyes, blinding me. All I see is blood. Lots and lots of blood. Endless blood. And it’s his father’s fault.
And I’m so furious I’m beating him with my fists, pushing him against the door. All I want is to hurt him the way I’ve been hurting. “You want to know who the guy with the gun was? The person who stole my family right out from under me?”
“Maddie,” I hear him whisper, but it doesn’t register.
“It. Was. Your. Father!” I’m shouting now. In a voice I don’t recognize. I think it’s the sound of anguish. “He killed my parents. Destroyed everything that meant anything.” I heave a deep