He toughened, the twitch of his left eye the only sign of emotion. “You were going to leave? After we were together on the island?”
I didn’t even consider backtracking. It was time to lay everything out on the table. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she told me to and that’s how it worked between us – she told me what to do, and I did it.”
“I don’t get you, Emily.” That simple statement pushed the knife farther into my gut. I’d thought that he was the one person who had understood.
“And that just validates why we don’t belong together.”
He shook his head, rocking backward as though he were too angry to continue the conversation. Just as I thought he might turn to leave, he twisted back at me. “How do you still let her have that much power over you? She’s gone. You’ve been released. But you’re like a victim with Stockholm syndrome, still defending her, still looking to her to tell you what’s ‘allowed.’ When will you see that you don’t need her to tell you how to feel about things?”
I hadn’t cried throughout the entire service, and suddenly, now, my eyes burned and my throat constricted. “You’re one to criticize someone for using their power.”
“You’re right. I like having things my way and there are certain places in my life I demand that. And if that’s what you need, someone to tell you how to dress and what to say and where to live and what to drive and how to fuck, then I can be that for you.”
He bore into me with wide eyes, a single finger raised to enunciate his point. “But I’m not going to manipulate you into choosing things that will make you unhappy. I’m not going to allow you to stop being a woman who can think and decide for herself. If that’s what you get off on, then you’re right, we need to be over.”
Once again he turned as if to leave, then spun back around. “She didn’t die because you loved me, Emily.”
A tear rolled down my cheek. “But maybe she died because you loved me.”
“Oh, Jesus. This is talking in circles.” With an abrupt burst of rage, he kicked at one of the wood-slat folding chairs. “I loved her, too, remember?”
I twisted my lips, trying to hold in the sob. “It’s not the same.”
“It doesn’t matter if it was the same. I loved her, and I wouldn’t have done anything to hurt her like this.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?” The shitty thing was I did believe him. I’d always believed he loved her, but our argument had spun out of control, as arguments do, and I was speaking out of pain. I was picking at the places that I knew were his weakest. “You let her go off with Michelis in the first place.”
“And how was I supposed to stop her?” His subtext was clear – I’d kept her and you weren’t happy, I let her go and you’re not happy. “Do you want to hear that I blame myself for this? Because I do. I do, and I have to live with that, but I don’t believe that my punishment should be living without you.”
I flinched because I did believe my punishment should be living without him.
He walked toward me. “Do I need to prove myself? Should I go after Michelis to show you how upset I am? He’s the one who was responsible, and we both know it. Should I meet with him? Settle things once and for all?”
I folded my arms tighter around myself. “It’s what she wanted you to do. Maybe you should.”
“What do you want me to do?”
I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know the answer. Did I want him to avenge her? Maybe. Did I want him to start a war with a man who had more power than he did? Maybe not.
“See, that’s what this is really about. You said it earlier – you don’t trust yourself.” He closed the distance between us as he spoke, cornering me. “You don’t have faith in your own opinions. You don’t think I had anything to do with her death, and you don’t think I should confront my uncle about this, but you still can’t speak up, can you? Your whole life is a reflection of this. It’s why you waited so long to put your mother in a good facility. It’s why you have a job that’s beneath you. It’s why you can’t get the guts to go audition for something you believe in. It’s why you’re stuck, and why you’ll always be stuck because you’re not capable of making your own decisions.”
His words were bitter and painful in their accuracy. I raised my hand to slap him, but he was faster than I was, and he caught my wrist before I made contact. He held me like that, his fingers both heat and ice where they touched my skin, his eyes searing into me with righteous indignation and conviction.
I held his stare. I held it, my lips tight, my body rigid. See, I said with my eyes. You use your power against me too.
He understood, either because he realized it for himself or he really could read me that well. His gaze fell, and he released his grip on me, a silent surrender.
With his guard lowered, I slapped him.
“How was that decision for you?” My hand stung, but I refused to let on. “And how’s this one – I’m going home. To my new apartment. Without you. You do whatever the fuck you want about your uncle. I won’t tell you what to do because I don’t care.”
“If that’s what you need to do, then that’s what you need to do.” It was the coldest he’d ever been with me. “And I’ll take care of Michelis. He’s taken too much away from me, and it’s time for me to stand up and make him pay.”