“Too what?” she asked, hands stuck to her hips. “Too cute? Nice? Interested?”
“Clingy!” I yelled again, too frustrated to keep my voice down. “He’s obsessed with you, Eliza. It’s not healthy. It’s weird.”
“Well, I guess that makes two of you.”
I froze, her words hitting me like a slap to the face. I stared at her as the silence mounted and I could tell she regretted it instantly. I could tell, the second she said it, that she wanted to reel it back in, swallow it back down, but no matter how she apologized, no matter how she backtracked, it was out in the open now. The way she really felt.
“I didn’t mean that—” she started, but I held my hand up, shook my head.
“Clearly you did.”
“I didn’t,” she said. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t. It’s just … I have a lot going on right now, okay? And I really like him, and you’ve been trying so hard to break us apart—”
“Get out,” I said, standing up myself and pointing to the door. I had to look to the side then, lip quivering, trying not to show the mounting tears crawling up my throat. The cry threatening to spring free with a single glance in her direction. “I tried to warn you.”
“Margot—”
“I tried to keep you safe,” I said, finally turning to face her, surprised to find that she was crying, too. “I’m not breaking you apart, Eliza. He’s breaking us apart. He’s manipulating you.”
“Just sit back down,” she said, gesturing to the bed. “We can talk about it.”
“I already tried that,” I interrupted, my voice cold as I grabbed her wrist and ushered her out of my bedroom. It wasn’t the first time we had tried to hurt each other like that, our words more painful than any physical act of violence; our tongues sharper than any freshly whetted blade. We knew each other’s weaknesses better than we knew our own—we had touched every single soft spot, pushed on them like purple bruises just because we could—but until that moment, I never stopped to wonder what would happen if we went for the kill. Never even considered the possibility of one fatal blow that had the power to end it all.
“I tried to talk but you wouldn’t listen,” I continued. “You’re choosing him over me.”
“That’s not true,” she said, whimpering in the hall.
“Congratulations, you fell for it.”
“Margot, stop—”
“He’s gonna hurt you, Eliza. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Please don’t say that.”
“And whenever it happens,” I said, staring at her in the hallway, those bright pink eyes and tear-streaked cheeks begging me not to say it, “don’t call me.”
CHAPTER 40
I wake up on Christmas morning to a text from Mr. Jefferson.
Merry Christmas, sweetie. Saw your car drive by last week.
I lie in bed, staring at the message, my own cursor taunting me to come up with something to say. Before I can make up my mind, it pings again.
Would love to see you today.
I sigh, my head sinking deep into my pillow, thinking about the last time I’d seen Eliza’s parents. It was the summer she died, the night of her funeral. Even then, I had been avoiding them, the guilt I felt over Eliza’s death rearing up like a storm surge every time I drove by their house.
I’ll never forget their faces that day, the makeup smudged heavily beneath Mrs. Jefferson’s eyes as Mr. Jefferson pushed her around the room by the small of her back. Shaking hands, glumly nodding. Accepting condolences on her behalf.
“I just wish you had been there,” he said to me that night, a haggardness in his face I had never seen in him before. We were sitting on the back porch together, tie loosened around his neck, and I could smell the bourbon on his breath, warm and stale. I knew, whatever came next, he’d probably regret in the morning. “You kept her safe.”
I stayed silent, wondering if Eliza ever told him about our argument; the things we said to each other that were so hard to take back. I doubted it. She had died with her parents still thinking I was a good person, and I watched as he continued to sip, picturing myself in bed that night, staring at my phone.
“Whenever it happens, don’t call me.”
“You talked sense into her,” he continued. “She listened to you.”
“Not always,” I said, looking down at my lap. “Sometimes I think she did things specifically because I told her not to.”