Page 30 of Vicious Little Liar
“Then what is the problem?”
“You. You are my problem, Andres.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but I steamroll right over him, allowing years of pent up anger and resentment to pour out of me.
“You can’t just insert yourself into my life after being absent from it for the past five years. That’s not how things work.”
“Why the hell not?”
Is he being serious right now? “You abandoned me!” I yell.
His cheeks flush, and I catch a brief flicker of regret before he masks it, hardening his gaze. “I have my reasons.”
“No. You have excuses.” Potent fury unravels deep inside of me. I know he isn’t this stupid. Andres was my life raft. The only thing I had that was keeping me afloat. And in the blink of an eye, he took my lifeline from me.
My chest rises and falls so fast it hurts.
“I became a problem for you. An inconvenience. I get it. You had and always will have other priorities because of who you are. But don’t think for a second that you can show up now, force your way back into my life, and expect that I will welcome you back with open arms. Come on, Andres. We were optimistic in our youth, believing a friendship between a DeAnde and a Castro could ever work. But neither one of us has ever been delusional.”
“You don’t understand,” he says, his words laced with anger. “Your father murdered my father. I was under a lot of pressure. There were family expectations—” He cuts his words off, shaking his head, and an unreadable look flashes over his eyes.
“I’m sure there was. But none of that excuses what you did.”
His nostrils flare. It’d be funny if he hadn’t broken me so thoroughly before. I’m the one that deserves to be angry. I’m the one that lost everything the day he turned his back on me. Not him.
“For three years, you made me believe I was important to you. That I mattered.”
“You did. You still do.”
“Bullshit.” My voice cracks. “You trained me to rely on you.” I bite the inside of my cheek until the taste of blood hits my tongue. “I was doing fine on my own. I’d learned to survive.” My vision blurs, and I have to blink back my tears. I refuse to cry in front of him. I won’t give him the satisfaction of breaking me again. “And then you came along, Andres DeAnde, the white knight sent to save the day.” I scoff. “You made promises you never had any intention of keeping, so spare me your excuses. I’ve listened to enough of your bullshit. What happened tofriends don't lie, huh? Or is it that we were never truly friends?”
“You know what we have stretches far beyond friendship. Not once have I ever lied to you, Leti. You know that.”
“Do I?” I ask. “Because from where I’m sitting, all you’ve ever given me are lies. Even now, Andres. You saywhat we haveas if there is anything still left between us. Allow me to enlighten you. There is not.”
He runs his hand over his head, fingers tugging at the short, dark strands of his hair. “What do you want? Speak it now, and I’ll make it so.”
I wait for him to lift his head again and stare deep into his amber eyes. He needs to hear the truth of what I’m about to say. Maybe then he’ll abandon whatever stupid game it is that he’s playing and we can both move on.
“Nothing. I want absolutely nothing from you.”
Abruptly, he stands to his feet. “This has been a trying night, and I’m sure you are tired.” As though he summoned her out of thin air, a heavyset, middle-aged woman appears in the doorway. “Maria is the keeper of the house. She will show you to your room for the night so you can rest. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
Acknowledging that I’ve been dismissed, I rise to my feet. Clenching my fists at my sides, I lift my chin and stare down my nose at him. It’s more difficult than you’d think, given our obvious height difference, but somehow I manage.
“There isn’t anything left to talk about. The sooner you realize that, the sooner we can both get on with our lives.”
I walk to Maria but stumble right as Andres exhales a long-suffering sigh. Catching myself on a nearby table, I straighten my spine, determined not to let him see me shaken when he says, “There was a time when you and I used to dream about this moment.”
Freezing where I stand with my back still to him, I hold my breath, waiting to see if he’ll continue.
“Do you remember?” he asks. “You, here. In my home. We’d play thewhat ifgame.”
Closing my eyes, I fight back the need to turn around.
“What if you’d been born into a different family?”he says aloud, and it’s like I’m sixteen again. I’m transported back to the day where we laid on a blanket under a big red maple tree and stared up at the clear blue skies.“What if you were free to be with me?”
I shake my head.Stop, Leti. Just stop. Don’t go there.Thewhat ifgame was one of my favorites that we’d play. It was the only time in my life when I let myself hope.
