He says it, not like an insult, but like the truth we both know it to be.
“Doesn’t matter though,” Parrish continues, reaching up with a single finger to twirl a wet strand of my hair until I slap him away. “Because even if you don’t fit in, Tess will never let you go.” The smirk that takes over his face infuriates me to no end. Just as I’ve zoned in on his insecurities, he’s doing the same to me. “Never,” he emphasizes, the two syllables of that word as sharp as glass. “Trust me: I know her. Having you here is all Tess has ever wanted, but you know what else?” Chasm stands up from the bed, like he knows this is about to get ugly. “You’re a sickening disappointment.”
“Parrish, let’s get out of here,” Chasm says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks. His face is twisted in wry amusement, but I can tell his interest in the entire situation is fast waning. He slides his phone from his pocket, glances at the screen for a moment, and then frowns before looking back up. “We have better things to do than hang with your long-lost sister.”
My eyes flick to him and then switch back to Parrish’s brown ones, dark with anger and pierced through with a thorn of familiar hurt. Having me here hurts him.
I know it; I could see it from the very first moment I stepped into this ice cavern they call a house.
“This girl is not my sister,” Parrish repeats, a phrase I’m sure he’ll have to utter as many times as I protest the name Mia.
“You’re right,” I start as he turns away from me. Even before I say the words, I know that I’m going to regret them. “I’m not your sister because Tess isn’t your mother: she’s mine. You don’t seem to have one yourself. Didn’t she run off when you were a kid? I can see why. Clearly, you drove her away.”
Parrish hits the wall beside my door so hard that his hand must hurt, but he doesn’t stop walking, storming out of the room and down the hall as Chasm passes a stricken look my way.
“Jesus, Little Sister. That was fucked-up. Were you raised in a barn or something?”
Chasm takes off after his friend, leaving me alone and trembling and wondering how I could’ve said something so awful.
I’d say that Parrish Vanguard brings it out of me, but that isn’t fair. I’m hurting on the inside, so I’m lashing out. He’s doing the same, but how do we reconcile that?
The answer is something I’m afraid of: we don’t, we can’t.
“Crap,” I groan, sliding my hand over my face and sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed in my robe. Is hating someone supposed to hurt this much? When I’m around Parrish, I burn. When I’m not, I feel like a pile of cold, wet ash.
I fall back on my bed, one arm slung across my eyes; I don’t leave that spot for hours.
After a quick video chat with Maxine, I curl up early and fall asleep, plagued by awful dreams where I relive the hideous words I said to Parrish.
That wasn’t like me. I’m not like this normally, I swear. I tell myself that was Mia Patterson I was channeling when I need to remember with every fiber of my being that I’m not her. I’m Dakota Banks, and I was raised better than this.
In the morning, I wake up to an early alarm and head downstairs, fully dressed and slipping past Parrish’s door where the maid is currently cleaning.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” I tell her, and she glances over at me in surprise, brown eyes crinkled at the edges with confusion. It takes me a second to realize that this is a different girl than the one I met on Wednesday. Oops.
The new maid isn’t very old, likely around the same age as me. The way she’s staring, I’m starting to get the idea that she doesn’t often speak to the residents of the homes she cleans. I decide to try a different tactic. “You must be new?” I hazard and she shakes her head briskly.
“JJ usually works Monday through Friday and I do weekends.” The girl shrugs. “She didn’t show up today, so I’m filling in.”
An awkward moment of silence follows before I decide to, you know, add yet another drop of cringe to the moment. Giving a little bow—I watch too much anime and way too many K-dramas—I decide to add, “and thank you, in advance, for everything you do.” The girl stands up from where she’s leaned over, smoothing the black blanket on Parrish’s bed.
“No need to thank me,” she says crisply, like she’s worried I’m dragging her into some sort of trap. “This is my job; I’m paid to do it.”
