Page 102 of The Design of Goodbye
His breath hitched. “When?”
“Tonight.”
“How?” There, in that one word, I heard it: his confusion, his shock. His fear.
I’d expected his question, but I still didn’t know the right way to answer.
“Earlier,” I began. “Your kitchen window. The blinds are broken, and I could see inside.”
It took him a moment to process what I’d said. And when he did, the fear I’d heard in his voice washed over his face.
“You saw that?” When I gave him a shaky nod, he clarified, “Everything?”
“I didn’t mean to. I heard your dad yelling,” I said quickly, my words fumbling together as I tried to explain. “I wanted to check to make sure I should ring the doorbell and then I saw...I heard what he said. I saw what he did to you.” I shuddered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s not a big deal.”
But the way he squeezed the plastic water bottle betrayed him.
“Not a big deal?” I cried. “Your dad hit you so hard you almost passed out.”
“I didn’t almost pass out.”
“And how would you know that?” He winced, and I choked out, “Oh my god, Liam,no.”
“It’s fine.”
My eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”
“Fine.” He stared at the truth I’d confessed before throwing our truth book on the ground near his feet. “Don’t.”
I drew in a shocked breath, hurt. “Why did you do that?”
He crossed his arms and fixed on something outside the car, ignoring me.
I wanted to yell—to let him know how much he’d hurt me—but I forced my feelings away. “What are you going to do?”
“That’s not really your business,” he said flatly.
“Right.”
“Look,” he continued, “it’s nothing. I’m used to him.”
His confession kind of felt like getting slapped. “That’s basically admitting you’re used to getting hit.”
“I’m used tohim.”
I threw my hands up in exasperation. “Same thing!” I pointed to his house. “You can’t live there. You’re not safe.”
“It’s fine.” His voice shook. “You need to forget about—”
“Forget about it?” I said. “Are you serious?”
“You have to. There’s nothing you can do.”
“I can tell someone!”
He recoiled. “No.”
