Today, the therapist told me to say what I hate, that I should let it out.
I said I hated how Mum treated me and how the bullies at school talked about me. I said I hated fat shaming and diets.
But I kept what I hated the most to myself.
I hate how much my heart flutters when Xander is in sight or how I forget what I was trying to do the moment he comes into my vicinity.
Both his hands are shoved into his jeans. His lower lip is busted and cut and his ocean-deep eyes appear even more bottomless, exhausted, as if he hasn’t slept for days.
He appears a little bit broken, a little bit haunted, a little bit wounded.
Just like me.
And I hate that even more.
I hate that he was the one who found me and that he saw me in that state.
I hate that I’m grateful to him in ways words can’t express.
I hate that I keep looking at the door, expecting him to come in any second, and how I feel gutted every time he doesn’t.
I hate that I wanted to see him, even though I have no interest in seeing my mum.
But most of all, I hate him.
The boy, the person, who cut me off from his life and left me to fend for myself.
The knight I took refuge in, but he offered no shelter.
The person I shared my life with, but he erased me as if I were never there.
I trusted him and he betrayed me. I can forgive anything but that.
“Get out,” I repeat in a firm voice.
Now that I had my fill of him – as dishevelled as he is – I can live without wondering about him one more day.
I told Elsa and Dad about everything, although I had to struggle with the tears in Elsa’s eyes and how they both blamed themselves for not seeing the signs sooner.
They couldn’t have, because I was pro-level at hiding them. Besides, they both had a lot to deal with. Dad had his demanding work and Elsa had her complicated family situation and volatile relationship with Aiden.
Now that they offered their full support, I don’t need Xander to see me anymore.
I might be broken, but I’ll pull myself together. I might have fallen, but I’ll get up. There’ll be a day where I look behind and say I survived.
And I don’t need him to be there for that.
Xander sits on the chair Dad usually occupies, his attention never leaving my bandaged wrist. A small voice inside me tells me to hide it, but I squash that voice.
There’ll be no more hiding. This is me, the only me.
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” I continue in my confident tone. “I told you to go. I don’t want to see you, just like you don’t want to see me.”
“I lied about that.” His voice is calm, too calm. It raises goosebumps on my skin.
“You lied?”
“I lie about a lot of things. I’m a liar.” He’s still speaking in that neutral tone as if any other range will ruin his composure.
“Things like what?”
“Like how much I hate you. I don’t. Or how much you’re nothing. You aren’t. Or how I can live without you. I can’t.”
My breathing hitches and I dig my nails into the hospital’s sheet. “If you’re saying that because of what happened to me or out of pity, I swear –”
“I don’t pity you.” He cuts me off.
“Then why are you saying those things now? Why do you think you can come in here and say shit like that after you told me to disappear from your life?”
“I told you –”
“You lied, you don’t mean them.” I cut him off, repeating his earlier words. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t believe them. Doesn’t mean you didn’t make me cry every time you pretended I was nothing. Why would you ever do that to me? That child prank doesn’t warrant this much torment. It doesn’t warrant that you treat me as if I’m invisible. I’m visible, I’m here, and I’m always looking at you, so why don’t you look at me?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll hate me if you know.”
“Tell me and I’ll decide myself. I lived through this torment for years; I have the right to know.”
He lifts his eyes and the wretchedness in them nearly breaks me all over again. “The truth isn’t always good, Green.”
“I want to know why. Tell me why!”
“Because you’re my sister.”
