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CHAPTER

FIFTY-EIGHT

REMI

“I just don’t get it, Rems.” Van inhales from his joint, the tip glowing orange in the night. He tips his head back and exhales, a cloud of smoke visible from the lone lamppost at the edge of the cemetery.

I dig my hands into the pocket of my hoodie, itching to get back to Cortland, but dying for my best friend to understand. Since my other one doesn’t.

But Van doesn’t either, though.

He dips his chin, passing the joint to me.

I shake my head, waving him off.

I haven’t heard from Silas, but my credit card was declined when I walked to the coffee shop just off campus this morning while Cort loaded up some of my stuff.

Silas has already cut me off, so I’m counting my pennies, and I applied for a few jobs this morning, even though Cortland has already said I don’t need to work.

As if I’m going to count on him when things are so rocky between us.

And oddly enough, there’s a weight lifting from my chest, even as Van’s deep blue eyes are locked on mine in anger. He’s got his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them as he watches me. “He fucked you up. Why the hell would you go back to him?”

I swallow, drawing my knees into my chest on the black fuzzy blanket Van brought out. Between the two of my best friends, I always thought Van would understand more. He’s an artist, he’s high more than he’s not, and usually he’s pretty chill, so I just assumed he’d get it.

But he doesn’t.

I feel flustered, but good too. It’s a confession. And I just need him to at least try to understand. “That night, we were all drinking and?—”

“That’s not an excuse.”

I click my tongue ring over my teeth before I look up and meet his gaze. Before I can say anything though, he’s talking again.

“How long has this been going on?” He grinds the joint out in the grass, then clasps his hands together, still between his knees. “Have you been lying to me?”

I feel myself getting defensive, but I try to see his point of view, just like I saw Sloane’s. If someone had hurt him or her, in that way, and they went back to them, I’d be mad too. “Well, you’ve been kind of busy with Ryann and?—”

“Remi, don’t give me that bullshit,” he cuts me off, his words angry. “That’s a lame excuse and you?—”

“You weren’t there!” The words come out louder than I mean them to. I stand, my hands clenched into fists at my side as I stare down at him. “You weren’t there, and you don’t know how it happened, and?—”

“So you’re saying he didn’t rape you? Because if that’s what you’re saying, Remi, you should make that clear.” He stands too, towering over me. I smell the marijuana that clings to him, the scent familiar but in this moment, no longer comforting.

“It was… it was just all fucked up,” I tell him, dropping my gaze, my voice quieter.

“I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t know that, even if I could, it would make it any better.

” My fingers are shaky all over again, and I’m reminded of the weeks afterward.

The comfort I found nowhere, except in Sloane, and even then, I felt like a burden.

I avoided Silas as often as possible, every look he shot my way one of disgust.

I was alone, and until I started here at Ely, I had no one to talk to. Even that came in the form of a therapist I couldn’t really express how I was feeling to very well. The one I’ve ditched completely.

Then there was Van. And I clung to him. Our bond felt deeper, since we’re not quite cousins. He deserves to hear my explanations.

“I couldn’t say what I wanted,” I tell him, my voice low. “What I didn’t want.”

“You let it happen?” Van counters.

I snap my head up. “I didn’t have much choice?—”

“That’s called rape, Remi.”

I think about the tears that fell down my face. Cortland running his thumb over one. “I have to go.” I turn to do just that, but Van circles my arm.

I yank out of his grip and stumble back a step, facing him.

“Remi, I just don’t want you to get hurt. He could be doing this to soften his own guilt.” He scrubs his hand over his shaved head. “I’m sorry, I’m handling this all wrong, I just don’t understand. It’s so messy.”

“Yeah,” I agree, stepping back still, wanting Cortland. He’s the only one who understands. The only one who was there and gets it, exactly. “It is messy. But Van,” I try one more time. “He’s a nice guy, he’s not?—”

“Nice boys do bad things, Remi.”

I know they do. Fuck, I know.

“Are you going to him?” Van asks me, stepping even closer. “Don’t do that, Remi. Let’s talk about this.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I have to go.” Another step back.

Van reaches for me, grabbing my wrist, and once again, I try to pull back, but he doesn’t let go.

He isn’t hurting me, his eyes aren’t angry, but there’s grief there.

“No,” he says, pulling me toward him. My Chucks slide in the grass of the cemetery, bringing me forward against my will.

“No, Remi. You’re all messed up because of what happened, but he doesn’t care about you.

If he did, he would have admitted guilt, he wouldn’t have put you through the idea of a trial that could’ve taken years to work out?—”

“Let me go.” I’m whispering the words, turning my head from Van’s grief, feeling that pressure building behind my eyes. “Let me go, now.”

“Come on, Remi. Talk to me. Have you told Sloane? Are you still seeing your therapist? This is fucked, you get that? This is fucking fucked.”

I yank away from him again, stumbling back, wiping my fist over my eyes. “I have to go,” I tell him, turning away. “I’ll see you later.”

“Remi, don’t do this. He’s fucking with your head!”

I turn and jog off, Van still calling my name at my back, the truths in his words ringing in my head.

This is fucked.

I call Cortland when I get to my Corolla, the car running, my phone pressed to my ear. He doesn’t answer.

I glance at the time.

It’s only nine, and he knew I was meeting Van, then I’d be letting him know how it went.

Fucking terribly.

I call him again, feeling annoyed.

No answer.

I send him a text and tip my head back against the seat, waiting.

Nothing.

I toss my phone in the passenger seat and decide to drive back to his house.

A few minutes later, I pull into his driveway and see his and Storm’s cars are both there. Relief courses through me. I want to run to them. They get it. They understand.

I get out, locking the car behind me as I walk up to his porch.

Then I see him. Cortland.

In the shadows.

He’s at the end of the porch, his hands over the railing, the pale-yellow light not quite illuminating him entirely. He’s a tall shadow, his head bowed, shoulders curved inward.

But I know he knows I’m here.

He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, and I notice he’s in a white shirt, running shorts. “Remi, you need to leave.”

There’s a heaviness in my limbs as I stop walking, one foot on the bottom step, other still planted on the sidewalk. I fist my keys in my hands, thinking of my fight with Van. Cortland was the only one who would get it. The only one who’d understand at all. Cortland and Storm and…

“But I?—”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he still doesn’t look at me, “but you have to go.”

My vision seems to blur. The humiliation and hurt reminds me of Silas. Of how he always looked at me. How he spoke to me. How he pushed me away at every turn.

“What?” I whisper in the night, a cool breeze lifting the hair on the back of my neck. But I don’t feel cold. I feel like my thoughts are shattering. Running from Van, here, to the only people who get it… this was supposed to make it all better.

Last night, I thought we were moving forward. He knew I was going to tell Van. He didn’t seem to mind. And we started chipping away at all of our ugly truths. We were working on things.

Last night, in his bed, he told me he couldn’t let this go.

After a moment of me holding my breath, he lifts his head, his eyes lined with thick circles, locking on mine. “Please go.” His words are hoarse, but there’s no yielding in his gaze. Like no matter what I say, he’s not going to change his mind.

I come up the steps, turn to face him as he straightens, his hands flexing and clenching by his sides. I feel dizzy, but I step forward and watch the wariness in his gaze, a vein in his neck straining against his skin.

“I just met with Van,” I say softly, deciding to ignore his words to me to leave. Maybe he’s going through something. Maybe something is going on with his family, or maybe even Storm, but he’s not really going to tell me to leave him. “He didn’t understand?—”

“No one understands, Remi, because it doesn’t make sense.

” Those words are cold, slicing through the warmth that’s been building up in me in hot waves since he first spoke.

Before I can react, he’s closing the space between us, but he doesn’t touch me.

And God, I want him to. “No one understands because this shouldn’t happen.

” He’s so angry, his eyes narrowed, but his voice softens, and I wish it wouldn’t.

“We’re just living in this fantasy world where things work out between two people like us and they just.. . don’t.”

I cock my head to the side and press my lips together.

His hands come to my arms, sliding up and down them. I can feel the calluses on his warm palms, and I wish I couldn’t. I wish I couldn’t feel anything that reminds me of how much I know him. How much I’ve forgiven him for.

“But that’s okay. You taught me so many things I’d never learn on my own, baby. And just like I said, I’ll never forget you. You know that, don’t you, pretty baby?”

He doesn’t get to do this.

He keeps gliding his hands up and down my arms and I open my mouth, unsure of what to say. Do I beg? Do I cry? “Don’t do this, Cortland. I don’t think I can handle?—”

“Ah, but you can.” He smiles, catching my fingers in his, pressing them to his lips. “That’s the beautiful thing, baby. Now, you can.”

My heart sinks. Cracks. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? I should’ve?—”