Page 33 of The Truths We Burn

“You know, the whole point of this was foryouto set the fire. I’m just the manufacturer behind it.”

She raises the bottle to her lips and takes a gulp from the foul-smelling liquid. I grin when she coughs a bit, her body shivering as it tries to reject the burn from the alcohol.

“It looks easier in the movies to do that without a chaser.” She coughs, wiping her mouth with the back of her palm.

“Yeah, well, in the movies, they use water,” I grunt as I ease down onto my ass, sitting next to her with the bottle between us. “And if you see someone who can down vodka without a chaser like that? They have wounds that sting worse than the alcohol.”

I look out across the lake at all the empty houses, their vacant windows and unlit back porches.

“We used to come here all the time when I was young for summer vacation. Rose and I would lie on this dock after we spent the day paddling through the water in the canoe, guessing the shapes in the clouds. Lay out here so long that we came in burnt to a crisp. Who knew the sun could pierce through clouds that much.” She laughs, grabbing at the neck of the bottle again, holding it between her legs.

It had been a long time since I’d heard someone speak about good memories of childhood. Even longer since I knew what it felt like.

I’d become a stranger to my own upbringing.

There are times I remember watching my mother prune her roses out back and how her lemonade tasted after I ran around the yard all day. Or the smell of fresh-baked bread in the kitchen and the sound of laughter.

I remember them, but it’s like they happened to another person.

As if I was a ghost in the home, watching my young self, never truly experiencing those moments of joy.

Now, they don’t even seem real.Mirages I’d made up so my conscious mind could deal with my current home life.

“When we came inside, giggling, sun drunk, happy, my mother looked at us as if we’d committed treason.” She swings her arm out, pointing to the bleak water, a stern frown on her face. “She’d say, ‘Girls! Women pay millions to fix wrinkles and saggy skin from staying out too much in the sun. You’ll ruin that tight skin. And Sage, you know better. Rosie’s skin is going to turn tan by tomorrow, and you’re going to look like an oversized tomato for weeks!’”

“So I was right all along. Your mom is a cunt.”

“She is. She always has been.” Sage laughs, nodding in agreement. Sobering up, she continues. “That was the first time I remember being jealous of my sister. The first time this ugly, green thing made me angry at someone I have always admired.”

I let her talk freely, listening to her words as she spills her guts out while simultaneously filling it with liquor.

“The jealously only grew over the years. After what happened here, after what they let him do to me when all the lights were out and the parties ended, I got mean and spiteful. Putting gum in her hair once while she slept. Covered her sneakers in mud. Said horrible things, all the while thinking why was I the one he touched. Why he passed her bedroom, only to sneak into mine.” Her voice chokes on tears she won’t let fall, refusing to be that vulnerable with me.

“It was a vicious cycle that led me here to this point of hating myself. Instead of wishing it never happened to either of us, I was furious it wasn’t happening to Rose. Envious that she was so blissfully unaware and happy. God, how awful is that? How awful am I?”

My fingers tighten around the Zippo in my hoodie pocket at the thought of an innocent little girl conditioned to hate her other half, groomed and defiled when she was only a child.While I’m not one to speak on good deeds or human decency, even I know how disgusting it was. How fucking nasty her parents are for letting it happen, for not choking that son of a bitch with their bare hands.

Sage is living a life without justice. Alone.

“I love my sister, Rook. I know how I felt, what I’ve done to her was wrong, and I’d do anything in the world to take it back. I would do anything to protect her from something bad happening again, to protect her from our parents, from me—”

“Don’t compare yourself to them,” I interrupt, looking over at her. “You were a child.”

She meets my gaze, hair wild and knotted from the bike ride here. “But I’m not now.”

“And there is still time to be different, make amends. Rose loves you, defends your every breath. There aren’t burned bridges there,” I tell her.

We’d never seen the two of them argue in person besides the diner, but even when Alistair would make a snarky comment about Sage being a bitch, Rose would bite his head off.

They are twins, after all, no matter the hurt that lingers between them.

“I wouldn’t know how to be different. Not here. Here I feel like I’m drowning constantly, suffocating just below the surface. I’m under this lake screaming for someone to help, for someone to save me, and they all just sit at the dock. Watching me.”

Tension eats at me, ready to give her this tiny piece of revenge over the crimes committed. Ready to blast this house to fucking shambles and all the bad memories inside of it.

Maybe then she’ll be able to swim to the surface.

With a sigh, she stands up, legs wobbling as she tries to gain her footing. I swiftly grab at her waist while rising from my own sitting position, holding her steady so she doesn’tactuallydrown in the lake.