Page 30 of Twisted (Never After)

What he’s saying is ridiculous, but I can’t deny the idea has some merit. I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out, because I genuinely have no clue what to say.

He wants topretend.

Make believe that I’m in love with Julian? The thought alone makes me want to choke.

But what other choice do I have? I already know that my father has been setting up suitors, and I’m not naive enough to think that Julian wouldn’t know the ins and outs of his plans, especially knowing that my father confided inhimover the extent of his illness when he won’t even let me be on the sidelines giving support.

My stomach cramps when it sinks in thatJulianwas the one who told me about my father, when I was just with him this morning and got nothing but silence and a pat on the hand. I suck in a stuttered breath, steeling my spine for what I know I have to do.

I can’t fall out of my father’s favor, not when there’s so much at stake, but if I have to go on dates like I’m a prized broodmare, I think I might lose my mind.

And it’s just pretend.

I can fake anything for a while. Especially if I know I’ll get Aidan in the end.

Julian walks toward me, using his fingers to tip my mouth shut. “Think about it. You know where to find me. But I’d urge you not to waste too much time, because you don’t have very much left.”

Chapter10

Julian

The first time I thought about murdering somebody, I was five years old.

There had been an antsy energy swirling in my stomach all day, even though my papà had disappeared over a week ago, which meant the house was calm for the first time in my life.

When he wasn’t around to beat Mamma, then she didn’t have any reason to beatme.

It was peaceful.

But I wasn’t used to the feeling of not being on edge, and the peace was a foreign sensation filling up my body, one that caused my fight-or-flight mode to go on the fritz, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Mamma was in the kitchen making my nonna’s famous marinara, her shiny hair pulled tight in a low bun like it always was and a white apron wrapped around her with red trim and strawberries decorated along the front.

She didn’t normally wear such light colors, and the contrast of the apron against her tan skin and dark hair made her look almost ethereal to me. I remember being confused that she wore the white apron so easily, when I had heard her complain so many times before about how difficult it was to scrub out bloodstains from light fabric.

But that day, she put it on without a care, resting it over her cream top, and she handed me my favorite teddy bear, Abe— the one Papà always yelled at me for having—thrusting it into my hands and humming under her breath as she danced along to the radio and stirred seasonings into a pot.

I stared down at Abe, the seams unraveling on his ear from me pulling him out of his hidden spot beneath my bed and sleeping with him curled in my arms every night, and pure happiness filled my chest. Maybe Papà was right, and boys shouldn’t have teddy bears, but I didn’t care.

If Mamma was wearing white and I had my favorite stuffie out in the open, maybe he reallywasgone for good.

But as soon as the good feeling showed up, it was overshadowed by the thick and jagged feeling of anxiety that coated my insides, imagining how quickly things could change.

Still, the days continued to pass without a beating in sight, and little by little, I let my guard down. The fight- or- flight feeling receded, and I realized that maybe good things reallydostick around if you wish for them hard enough.

But I was a silly child.

One night, after about two weeks of bliss, it ended.

I was lying in bed, listening to random cars honk on the busy city streets outside our small apartment, holding Abe close to my chest. I wassoclose to falling asleep until the sound of a car got closer.

Tooclose.

My heart jolted, dread pouring through my stomach like thick sludge.

A car door slammed.

I shot out of bed, heading immediately toward Mamma’s room, but right before I hit the hallway, I glanced down at Abe, who was gripped tightly in my fist. Sadness filled up my throat and bloomed behind my eyes. Taking him would only cause more problems. I spun around quickly, racing back to my bed and shoving him in the small space between the slats of my mattress frame, hiding him from view, and then sprinted to Mamma’s room.