dusts off his pants. “I’m not the one who thought of him.” Then he smiles. “But you’re right—I’m a son of a bitch. And someday you’re going to need me.”
Then he goes back in to the service.
Lila finds me. I’m staring at the fabric of the bench, wondering how many people have wept on it. I’m wondering about whether the inside is crusted with salt, like a blanket that’s been soaking in seawater. I’m going a little crazy.
“Hey,” she says, holding out a cup of coffee, her mouth still bright as blood. “One of Philip’s friends is giving the eulogy now. I think he’s telling the story of the first time they held up a liquor store.”
I take the cup. I think the only thing I’ve eaten in the past three days has been coffee. I should be bouncing off the walls. Maybe that explains my nearly attacking her father. “You should go back to the viewing. I’m not—I can’t—” I shake my head to indicate the enormity of the things I can’t do. For one, I can’t tell her the truth about my feelings for her. For another, I’m not sure I can keep lying.
I want you so much that I would do almost anything to have you.
Please let me not be willing to do this.
“We used to be friends,” she says. “Even if there was nothing else.”
“We’re still friends,” I say automatically, because I really want it to be true.
“Well, good, then.” She sits down next to me on the bench. “I don’t want you to be mad that I’m here. I’m not going to jump you or anything.”
I snort. “My virtue is safe, eh? Well, thank goodness for that.”
She rolls her eyes.
“No—I understand why you came. It must be good to see him dead.” I think of Zacharov’s words about sleeping better at night, even if I steadfastly refuse to apply them to myself. “You must feel safer.”
She gapes at me like she can’t believe I just said those words. Then she laughs. “It’s hard to be a girl again—a human girl with hands and feet and clothes and school. Hard to talk when I’m out of practice. And sometimes I feel—” She stops herself.
“Yeah?”
“Like—I don’t know. This is your brother’s funeral. We should be talking about your feelings.”
I take a long, grateful swallow of the coffee. “Honestly, that’s the last thing I want to do.”
“I can be very comforting,” she says with a small, wicked smile.
“Hey—my virtue, remember? Come on, tell me what you were going to say.”
She kicks the wall lightly with one of her shiny black pumps. I can see her big toe through the opening in the front. The nail is painted a deep shining blue. “Okay. Do you ever feel so angry that you think you could devour the whole world and still not be satisfied? Like you don’t know how to stop feeling that way and it scares you, but that just makes you angry too?”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about my feelings,” I say, trying for lightness, because I know exactly what she means. It’s like she was speaking my own thoughts aloud.
She looks at the floor, the corner of her lip tilted up. “I’m not.”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “Yeah.”
“Some days I just hate everything.” She looks at me earnestly.
“Me too,” I say. “Especially today. I just don’t know how to feel. Philip. I mean, we weren’t close, obviously. Now that I think back on it, was he ashamed of using me like he did? Was that why he couldn’t look me in the face? But then, when it was over, it was him who couldn’t forgive me. We could have called it even—okay, not really even, but even enough, but it was like he couldn’t face anything he’d done and somehow I was the enemy. Like I wasn’t even human to him anymore. Like I wasn’t his brother.”
I should shut up, but I don’t. “And now you. You were the only real friend I had for years. I mean, I had friends at school, but then Mom would mess things up or pull us out of school for some con she was running, or those friends would find
Then he goes back in to the service.
Lila finds me. I’m staring at the fabric of the bench, wondering how many people have wept on it. I’m wondering about whether the inside is crusted with salt, like a blanket that’s been soaking in seawater. I’m going a little crazy.
“Hey,” she says, holding out a cup of coffee, her mouth still bright as blood. “One of Philip’s friends is giving the eulogy now. I think he’s telling the story of the first time they held up a liquor store.”
I take the cup. I think the only thing I’ve eaten in the past three days has been coffee. I should be bouncing off the walls. Maybe that explains my nearly attacking her father. “You should go back to the viewing. I’m not—I can’t—” I shake my head to indicate the enormity of the things I can’t do. For one, I can’t tell her the truth about my feelings for her. For another, I’m not sure I can keep lying.
I want you so much that I would do almost anything to have you.
Please let me not be willing to do this.
“We used to be friends,” she says. “Even if there was nothing else.”
“We’re still friends,” I say automatically, because I really want it to be true.
“Well, good, then.” She sits down next to me on the bench. “I don’t want you to be mad that I’m here. I’m not going to jump you or anything.”
I snort. “My virtue is safe, eh? Well, thank goodness for that.”
She rolls her eyes.
“No—I understand why you came. It must be good to see him dead.” I think of Zacharov’s words about sleeping better at night, even if I steadfastly refuse to apply them to myself. “You must feel safer.”
She gapes at me like she can’t believe I just said those words. Then she laughs. “It’s hard to be a girl again—a human girl with hands and feet and clothes and school. Hard to talk when I’m out of practice. And sometimes I feel—” She stops herself.
“Yeah?”
“Like—I don’t know. This is your brother’s funeral. We should be talking about your feelings.”
I take a long, grateful swallow of the coffee. “Honestly, that’s the last thing I want to do.”
“I can be very comforting,” she says with a small, wicked smile.
“Hey—my virtue, remember? Come on, tell me what you were going to say.”
She kicks the wall lightly with one of her shiny black pumps. I can see her big toe through the opening in the front. The nail is painted a deep shining blue. “Okay. Do you ever feel so angry that you think you could devour the whole world and still not be satisfied? Like you don’t know how to stop feeling that way and it scares you, but that just makes you angry too?”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about my feelings,” I say, trying for lightness, because I know exactly what she means. It’s like she was speaking my own thoughts aloud.
She looks at the floor, the corner of her lip tilted up. “I’m not.”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “Yeah.”
“Some days I just hate everything.” She looks at me earnestly.
“Me too,” I say. “Especially today. I just don’t know how to feel. Philip. I mean, we weren’t close, obviously. Now that I think back on it, was he ashamed of using me like he did? Was that why he couldn’t look me in the face? But then, when it was over, it was him who couldn’t forgive me. We could have called it even—okay, not really even, but even enough, but it was like he couldn’t face anything he’d done and somehow I was the enemy. Like I wasn’t even human to him anymore. Like I wasn’t his brother.”
I should shut up, but I don’t. “And now you. You were the only real friend I had for years. I mean, I had friends at school, but then Mom would mess things up or pull us out of school for some con she was running, or those friends would find
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