Page 96 of Touch of Hate
It can’t be real. He’s being so cruel, so hateful. This isn’t like him.
“Or what?” he taunts. “I thought I warned you once before about telling me what to do.”
“This isn’t like you.” I shake my head, adamant, staring out the window at the trees rushing past. They might look beautiful under different circumstances, but now they’re creepy. The shadows they cast hide too many secrets.
“What isn’t like me?” He’s snide, almost laughing at me. I don’t know what’s worse—the sound of it or the way resentment flares white hot, searing my insides with rage. I never would’ve imagined resenting him.
But it isn’t Ren I resent. It’s whatever has taken hold of him. This obsession of his. What it’s doing to him. He’s all twisted up by this cult stuff. Revenge appears to be the only thing he cares about.
“You were never mean before.” When all he does is snort, it seems very important to make myself clear. I need him to understand what I’m saying. I have to get through to him somehow.
“How do you know? I might’ve been mean all this time. I could’ve been a real bastard, and you just never saw it.”
“Maybe so.”
All my pain threatens to come rushing out, and I don’t know if I have it in me to hold it back. The dam has too many cracks.
Eventually, it’s going to burst. “But you’ve never been like this with me. I could always count on your kindness and your compassion. You’ve always shown me light and love.”
“Ever think how exhausting that is?” he jeers, the words like ice picks in my eardrums. “Putting on a mask, having to wear it for years?”
“You’re only saying that.”
“Yeah. Tell yourself whatever you need to hear to make it easier to sleep at night.” Why is he doing this?
“This can’t all be because I got out and followed you. I only did that because I was scared.”
“Wow.” His voice is flat, grave. “Good thing nothing scary happened after that, huh?”
“Don’t do this,” I beg in a heartbroken whisper. “Please, don’t.”
His silence speaks volumes. I never understood before now that silence can feel different depending on the energy behind it.
Companionable silence, for instance, is nice. It feels comfortable, easy, peaceful. Then there’s uncomfortable, awkward silence. It’s unpleasant but not anything awful.
Then there’s the silence unfolding between us now.
It’s dark. Seething. It holds secrets, and I hate it.
I wish it didn’t feel so much like some of that anger might be directed at me. He was the one who wanted me with him, right? He made a huge deal about how critical it is to have me at his side. Now, he’s acting like he wishes he hadn’t brought me along. I guess it was one thing to want me with him before he had to do whatever it is he did. I don’t want to think about it.
You have to. You can’t pretend this isn’t happening.
There’s Dad’s voice again, even sterner than before. I know it’s the truth—there’s no burying my head in the sand. The stakes are too high for me to sit here and pretend I don’t know damn well what happened out there.
“You killed somebody, didn’t you?” I know the answer, but I need to hear him admit it. I’m not going to dance around the truth.
“What gave you that idea?” he asks in a light, almost sweet voice.
“Could you give me a straight answer?” I snap.
His heavy foot on the gas pedal makes us pick up speed until I whimper in fear. “You want a straight answer? Here’s one—I cut the bastard’s balls off while he was still conscious. He screamed loud enough to make my ears ring, then bled out all over the floor and my hands.”
He turns his gaze from the road long enough to flash me a bright smile that chills my blood. “Aren’t you glad you asked?”
“Please, slow down,” I beg when he takes a curve fast enough to make the wheels squeal. He only laughs, adding a new level of horror to this nightmare, sending my already panicked thoughts into a frenzy.
It’s not knowing what he did. I knew it had to be terrible, anyway.