Slowly, he pulls back, a quizzical narrow of his eyes, but he shakes it off, drops my hand and licks his lips. He forces a grin. “See you Monday.”

“Yep.” Smile.

I step around him, slide into the back seat and Tanner shuts the door behind me.

My sister starts talking and I slice my eyes to hers. I tear open my purse, pull out, and slip my earbuds into my ears, cranking the music up as high as it allows.

I don’t even know what’s playing. I don’t hear it, but I don’t hear her either.

She blinks, a frown tugging at her brows as she drops against the seat, skating her eyes past mine every few minutes.

When we walk into the house, I head for my room, but her soft hand lands on my elbow and I just can’t.

I whip around, tearing my earbud from my ear.

“What Monti?!” I shout, tossing my shoes to the floor. “What the fuck do you want?! You want to ask how I am, how it went, what the fuck happened?! Why I shed the dress Mom sent me and wore one a guy who likes to fuck with my head gave me?! Go ahead, sister! Ask!” I scream, stalking toward her, but when she says nothing, I get angrier. I shove at her chest and she stumbles back. “Fucking ask! Talk! Say something!”

Her face falls, a blanket of remorse covering her from head to toe, and tears fill her eyes. “J...”

My teeth begin to chatter, so I clamp them shut, and it aches. My jaw, my muscles. My entire fucking body.

She reaches for me, tears pooling in her eyes.

I slap her clear across the face, revel at the shock in her eyes, and tears roll down her cheeks.

“You’re seriously going to cry?” I scream, shoving her as she goes to cup her cheek and she falls against the wall. “Are you pretending like you feel bad for being the shittiest sister on the fucking planet? The worthless daughter who couldn’t even do her fucking part?!” I seethe, my limbs shaking, but something behind my ribs cracks so I try to crack something in her.

I stand tall, clear my face of all emotion and take a step back.

“You’re as pathetic as Dad was. Weak and useless.” I try to take a breath, but my lungs refuse the air, so I force a quick, “Go cry for someone who gives a shit,” and back away as quickly as I can and get the hell out.

I lock myself in my room and the walls begin to spin.

Swatches of gold and glamor funneling around, cutting off my airway and leaving my lungs starved.

I drop to my knees, my head falling into my hands as moisture threatens to slip from my eyes.

But I don’t let it.

I can’t.