It is the ultimate fuck-you from Dad. He knows it. I know it. His guess is I won’t open the box. That I don’t have the guts to face what’s inside it. He would be right. But the fact that he is trying to hurt me is new. Well, mission accomplished, Dad. I am hurt. A stab-to-the-heart hurt.

Why would he do this to me?

Begrudgingly, I pick up the cursed thing and carry it into my room, putting as much space as I can between us. Loki is at my feet, sensing my looming distress and wanting a front-row seat in case this develops into a full-blown meltdown.

The box is heavy. Heavier than it probably should be. Heavy with memories. With regrets. With all the things I didn’t say and should’ve. Heavy with one moment of recklessness that turned my life on its axis. I tuck it into my closet, between old boots and balled-up dresses I’m too lazy to hang.

My hands linger on the box’s surface. It’s an engraved wooden thing. My fingertips tingle. A part of me wants to open the box. Another part knows how badly it is going to affect me. I’m currently bottling up a lot of things in order to survive, and opening this box would unleash my demons all at once.

I hear the flick of the button of the coffee machine outside my room. Colt roars out a yawn. I can see him from my ajar bedroom door, stretching. The door to my room is halfway closed, so he can’t see me.

Nora appears next to him in the hallway. She snakes her arms around his torso, pressing her head to his chest. He pats her ass, then pushes her hair to one side with his free hand.

“Well?” he says. “There you have it. Morticia has finally found her Gomez, and he doesn’t even seem like a sociopath or anything.”

Wait, is he talking about me? Nora quickly rushes to my defense. She swats her boyfriend’s chest. “Stop calling her that, you big meanie.”

“C’mon, Nor. You know I like her.” He pats her ass again as he moves toward the kitchen. She follows him. I press myself against my door so I can still hear them. “She’s a great girl. Funny. Smart. Kinda hot, if you take out all the weird black shit she wears. I’m just not down with how you’re so overprotective of her.”

Colt throws our fridge open. I don’t need to be there to know he is chugging our milk straight from the carton.

“I’m not overprotective of her,” Nora objects.

“That so? Great. Move in with me, then.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Right. Remind me why again?”