“That’s not true!” she says as the sky opens up and warm rain begins to fall, soaking us and the car instantly. “Fuck.”

“Pull over!” I yell, but she ignores me, lets the rain pound on us, drench the convertible. “I’m allowed to want other things, other people. I’m allowed to need more.”

The words I hold back hang between us: You can’t be my whole world.

Then I shake my head. “None of this changes what you did. You—you killed him. You murdered Jack.”

“It was self-defense!”

“No,” I say. “It wasn’t.” The rain crashes down on me in waves, running down my face, but I’m no longer crying. I scream at the sky in rage.

“It was,” Elise insists, her voice wild, like she’s losing control. “It was self-defense.”

“Oh my God,” I say, squeezing myself against the door trying to get as far away from her as possible. “You don’t even feel bad. You don’t even care that you murdered him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “Look, I know you liked Jack but—”

“Liked Jack?” I say. “Liked Jack?”

“Oh, please,” she says. “Don’t tell me you were in love. Don’t tell me you wanted to be with him forever.” Her voice mocks me and my hands clench, knuckles white. I look at her and I can’t find the Elise that I knew, the one I loved. All I see now is a stranger, an echo of someone I once knew. “You and I are forever. You and I are soulmates.”

“No. We’re not.”

She glances at me. “Other people come and go, but I’ll always love you.” Love is to need and be needed.

“You don’t love me,” I say in the quietest voice.

“I’m the only one who loves you,” she says. “The only one.”

“That’s not true. Jack loved me,” I say, the tears falling hard and fast just as the rain lets up, slowing to a lazy drizzle. “And I loved him. I don’t want to do this anymore. Just take me home.”

“No.”

“No?” I say, staring at her in shock. Then I look all around me, confused. “Where are we going?” I thought we were driving around in circles, but I hadn’t been paying attention until now. We’re about to get on the highway, heading south.

“No,” she repeats. Her voice is firm.

“You’re refusing to drive me home? Are you kidding me?” I start to feel panicked, try to force air into my lungs.

“You don’t want to leave me,” she says. “You need me.”

“I don’t!”

“You do. You need me because there is no heroine without a villain, and you so enjoy playing the part of the heroine. Poor, poor Remy. Nothing’s her fault. Bad things just happen to her. Bad people made her do it.”

Her words are jarringly familiar. She sounds just like my mother.

“Like you didn’t want all of it,” she continues. “Like you didn’t just love watching the two of us fight over you. I know you. I know what’s in your heart. I know exactly who you are and I still love you. No one will love you like I do. Don’t throw away what we have to punish me. It’s you and me, Remy. We’re family.” And there it is again, those awful words like a chain around my neck, choking all the air out of me.