Page 60 of The Wrong Brother

“Rus.”

The third attempt finally cuts through.

Emma is standing now, watching me carefully. She reaches out a hand, grazing my upper arm. Unconsciously, my body turns toward her, like the tide shifting for the moon.

“You need to calm down.”

I laugh. It’s a dark sound, wrong, and it only makes me aware of how ugly I am.

“No.”

“He’s trying to provoke you.”

“He’ssucceeding.”

“Exactly.”

I stare at her. She folds her arms, cocks a hip, and all of a sudden, I’m reevaluating her: this woman I read as insecure, skittish, just over a week ago.Who is she?The question never really goes away. And the closer I get, the longer I’m near her, the more intrigued I become.

The anger still prowls beneath my skin, but some small part of me notices that something has changed. The walls are still there, but they’re lower now.

Less defensive. More tired.

She sits slowly on the edge of the sofa.

“He threatened both of us.”

I remain standing.

“He threatened you.”

“He threatenedus.”

The correction surprises me, as does the venom in her voice. As if she’s upset by that thought. Apparently, it surprises her too, because she looks away immediately afterward.

Then Emma sighs.

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

She rubs her forehead.

“Okay, he’s awful. I don’t know what you’re doing, why you’re doing it, but I feel it, too. That something is wrong.”

Progress, though I never needed her consent. Still, it warms something in me that Emma sees too. Pries loose a part of me that I didn’t know was gripping onto the truth so tightly.

“He was always awful. Just good at hiding it.”

Emma lets out a humorless laugh.

“You’re really enjoying this part.”

“A little.”

That earns a glare. Good. The room feels slightly less murderous now, even if only slightly. There’s a lull, the muscles in my upper back loosening, before Emma asks, “Will you tell me? What he did to you?”

For a moment, I’m tempted.