Fractured Freedom(78)

“Strong enough?” The question bellowed out of me. The word still tasted like rancid filth in my mouth. “Strong enough? I could barely open my eyes in the morning, let alone get out of bed back in college. I wanted to die.”

That thought and the fact that my family probably wouldn’t miss me made it all the simpler for it to fester and grow. And grow it had, until it was such a weight that there was no way to move out from under it.

“You fell into drugs, and I lost a baby. A baby, Izzy.”

“A … what?” Her gaze snapped to mine. “When? What are you talking about?”

I bit my lip, and then the story flew out of me. “All cards on the table,” I murmured and shrugged at the end of it. “And I think the baby would have loved me more than anyone. More than people loved you because I truly was so scared that no one could. Mom and Dad and Dom and Dex and Declan and Dimitri … and Dante! God, all of them loved you. They couldn’t stop talking about you. And I know that’s terrible,” I choked out, tears streaming down my face now. “But, Jesus, you’d think with a twin I’d never be lonely, and yet, I felt lonelier in those moments than I could have ever fathomed. And it’s embarrassing. I was supposed to be strong enough for you. I was supposed to be able to shoulder your pain, but I couldn’t because I was going through my own.”

I took a breath, gasping for it, giving her an opening, but she didn’t say a word. She waved for me to carry on.

I did. It was like the words wouldn’t stop. “And who knew depression is like a drug, too? It eats away at your happiness, it makes you not the person you want to be, and it guilts you into thinking you can never resurface from it. God, the guilt. And the fear that I’ll fall back into it.”

“Lilah, you’re so strong.”

“So are you! You struggle with your addiction.”

She tried to deny it.

I cut her off, though. “Don’t feed me the bull. You put those opioids right in front of you to tempt fate with that job. You must have. You went into the industry where they’d be in your face daily. I get it. You want to make sure you’re strong enough to deny yourself. That’s strength, but I’m so scared of falling back into depression that I’m avoiding anything that will even make me happy.”

“Like Dante?”

“Izzy, no.” I shook my head and stood from the chair so fast it flew over.

“You love him.”

“I don’t.” I shook my head fiercely. I was scared I’d push her to the edge or that I’d fall over it too. I didn’t need her concerned that I’d fallen for the man she most likely loved.

“Are you scared I can’t handle it if you love him? If he loves you back?” she whispered, her eyes searching my face.

I threw my hands up to shield her from any emotions I might have been showing. We were twins, able to read one another even if we didn’t want the other one to see what we were feeling. I couldn’t let her see this. I didn’t even want to witness it myself.

“What will it take for this family to think I can handle something?” she asked me. “Do you think I’ll drown my heartbreak in drugs?”

“Your heart will be broken? Because you love him?” I asked even though I didn’t need her answer.

“Of course I love him.” She spat the words out like she hated the taste of them. “I’ve loved him forever. He’s always been there. We’re a team, we work well together, and he’s always believed in me the way—”

Our eyes met, and the pain she felt hit me like a freight train, hard and heavy enough to knock the wind out of me.

I whispered, “I don’t know what to do here.”

“Well”—she stood up tall and wiped a hand over her face like she was wiping away emotions—“you’d better figure it out, Lilah.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve tried my best to be straight to the point these days.”

I nodded. “I see that. You seem to face things head-on now.”

“You’ve always been the one who knew exactly what to do, right? You got the grades, you got into college. You took care of a miscarriage, for God’s sake—all on your own. You handled it all. So you’d better figure it out now. I’m going for a walk to clear my head. Figure it out, Lilah, because if you don’t love him enough to fight for him, then he deserves me … because I will.”

“I don’t know if I love him.” I shook my head repeatedly. I couldn’t feel that for him. Not after what we’d been through, not after I’d lost his baby. I couldn’t go through that again, not with him. “I shouldn’t because I won’t survive loving him.”

“You will,” she said and walked past me with tears in her eyes. “You’re strong enough.”

“I just don’t know. It’s only been a few weeks. How could I know?”

“Because I know.” My sister’s voice was pleading. With that, the door shut behind her, and she left me in her small, empty hotel room.

Silence was either an enemy or a friend. It calmed you or left you alone with the worst of your thoughts.

Dante had taught me there was never really any silence, because the world was always talking. The sounds I heard now were my tears falling one by one on that table. I had a choice. Or so I thought. Love never really gives you a choice. I thought I would have to choose between breaking my sister’s heart or my heart or maybe even Dante’s.