Pretending

by Shanna Clayton

  “I know you.”

  Dahlia’s eyes drift to the floor. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Yes, I do.” Christine stares hard at her, her brows drawing together in contemplation. “You’re that girl, aren’t you? The one from two Christmases ago.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

  The way Dahlia stiffens against my side and the nervous look on her face worries me. Just a second ago, she was beautiful and confident. Now she’s shrinking into a scared mouse.

  I turn my head, leaning close to her. “You okay?”

  Christine doesn’t seem the same either. The lines by her mouth go rigid, and she moves closer until she’s standing directly in front of Dahlia.

  “Great choice of girl you made here, Wes. I didn’t know you liked the homewrecking variety.”

  My muscles tense up, my body going into defense mode. “What the fuck are you talking about, Christine?” I wrap my arm around Dahlia’s side, almost protectively drawing her against me.

  Christine doesn’t answer me. She continues to stare Dahlia down, breathing in through her nostrils. “You haven’t told him, have you?” she says, keeping her voice low. “Don’t you think he deserves to know you prefer men twice your age? Don’t you think he deserves to know how you nearly destroyed a family? My family.”

  Dahlia’s eyes well with tears, and she swallows. The things Christine says, the things she’s implicating…Dahlia is reacting to them like they’re true.

  “Are you just gonna stand there and not say anything? Go ahead and deny it. I’d like to see you try.”

  I’m waiting for Dahlia to say something, almost rooting for her to defend herself, but she doesn’t. She’s crumbling.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says in small voice.

  “Please.” Christine snorts. “My mom may believe the shit my dad fed her, but I saw you with my own eyes. I saw you through my bedroom window, begging and pleading with him not to leave you. How could you do that? How could you come to our house and do that? Don’t you have any shame?”

  “Not everything is what is seems,” Dahlia says, blinking back tears. She’s shaking as she pulls away from me. “I’m sorry for what my presence at your house made you think, Christine, but I didn’t have an affair with your dad.”

  With that said, she walks away. Threading through the crowd, she breaks out into a run and quickly makes her way out of the room. I want to go after her, but I get the feeling she’s going to need a moment before I do.

  “I think you should probably leave,” I tell Christine.

  Her face tightens as she looks at me. “You think I’m lying, don’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter if I do or don’t. You upset her, and this is her house. That’s why you need to be the one to leave.”

  She nods, her eyes glimmering. “Fine. I’ll go.”

  She stomps off, the sound of her heels angrily clicking against the floor. Then, changing her mind, she suddenly stops and swings around. She stalks back toward me, her face a stony mask. “Just so you know, I wasn’t lying. I’m not the kind of girl who would do that out of jealousy or whatever callous reasons girls do the things they do. Hooking up with you won’t make or break me, Wes. There’s only one guy I’ll ever truly want, and he’s buried six feet in the ground.” She runs a hand through her hair, looking up at the ceiling, and then back at me. There’s something lost in her eyes. Something broken. “The day that girl showed up at my house was the day my family was ripped apart. My mom still won’t look at my dad the same way. Everything we used to have, every ounce of happiness, every piece of normalcy, it was all destroyed.”

  I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure if I believe Dahlia is capable of doing the things Christine is claiming, but it’s obvious that she believes it. Whatever her reasons…I don’t think Christine is lying. And that scares me.

  It scares the shit out of me.

  “I’m sorry, Christine. But maybe you’re wrong. You heard her say that not everything is what it seems. Maybe there’s more to the story.”

  “Believe what you want. Just know that I warned you about her.”

  She doesn’t wait for me to say anything else before turning away. I watch as she makes her way to the door. Once she’s gone, I head toward the stairs. I need to find Dahlia. Thinking of how she reacted, and the way she looked at Christine—it makes my stomach clench. I don’t want to believe it’s true. I can’t believe she would hurt a family like that. She told me she was a virgin. I figured Styler was the only guy she’d ever dated.

  But the thing is, I don’t know Dahlia that well.

  And the things I do know about her don’t make me feel any better about the situation. Like the way she goes to Professor Barakat’s class even though she’s already taken it. And the way she studies him, almost obsessively. And the way she disguises herself to stay hidden. Is that who she’s hiding from him? The professor? I swallow, not wanting to believe it. But the more I think about it, the more the pieces fall into place. I hate the way it adds up, the way it all seems to make perfect fucking sense. It feels like someone has slammed a knife into my gut, ripping my insides apart. I don’t want to believe those things about Dahlia. I don’t want to think she’s the kind of person who would do that.

  But what if I’m wrong?

  It’s a possibility. One that I wish I didn’t have to consider. But the way she reacted—that’s the worst part. Dahlia completely lost it. If she had nothing to hide, the things Christine said wouldn’t have bothered her.

  I’m not sure what’s true and what’s not, but one thing is becoming pretty clear. Dahlia is hiding a lot more than a pretty face.

  ~ ~

  WESLEY

  I find Dahlia hiding out in the hallway. Her skin is a few shades paler than normal, and she’s staring off into the distance. At first I think her reaction is based off what happened with Christine downstairs, but then I notice what she’s looking at.

  Two people are in the corner of the hall, a couple caught up in a pretty intense moment. The girl gasps in pleasure, wrapping her legs around the guy as he lifts her up. He presses her back into the wall and slams his mouth against hers. In turn, she pulls at his neck, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Their bodies are so entwined, I almost don’t recognize them. Then I notice the girl’s bronzy skin, her dark hair, and the angled shape of her nose and chin. It’s Gwen. I blink a few times, because I recognize the guy too, but my brain refuses to process what my eyes are telling me. Blonde hair, broad shoulders…that can’t be who I think it is, can it?

  “It’s Miles,” Dahlia whispers as if she’s reading my thoughts.

  I reach for her hand and try tugging her back the way we came. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before they see us.”

  “Is that a bad thing? If they see us?” She continues to stare at them with wide eyes. “Every fiber in my body wants to stop them.”

  “It’s not your place.” I tug at her hand again, and she reluctantly allows me to lead her away.

  Over my shoulder, I spy the couple again. They’re really going at it. They don’t even notice Dahlia and me leaving the hallway, but I doubt they would notice if the house was on fire.

  Unsure of what to do, I lead Dahlia to the other side of the house. We make our way through the twisting hallways with a vengeance, finally stopping in front of my bedroom. I twist the knob, guiding her inside, and then shut the door behind me. Dahlia mutters a string of curses I didn’t know she was capable of. She reaches for one of the pillows on my bed, holds it up to her face and lets out a muffled scream.

  I go straight for my stash of whiskey hidden in the bottom drawer of my desk. After twisting off the cap, I hand it to her. She lifts it to her lips, chugging back more than I expected.

  “Okay. Maybe that was a bad idea,” I say, reaching for the bottle.

  She hands it over, then plops down on my bed, a miserable look on her face. “This was supposed to be a good
night,” she says in a small voice, smoothing out the bottom of her dress. “I was hoping for something magical. Not this.”

  I sit down beside her, my weight sinking into the middle of the bed. Because I don’t know where to begin, I don’t say anything. I just look around my room, noticing how blank the walls are, how sparse the furniture is, and how lifeless it feels. Dahlia was right. It is boring.

  “What do I tell Charlotte?” she whispers. “Or the better question is, am I supposed to tell Charlotte? Would I be doing the right thing?”

  I don’t know how to answer her. If these were my friends instead of hers, if this were Chase or Tyson, how would I handle it? Would I tell whoever was being played? Probably not. I would stay the fuck out of it and let them deal with things themselves.

  “It’s not fair,” she breathes. “They’ve always tried to put me between the two of them. I’ve tried so hard not to get in the middle of their weird feud. That’s why I didn’t listen to their bickering; the details always get you into trouble, and I refused to take sides.” She throws her hands up into the air, letting out an exasperated growl. “But here I am—stuck in the middle! It didn’t matter how hard I tried to stay out of it. They’ve managed to put me in the worst position possible. What am I supposed to do now? Miles is Charlotte’s high school sweetheart. They’re planning to get married after graduation. Charlotte is supposed to become a local news anchor, Miles a corporate lawyer. They’re supposed to have little blonde babies, and their lives are supposed to be picture-freaking-perfect. How could Miles screw that up? How could he do that to her?”

  “You don’t know what goes on behind closed doors,” I cut in. “Maybe they aren’t as happy as they pretend to be.”

  There’s one lesson I found out the hard way. My parents seemed happy before my dad left, but I’m not sure how real that was anymore. Obviously there was more going on than I could sense back then. My dad appeared happy to everyone around him, but he must’ve been hiding how he truly felt. He was damned good at it too. I never once guessed the truth.

  “What do I do, Wes? What do I tell Charlotte?” Dahlia looks over at me, her eyes pleading with me to give her answers I can’t give her.

  “I don’t have a clue, babe. If it were me…” I rub the back of my neck. “…I would stay out of it. Things have a way of working themselves out on their own.”

  “Don’t you think I have an inherent responsibility to Charlotte? She’s my friend. That’s supposed to mean something. How can I not tell her?”

  “Yes, she’s your friend, but this is between her and Miles. And besides, no one saw you in the hall. When this comes out—and believe me it will—no one will ever know that you knew about it. Things will get messy between them. There will be bitterness, anger, a lot of hurt feelings. Trust me when I say you don’t want yourself attached to that.”

  She narrows her eyes on me, and I can tell she doesn’t agree with what I’ve said. “What?” I ask her. “You asked, and I told you what I’d do. Doesn’t mean you have to do the same.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she says, looking away.

  Dammit if she doesn’t seem mad at me for some reason. What the hell did I say? It’s not like I’m acting as if it’s okay. Cheating is the ultimate betrayal, and I get that. For months I watched my mom suffer at the hand of my dad’s choices and how deeply he hurt her. I will never repeat his mistakes. Never.

  What surprises me about this whole situation is the way Dahlia is reacting. She’s pissed, more pissed than I’ve ever seen her, which makes Christine’s earlier accusations even more confusing. Dahlia would have to be the biggest hypocrite in the world if the things Christine said were true…

  But then why did she get so upset? Why did she run away?

  Maybe it’s true. Maybe she followed in her mom’s footsteps, breaking apart a family the way her mom broke apart mine.

  God, this is torture. I don’t want to believe any of this shit. I need to hear it come from her lips. I need to hear her say it’s not true.

  “Dahlia,” I say, not knowing where to begin. “Downstairs…with Christine. What was that about?”

  At the mention of Christine’s name, I watch the lines of anger in Dahlia’s face fade. Sadness takes over, and she stares ahead without saying anything.

  “You can’t do that to me this time, Dahlia. I need you to explain what happened down there. I need to know if it’s true.”

  She stands up, her eyes piercing into me. “What do you mean you need to know if it’s true?”

  I’m caught off guard by the look in her eyes. She never expected me to ask her this. “The way you reacted to Christine, the way you ran off—why did you get so upset?”

  “Christine accused me of sleeping with her dad. Wouldn’t you be upset?”

  “Not if there wasn’t any truth behind it.”

  She slowly shakes her head, staring at me in disbelief. “Oh my God. You believe her.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You don’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”

  “Then tell me it’s not true, Dahlia. Tell me Christine is batshit crazy, and she made every word up. I’ll believe you.”

  “What are you looking for—peace of mind? You can’t stand the idea that you’ve involved yourself with a girl who may or may not be a homewrecker?”

  “That’s not fair. You’re putting words into my mouth.”

  “No, I’m not. You’re asking me to tell you the truth when I’ve already done that.”

  I flinch, wondering where this side of her is coming from. When did this room suddenly become a battleground? “You said it to Christine. I want you to say it to me.”

  “Why?” she asks, tilting her head. “Even if it were true, and I did sleep with the professor, would it make a difference to you? Would you see me differently? Why is it so important?”

  “I want to know.”

  “Why do you want to know, Wes?”

  “Because your mom did the same fucking thing to my family,” I snap without meaning to.

  I’m surprised by my own reaction. Standing up, I pace to the other side of the room, and then back again, trying to stay calm. In as calm a voice as I can manage I say, “I know how it feels to be in that situation. I know what it’s like to watch your family ripped apart. I don’t want to believe you’re capable of something like that.”

  Dahlia goes completely still, holding her breath. By looking at her, you’d think I slapped her across the face. It makes me wonder if she knew. This whole time, all these years, my dad may have kept her from knowing what he did.

  “My mom,” she breathes. “You think my mom destroyed your family.”

  “My dad is ultimately to blame, but she certainly had a hand in it. She had to have known he was married when she got involved with him.”

  “Involved…” Dahlia repeats the word as if she’s trying to fit the pieces together. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I’m sorry you had to find out about her this way,” I offer, feeling like I should say something. It’s not easy finding out your parent isn’t the person you thought they were. I know from experience.

  She laughs once, a painful sound. “You were right, Wesley.”

  “About what?”

  “You are a judgmental asshole.”

  My head jerks up. When I meet her furious gaze, I realize she doesn’t believe me.

  “It all makes sense now,” she says in a low, choked voice. “Why you hated Harland, why you hated me. The time you wasted hating your dad—it’s almost sad.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” My defenses go up, and I get the feeling that she thinks she knows something I don’t.

  “I’m talking about your desire to ‘stay out of it’, as you put it. It cost you years with your dad that you’ll never get back.”

  She walks to the door, but I get there first, slamming it shut just as she opens it. “I’m about two seconds from losing it, babe. So you better explain you
rself. Now.”

  “Why should I?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “You walk around here, thinking you know everything and believing the worst about people. There is no trial and jury with you. Instead you jump straight to a guilty verdict and sentence everyone you don’t trust to your indifference. And now you want me to explain myself after you’ve already judged me? I don’t owe you any explanations, Wes. I don’t owe you anything at all.”

  “Dahlia,” I say through clenched teeth. “I watched my mom go through years of pain over the way my dad left her, and here you are implying your mom had nothing to do with it. You will explain yourself.”

  “You should’ve had that conversation with your dad, not with me. Remember the letter? The one you tossed aside the day Francisco read the will? Your answers were probably in there, but you ignored it just like you ignored him. Luckily, knowing Francisco, I’m sure he has a copy. Ask him for it.”

  Letter? What the fuck was so important that he had to write it in that goddamned letter?

  Dahlia yanks the door open beneath my grip, but stops inside the doorway. “You taught me something about myself tonight,” she says without looking back at me. “I don’t want to be like you. I don’t want to stay out of it. When I tell Charlotte what Miles did, it will devastate her, but at least I will have done something. At least she won’t be ignorant. If the situation were reversed, she would do the same for me.”

  This time I don’t stop her as she walks away. I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter, that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She wasn’t there the night my dad disappeared without so much as a goodbye. I don’t give a fuck what his reasons were. He walked away from us, and those actions speak a million times louder than words.

  I throw the bottle of whiskey I’m holding against the wall. The glass shatters into a thousand tiny pieces, the noise slicing against my eardrums. I feel like tearing this house apart inch by inch until every last floorboard is turned over. That’s what I should’ve done to begin with. I should’ve set the damned place on fire and watch it burn to the ground, taking satisfaction in knowing I destroyed my dad’s entire life’s work.