Perfect Lie(65)

“I was late.” Outside it had started to drizzle, and I watched as tiny drops smacked the glass and trickled together before sliding out of view. “Class had started. Ms. Campbell was really strict.” I peeled the remaining flecks of polish from my nail, unsure if I could go on.

“Casey Campbell,” Marie said. She wasn’t asking me a question, but I nodded anyway. It was weird to hear her call a teacher by her first name.

“She was married,” I said, glancing back at Marie, whose expression hadn’t changed. “By the end of first period, I was dying to leave. I was worried that maybe Brock wanted to see me, and that was why he wanted me to stay home. I was afraid he’d hate me if he found out I went anyway.”

“Why would he hate you?”

“Why did anyone hate me?” I shrugged and let out a humorless laugh. “They just did.”

“Brock had proven himself to be different, hadn’t he?” Marie asked.

I nodded as a tear slid down my cheek. Brock was different from anyone I’d known. “He treated me like I was the most important person in the world.” I glanced at Abel’s expressionless face and back at Marie.

“Perhaps to him you were.”

“If I were, he wouldn’t have done what he did. He wouldn’t have left me.”

“Do you blame him?”

“For leaving me? Of course I do!” I spun around and glared at her.

“No. Do you blame him for what happened, or do you still blame yourself?”

“I don’t know anymore,” I said.

Marie smiled, looking pleased with my answer.

“You’re the only person who doesn’t judge him—or me for that matter.” I glanced at my shaky fingers as I balled my hands into fists, trying to stop them from revealing how scared I was.

“It isn’t my job to judge,” she said. “We all do things in life that we regret. We all make mistakes. That’s what makes us human.”

“Most would argue that Brock wasn’t.”

“That he wasn’t regretful?”

“That he wasn’t human.”

Marie shrugged. “Well, it’s easy to vilify people, to place blame. That’s human nature as well.”

“They blamed me.” Another warm tear slid down my cheek, and I resisted the urge to wipe it away. I was so tired of hiding my pain.

“You can’t control how others feel about you. What’s important is how you feel about yourself.” She adjusted in her seat, and I felt her eyes burn into me. “He didn’t leave you, Delilah.”

I sighed as I picked up a small brass cat that sat on the windowsill. My mother collected pointless little things like this. I suddenly had the urge to throw it against the window. My fingers curled around the knickknack as my knuckles turned white.

“Delilah, are you hearing me?”

“It’s ‘Lie.’ Everyone calls me ‘Lie.’” My voice was quiet and sad. It sounded strange hearing how weak I’d become over Brock.

“That’s a rather sad name for someone, don’t you think?”

“Not if it’s the truth.” I put the brass cat back in its place and ran my fingertips down the curve of its back.

“If it’s the truth, how can it be a lie?”

“You’re not making any sense, Marie. Maybe you need someone to talk to.”

My words dripped with sarcasm, and I smiled. Something about Marie made me feel safe. She never judged; she only asked questions to help me understand myself better. She was comforting, like a favorite blanket to hide under when you’re scared of the dark. Brock had been that for me, and now Marie had stepped into that role. But she was teaching me to learn to face the fears and stand on my own. Brock only wanted to shelter me from the real world and keep me from ever facing my demons.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Delilah.” She cocked an eyebrow as she leaned forward to retrieve her glass of water from the small table in front of her. It struck me as odd, and my eyes focused on the intricate glass with rose etchings.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, and I only nodded. Marie and I weren’t friends. There was a reason she sat with a table between us, her drinking from a fancy glass and me from a paper cup. Perhaps she was worried I’d break it and use it as a weapon. I’d bet money that when I came in next week, the brass cat would be gone. I shook the thought from my head.

“Tell me about lunch.” Marie sat back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other.

“It’s the second meal of the day.”

“Delilah…” Her voice was stern but soft. She sounded like one of those TV moms—the ones who hug their kids when they’re sad and ground them from their favorite toy whenthey break some obscure rule.