confession failed
At eighteen, I drunkenly confessed my feelings
for my adopted brother, Liam. I thought it was
just a slip–up, a momentary lapse in judgment.
But the shift in Liam’s demeanor afterward was
palpable. The easy affection, the constant
presence, all gone.
He started working late, barely responding to
my texts. Liam had always been the aloof,
popular type, the kind who received love letters
by the truckload, but to me, he was just my
protective older brother. He’d soothe my tears,
cover for my mistakes. People called him a
“sis–con,” and he never really denied it. I
thought I was different, special. Until I tripped
and fell, biting my lip hard enough to draw
blood, and realized without the “little sister”
label, I was nothing.
It hit me hard when Liam stopped coming home
altogether. Mom made soup one evening and
<
asked me to take it to his office, hoping I could
convince him to come back. “Liam adores you,
honey. He’ll listen to you.” I plastered on a smile, my heart heavy.
At his top–floor office, Liam barely looked up from his work when I entered. I placed the soup on his desk, the aroma filling the room. “Liam, Mom made you chicken soup. She wants you home.”
“Uh–huh.”
I fidgeted, forcing a laugh. “Liam, I’m sorry about that night… I didn’t mean to scare you. I mistook you for someone else. Just forget it, okay?”
His eyes, dark and unreadable, finally met mine. “Mistook me? I don’t think you have another Liam in your life, Chloe. You said my name, you said you liked me, and you kissed me.”
<
My face went white. His words, delivered so
calmly, felt like a death sentence. “Liam, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’d never used my full
name, not even when he was angry. This was his way of being truly ruthless.
“Mom’s worried about you. Come home. This is
your home.” My voice cracked. “If anyone
should leave, it should be me. I’ll move out…
just… stop avoiding me.”
“Whatever.”
I moved out. Two years passed without contact,
not even with Mom, who called frequently, her
voice thick with tears. Guilt gnawed at me. They
treated me like their own, gave me everything,
and I repaid them by developing feelings for
their son. How could I face them?
During a particularly nasty flu season, I
succumbed to the virus. I’d just swallowed a
couple of DayQuil when Mom called. I quickly
<
switched to voice–only, not wanting her to see
how sick I was.
“Honey, what are you doing?”
