“So will I,” I declared, a surge of defiance rising
within me. “I’m going to teach in that rural
community. I’ll meet new people, live my own
life.”
He leaned back in his office chair, watching me
with a knowing smile. “Try it,” he challenged.
<
Weeks later, I received a text from Josh. Okay,
Chloe, I have to tell you something (not trying to
get back together, I have a new girlfriend, just
texting you as a friend, I swear). Remember that
weird look I gave you, when I asked if Liam was
your real brother? This is why. It must be some
kind of sick joke, right?
Attached was a screenshot.
July 5th, Wednesday 7:07 PM
Chloe is a gift I’ve personally crafted, perfectly
suited for me. She belongs to me, and me
alone.
Signed, Liam.
Bonus Chapter (Liam’s Perspective)
I’ve always been selfish, possessive, unable to
control myself. Mom wanted a daughter, so she
11:12
82
brought eight–year–old Chloe home. Decorum and appropriate behavior were lessons I had to learn. So I mimicked my parents, showering her with affection.
At first, she was shy and withdrawn. Then, she became fiercely attached to me. She blossomed, vibrant and full of life, finally
accepting us as her family. I don’t know when it started, but watching her smile brought me joy. When she talked about boys at school, about who was dating whom, her eyes full of innocent curiosity and longing, a strange feeling took root within me.
It wasn’t until her drunken confession at her
eighteenth birthday party that I realized the
depth of my feelings. The years of excessive
affection, far exceeding the normal brotherly
love, had blurred the lines between us. Chloe
was young, naive, easily confused. I wasn’t. I
was the one who’d created this illusion of love.
But I loved her. I knew it from that moment on.
<
So I distanced myself. I didn’t know if she
understood the difference between familial love
and romantic love. Her world was small, her
experience limited. I stopped coming home,
ignored her messages. To further discourage her, I started seeing Amelia. I asked her to play the part of my girlfriend.
By then, Chloe had been living on her own for
two years. Mom constantly asked about her,
urging me to bring her back. I denied any
conflict, avoided contact, yet I found myself parked outside her apartment building,
watching her come and go. I followed her
sometimes, watching her hail cabs to the mall,
to dinner with friends.
That night in the car, when she defiantly
declared she had a boyfriend, despite burning
with fever, I was both amused and furious. I,
along with my parents, had provided for her, yet
she chose to live in that rundown place,
scraping by on her meager graduate student
11:13
<
2000
82
stipend, refusing to use our money. She
couldn’t take care of herself, yet she was trying so hard to pretend she could.
So I asked Amelia to befriend her, to find a way
to get her into better housing without arousing suspicion. Amelia played her part perfectly. She’d called me one day, saying, “Chloe admitted that the boyfriend story was a lie to get you off her back.”
“I know,” I’d replied.
“But she’s not hanging out with me anymore. She said she has a new boyfriend.” Amelia gave me a knowing look, as if to say, You thought you were so clever, but you missed something.
“This one’s real,” she’d confirmed.
I could barely contain myself. The sight of Josh with Chloe had twisted the possessiveness
inside me into a venomous rage. They had to
break up. That was my only thought.
I’d snuck into Chloe’s room countless times
while she was sleeping. But that night, after her birthday party, was the first time I couldn’t
resist kissing her. She’d talked about being my bride, yet she was dating other men. I regretted ever letting her go. I should have kept her chained to my side, never letting her out of my sight. Ethics, boundaries – they meant nothing.
I told myself, if Chloe ever came crawling back, I wouldn’t let her go again. Chloe had never
been shy about asking for what she wanted for
her birthday. A yacht one year, a trip to an
amusement park another. I knew what she was
doing these past two years. She felt guilty,
towards my parents and me. Mom told me
Chloe had come home once, begging for
forgiveness.
“She said if she ever did something terrible,
would we forgive her? I asked her what she
meant, and she just cried, saying it was
unforgivable.”
She was punishing herself, wasting away,
constantly haunted by guilt. It meant she still
loved me. Perhaps she finally understood the
difference between love and familial affection. I
couldn’t let her continue torturing herself. I was
the source of her pain. But I was also her
brother. She’d come to live with us when she
was eight. I’d watched her grow up, depending
on me, becoming intertwined with my very
being.
That night, when she called, her birthday wish
wasn’t for anything extravagant. She just
wanted me to be with her. She cried, confessed
her love, apologized. A twisted sense of
satisfaction bloomed within me. This was what
I’d been waiting for. I’d endured her dating, her
intimacy with others, her eventual heartbreak. I
shouldn’t have given her the chance to explore
outside of me. Two years. Two long years to
<
brother. She’d come to live with us when she
was eight. I’d watched her grow up, depending
on me, becoming intertwined with my very
being.
That night, when she called, her birthday wish
wasn’t for anything extravagant. She just
wanted me to be with her. She cried, confessed
her love, apologized. A twisted sense of
satisfaction bloomed within me. This was what
I’d been waiting for. I’d endured her dating, her
intimacy with others, her eventual heartbreak. I
shouldn’t have given her the chance to explore
outside of me. Two years. Two long years to
prove that she couldn’t live without me. And she
couldn’t. I should have been more confident. It
was inevitable. A heart without its pulse cannot
beat.
She loved me. This time, I wouldn’t let go.
