Things We Can't Say

36: a little violence goes a long way.

"You still don't believe you've done anything wrong. You still won't apologize to us," I say to my father, "and for that I should kill you."

Though the symphony of chaos is still ringing around me, though I can sense both my mother's and Jamie's watchful eyes on me, in this moment, it's like I get tunnel vision. There is no one else here, no one but Dad and I and the long, broken stretch of history swaying between us like a rope bridge. I could sever it here, once and for all. Free myself of him.

He says, "Violet."

My arm tenses, my grip on the gun tightening. "Don't," I say, shaking my head. "I'm not done talking."

Obediently, Dad shuts his mouth.

"Good. Just like the dog you are."

Mom lets out a cough of laughter, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Jamie wince.

"You never cared about us," I go on. "Did you? Everything, everyone—including us—was just a pawn you used to get yourself more power. Ironic, then, that this is where it landed you, doing everything at the beck and call of a crew of humans that will never see you as an equal. Was it worth it, Dad? Throwing us away, allowing our pack to get slaughtered?"

"I never intended—"

"Shut up."

I've been angry before, several times before, but never quite like this. The rage is like acid in my veins, searing away everything rational. I have to fight to keep my senses, my grip on the gun's handle tensing and slipping again. "Mom and I were paraded around as circus animals because of you. Jamie had to fight every day of his life to survive, literally. And you're cozy here, profiting off other werewolves' demise. I don't know how you live with yourself."

My finger curls; beneath it, the trigger is cool and dangerous. "But today's your lucky day, Dad, because you won't have to anymore."

"Vy," Jamie says, his eyes tracking my finger. "Wait. I thought we said we weren't—"

"You can't feel bad for him, Jamie!" I look at him, the backs of my eyes beginning to sting no matter how hard I'm fighting it. Before I know it, the words are up and out of me, rationale be damned. "He lied to you. To both of us."

Jamie just blinks. "We don't know that. Maybe he does love us, somewhere in there?"

I shake my head. "That's not what I meant."

At that, Mom jolts. "Wait. He shouldn't—"

"Why don't you tell him, Dad?" I say, my gaze swinging back towards our father. A single hot tear streaks down my face. "How you fabricated a story of greatness for him just because you were so embarrassed of something he was born with?"

Jamie looks at me, his face the picture of confusion, before he turns instead towards Dad. We made up our mind before, but I can see him wavering now, his toe slowly dipping into the waters of aggression. "Dad?" he says, and shakes his head, hair flying into his face. "I don't get it. What's she talking about?"

Dad shudders beneath the tooth-and-claw grip of the wolves, his face screwed in a grimace. He says nothing, but his face says more than enough.

For Jamie's sake, I translate. "You weren't the pack's next alpha," I say, lowering my gaze. "It was supposed to be me. You were born with a defect, so Dad lied about it, but the lie just went too far. That's how ashamed of you he is, Jamie."

Jamie's face is pale with shock. He doesn't look upset, doesn't even look angry. He just looks...lost, which is a thousand times worse.

This time when my finger tenses against the trigger, Jamie doesn't protest.