I always knew, she says.
She watches them carefully now. Watching for signs she missed before. She figures it would be easier, considering they're actually together now. It stings more when she realizes that they don't act any different than they did before. They always would look at each other like that and talk to each other like that and touch each other like that.
She can't believe she didn't notice it. She resents herself for it.
She can't believe nobody told her. She loathes them for it.
Of course, I'm happy for them, she insists.
They are together all the time. She just never noticed it before, but she's never hated her brother, or him, before. She spends time with them, just like she always would. She is too proud to show how much it hurts and endures it the best she can.
But at night when she hears him sneak up the trellis that he used to climb to visit her, she curls in on herself, tries to ignore what's going on in the next room and lets herself cry.
Me and him? It was just for fun, nothing serious.
She throws out all the little mementos she kept that reminded her of him. She banishes thoughts of charismatic little brown-eyed children. In her mind she burns that perfect house in Santa Fe. But she can't seem to get rid of that dumb, faded red bandana.
They're perfect for each other.
He never looked at her the way he looks at her brother. He never found little excuses to touch her. He didn't cut back on smoking for her. He never smiled like that when she entered the room or was riveted like that when she spoke. He never encouraged her like that or trusted her like that or loved her like that.
I wasn't ever in love with him.
He had never said I love you, but she had assumed it and that was her downfall.
Honestly, he's like a brother to me.
She says these things over and over. Their all lies, though. She would never tell the truth. She's too proud.
A Matter of Pride by eversweetdreams