You Are Mine Little Sister (by Syra Tucker) novel Chapter 114

It wasn't until my bedroom door clicked shut that the ache I'd been suffocating under the table came tearing out. It pressed against my ribs, made my knees weak.

I went to the desk with shaky fingers and dragged my sketchbook open. I let the pencil move before my heart split, let it bleed shapes onto the page.

Ten minutes later, I had four rumpled pages on the floor. I groaned, lifted the sketchbook, and slammed it down against the desk hard enough for the sound to rattle the glass of water nearby.

Damn it.

Perhaps, it'd have been better if I had my sketchpad with me. There were some saved designs I could've gotten inspiration from.

Lies, Rali.

My hair spilled around me as I let my head collapse onto the table, wishing I could smudge out the noise of my own mind and steal a moment's rest.

The phone startled me. Normally, I'd have flinched, thinking it was 'him.' But it wasn't possible. This was a new line in a new phone.

"Hey, Ver." I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Rali. How're you feeling?"

"I'm great. How else am I supposed to feel?"

For the next fifteen minutes, Veronica dragged me into conversations we had no business having. I honestly didn't know what else to do to make her believe I was 'fine', even if that was far from the truth.

At least here, I was safer. Safer from him. Void wouldn't dare come knocking at his old foster parents' house. That much I believed.

Yet, when I crawled into bed that night, stupid tears tracked down my cheeks.

For one weak, reckless moment, I let myself imagine him as something human. A man, not a monster. A man tall, broad, ink-painted and charming, who wanted me as fiercely as he did but without the evil that came with him.

It would've been the best kind of love story.

But it wasn't mine.

Mine was bound to the devil himself. And devils don't do love stories.

*****

'I wish my father had left you rotting in the dark where you belonged.'

Pad-pad-pad.

'The worst day of my life wasn't when I met you. It's every day after.'

Pad-pad-pad.

Sweat slipped from my hairline to my temple and stung the corner of my eye. The chain at my throat thumped against my collarbone with every stride. I kept the pace—ankles soft, knees springing—eyes locked on the next lamppost, the next crack in the pavement, the next excuse not to think of 'him.'

Him.

The mere thought knifed my chest, leaving a small, sour ache right under my sternum. I pushed harder.

I ran past trees and a row of stores smelling like coffee and newsprint. A dog barked behind a gate. Somewhere a bakery bled warm sugar into the air. My breath fell into counts—in-two, out-two—while my feet kept time beneath me: pad-pad-pad.

My ribs burned, same with my feet. I tried to ignore it 'cause I didn't want to think.

But when the burn finally won, I coasted down to a jog, then a walk, and folded in half with my palms braced on my knees. My breaths came hard, heat roaring in my ears.

Fuck, I really needed a break.

"Rali?"

My spine shot straight. To my right, a familiar figure approached me—blond hair, blue eyes, and that faint cheek discoloration everyone in New Portland Academy knew him for.

"Aaron!" A smile broke through.

"Whoa, look at you!" He pulled me into a side hug, his palm lingering a second too long between my shoulder blades. "Rali Hayes," he stepped back to take me in. "You look gorgeous. What're you doing on this side of the world?"

"My parents still live here. Besides, I come home every Christmas."

"Oh, of course. Tasmin and Joe have always been lovers of this city," he chuckled, then sobered. "I actually just got back a few weeks ago. You know, my dad passed. Someone had to come run the business."

My smile thinned. "Oh, Aaron... I'm so sorry."

"Nah. It's fine. The man had a good time on earth, anyway." He laughed, but it wobbled.

'When I tell you you're beautiful and that I want you, I say it because I mean it. Not because I have to.'

I yanked open the fridge door with more force than necessary

'Let me love you, Rali Hayes.'

I tore the cap off a bottle and drank too fast. Water jumped the rim, slid down my throat, raced along my neck, soaked the collar of my shirt.

'I want to know what it feels like to have a woman I'd give the whole fucking universe to, knowing her eyes would only ever search for mine.'

I slammed the bottle onto the top of the fridge. It thunked hard and a spray arced over my fingers.

"Damn it!"

I was a sweaty mess, my chest still heaving like I'd sprinted a state line. Heat banded my ribs. Anger stitched through every breath, tugging the thread tighter each inhale.

God, I hated him. I hated every piece of this. Hated that his absence had the audacity to feel like a presence.

Hated that every night I lay awake in bed, counting footsteps that never came.

Hated that I left the windows open even in the rain.

Hated the stupid, perfect words stuck in my head like pop hooks I couldn't unhear.

Hated how his voice filled the room without a body.

Hated how my hands remembered him when I tried to forget. How I touched myself to 'memories' and called it sleep.

I braced my palms on the counter, head bowed, my hair dripping sweat and water. Caramel on my skin, bubblegum in my hair, jasmine rising from below. Everything about me smelled like him finding me.

Fuck, I hated the monster. What the fuck did I have to do to cut him out of me?

I headed for my room, praying I'd feel better the moment I took a shower.

I opened my door and froze. A figure stood by my desk. Dark, wavy hair, black latex pants. Black puffer jacket, black boots.

Air left my lungs so fast my knees almost followed. I squeezed my eyes shut, opened them again. He was still there, his back to me.