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.

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