“I have the carnival tonight,” I tell him, setting my brush down and glancing at my hair. It’s long, to my elbows, and nighttime black.
Lele is fair headed, and I don’t have photos of Mom to wonder at and I don’t know who our dad is or was.
There’s only Lynx now.
“Lydia.” My brother’s voice is serious.
I feel something tug at my heart as I lift my eyes to his.
It’s not only Lynx at all, because when I disappoint him—a bad mark in school or failing at self-defense lessons—he looks at me the same as he does Lele.
Like I’m not his.
Like we are not his family.
“Yes?” I whisper, and I clench my hands into fists to stop from breaking.
“Don’t go tonight.” Lele’s complexion is paler than usual. “Stay here.”
“Why, Lele?” Tell me the truth.
But anger flushes through me when he doesn’t respond. “What is it, Le? Does he hit you?” I hiss the words out with a careful glance at my door. It’s pulled closed, my dark room and bookcases and curtains and marble vanity and the Latin books on the floor hidden away from my uncle. The one who took us in. The one who is supposed to love us. “Does he hurt you? You’re practically an adult now. You can hit him back, or you can tell me.”
Lele squeezes the bear tighter to his chest.
Horror and frustration andtoo muchblooms inside of me. What am I supposed to do? Am I his mother now? How do I walk this tightrope? Is that what you did to me, Mom? Make me the eldest daughter who drowns in responsibilities I don’t even know I should have?You coward.I want to scream it at her.Fucking. Coward.
I slam my hands on the vanity’s desk. My perfume bottles jump around and I stand, whirling to face my brother, still silent, his chin tucked into my bear.
“Tell me what he does or I will leave you.”
“He said I can’t!” He hisses it out, and his cheeks turn pink, but there is desperation in his eyes. “He said I’m not allowed!”
“I am your sister, Lele.” I advance on him, my fists clenched tight at my sides. “Who do you trust more?” I point to the door. “Me, or him?”
He keeps his head ducked down and he closes his eyes tight.
I think he won’t answer me and I wonder who I am more mad at. Me, or Lynx, or him.
But the answer is none of them.
It’s always the dead.
I am mad at the corpse of my mother who couldn’t hold it all together for me.
“Please tell me.” If I knew it would make any difference, I would get on my knees and beg. If someone is hurting him… I think I would kill them.
And in this family, I think I would get away with it.
“Does he hurt you?” I ask again, because I can’t leave him if Lynx does. And if Lynx does, Lynx is fucking dead.
But slowly, Lele shakes his head. “No,” he says, and a tear trails down the bridge of his nose, so unlike my own. But I don’t think he’s lying, the way he holds my eyes. “No, Lydia. He doesn’t hurt me. He says he made a promise to only ever hurt you.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
STORM
