Good night, Judas.
No. I want to hear more.
Byeeee.
Good night, my little ruin.
Nothing comes back.
I roll onto my back, resting the phone against my chest, and I close my eyes.
Sleep takes me too easily.
A soft knock wakes me up. It is around six in the morning, and even though I don’t want to get out of bed, I want to get outof here. I couldn’t hear Simona and my dad last night, but this morning I heard them arguing again.
The door opens quietly, footsteps approach, and the mattress dips as someone sits down. I pull my blanket back and see Simona at the edge of the bed. She is crying. Mascara is smeared beneath her eyes, and her cheeks are red.
I feel nothing for her. Her tears are worth nothing to me.
“Judas,” she says, “your father asked when you are getting up.”
I shrug.
“Okay,” she whispers.
She stands and walks toward the door, then stops. She turns around.
“Your father and I have been together for three years,” she says. “The reason he put Carmen in juvenile is because he wanted to label her unfit to take care of her sister when she turns eighteen.”
My eyes widen as I stare at her.
“If you say a thing to Carmen, I will take her sister away,” she says, sniffing. “And if you tell Catherine about your dad and me, I will tell her where her sister is.”
My jaw tightens.
She closes the door behind her.
I lift a brow, staring at the space she leaves. If she thinks she owns me, she is wrong. You can’t own someone who has nothing to lose.
I know I can’t break my mother’s heart. My dad has to be the one to tell her the truth. But I can’t tell Carmen about her sister either. There is nothing she can do. All I can do is stand by and watch.
And if Simona thinks she can disappear with her sister, she is wrong. One thing the Harringtons have is power. Power finds people.
I roll my eyes and get up, grabbing my jacket from the chair. I pull on my sneakers and head for the door. When I open it, silence hits first. Then the arguing starts again.
I move down the stairs slowly. When I reach the bottom step, I sign to my dad.
Leaving.
“I am going with you,” he says, walking toward the door.
I stop him and look at Simona.
No. Stay.I sign.
A chuckle slips out.
You have a lot on your plate.I sign as I open the door and step outside.
