Jasmine smiled, waiting patiently like she always did for me to reply. There was no judging, no annoyance. Only acceptance and quiet companionship.
“I had to come see you.”
Every second that ticked past in the solar had dwindled my defences until I had no reserves, no ice, no energy to fight against my family. The instant the tally concluded, I ran. A pussy move, but the only one to keep my sanity.
Jasmine shifted higher in her chair. She sat by the window, her embroidery threads and cross-stitch pattern spread out on the window seat where she had the most light to see.
Her rooms were the epitome of class. Dark grey walls with yellow coloured upholstery and linen. Archangels and fluffy clouds painted the ceiling while her floors drowned in multi-coloured rugs of different sizes and designs.
This was her world.
This was the only place I felt safe to let down my guard.
Jaz patted the window seat, folding up her pattern chart and moving aside some of the threads. “Want to talk about it?”
Did I? Did I want to admit the havoc Nila wreaked on me, or was it best not to talk about it and hope the power she had disappeared?
I shook my head. “Let me just hang here.”
She smiled. “No problem. I’ll just continue doing what I’m doing.”
She knew me so well.
Her jaw-length black hair flicked at the ends in some fashionable haircut she’d recently adopted and her button nose and heart-shaped face was too kind to be around my brothers. Jasmine Hawk looked exactly like our mother. And only eleven months younger than me, she was practically my twin.
I wouldn’t admit it to Nila, but I understood her connection with her brother. There was something to be said for finding a kindred soul in a person who’d been there right from the beginning.
I probably wouldn’t have survived without Jasmine. I owed her everything.
“Relax, Kite. Let it go.” Her small hands smoothed down her pretty woollen dress. She always looked immaculate in old-world fashions, which was utterly depressing as she never stepped foot off the grounds.
I’d tried many times to take her for a ride, on either Wings or my motorbike, but she claimed she was perfectly content looking through a window and watching others enjoy the world.
One of these days I would drag her out and show her how much she missed by playing Rapunzel in her tower.
Picking up her cross-stitch, Jaz gave me one last smile and continued to work on yet another masterpiece of our imposing monolithic home. Considering she didn’t fit the Hawk traits like me, she was extremely patriotic to her heritage.
Threading her needle, she said, “Rest, brother. I’ll watch over you.”
* * * * *
I woke with a chill.
Gloomy dusk had replaced the grey morning. “Damn, what time is it?” I sat up, holding my head as a rush of nausea battered me. It was always the same. The sickness at the end of a long day. Especially if I’d been subjected to my family for long periods of time.
Jasmine was still in her chair, her legs covered in a blanket she’d crocheted. Her fingers flew, drawing a needle with orange thread through the hoop of her recent cross-stitch.
Not bothering to look up, she replied, “You slept through dinner again. But it’s okay. I had the servants bring you up some cold cuts.” She motioned toward the sideboard by her bed. Resting on the polished surface was a silver dome covering a plate.
I sighed, running both hands through my hair. Chuckling softly, I said, “You know me too well.”
Her eyes met mine. “I know what you are but not who you’re becoming.”
I froze.
It wasn’t uncommon for Jasmine to state such poignant weighty things. She was wise—an old soul. Someone who I leaned on far too much.
Knowing she had questions, I stood up wearily and went to retrieve the meal. Returning to my place, I sighed. “Am I supposed to understand that or is it a helpful way to ruin my sleep tonight?”
