@jordan.ezra
Were they worth it?
And finally, just as I was leaving the bar, a third.
@jordan.ezra
See you in hell, Bastian.
Ezra always had a flair for the dramatic, but that last message isn’t drama for drama’s sake. It’s a cry for help disguised as a taunt.
He’s planning to hurt himself…or someone else.
Possibly me.
I keep thinking back to when he arrived at my door the other night. Something is stirring in his psyche, and nothing good will come of it. I’m fighting the urge to call Kai and warn him. What the fuck would I even say?
Your brother might have a mental breakdown because I rejected him?
If by some miracle Kai doesn’t consider me a narcissist, he most certainly will after that call.
I don’t know why, but it feels incredibly important that I don’t change the status quo between me and Kai.
Not when everything feels so…fragile.
I’ve convinced myself Ezra wouldn’t try anything at Thanksgiving anyway. He’d probably avoid the holiday altogether, if only to escape his toxic family and a heap of false gratitude.
Then again…
Christ. I’m catastrophizing again.
Kai and Haven have each other. They can handle whatever empty threats Ezra throws—if he even bothers to show for Thanksgiving. Tomorrow, when this godforsaken holiday is over, I’ll figure out how to handle the Ezra situation.
Permanently…like I should have months ago.
But for now, all I can do is wait for this day to end.
I take a long swallow of bourbon, forcing the sting in my throat to settle my nerves. The wind howls like an omen, the blurry silhouettes of the trees bordering my property swaying in the powerful gust. At this rate, I’ll be snowed in by morning.
Thankfully, I have backup power and water to last me a few days. I’ll find some way to get Kai and Haven here tomorrow, like I wanted. I’m sure we could find a way to keep ourselves entertained for the duration of the Thanksgiving break.
Being snowed in with them sounds like heaven.
I just have to make it through tonight.
So I listen to the fire crackle and the wind howl, and I do my fucking best not to let the memories creep in.
But the holidays—family, Christmas around the corner—act like a pressure cooker on my mind, tenderizing even my toughest mental blocks.
And the snow—all this fucking snow—erodes those boundaries like acid rain, allowing in the one person I always struggle the hardest to keep out.
My little sister, Sybil.
By the time I realize I’ve begun humming, it’s already too late.
Because by then, I’m not in my architect-designed house in the middle of nowhere anymore.
I’m sixteen, I’m in a house reeking of mildew and old newspapers…and it’s my first—and last—Thanksgiving.
