He tried to climb over him but his foot was caught under that weight and he ended up falling forward instead, slamming on his hands, his knees coming down over Oli’s thighs. They were still warm, as though he were merely sleeping and not…
Rabbit wretched, emptying the contents of his stomach—which admittedly hadn’t been much, since he’d only had half a bottle of water all day. He was still gagging when the tips of his mother’s high heels came into view.
“Maybe this time you’ll learn your lesson,” December stated coolly, brushing at the loose ends of her hair in a poor attempt to smooth them back into place. “The only person you have to rely on in this universe, Rabbit, is me. Remember that next time filth like this,” she kicked out at Oli’s ankle, “tries to distract you.”
She grabbed one of the smaller pots on the shelf to her left then and lifted it, smashing the single overhead light bulb to pieces. The light went out, casting their surroundings in mild darkness, and she stepped back. Her hand went to the silver doorknob.
“Since you’re so fond of him,” she said, “I’ll do you a favor as your mother. I’ll let you spend one final night with him.”
Rabbit couldn’t have formed words if he wanted to, frozen in place as she slammed and locked the door from the outside. The sound of her footsteps retreating, followed by the side porch light going off immediately had his heart skipping in his chest.
It was too dark.
He couldn’t see.
There was just the smell of dirt and blood and the dwindling warmth of the body he was kneeling on and—
He shot to his feet, tripping yet again. His head bashed against the thick glass door but it did him more harm than it. He had no clue how long he spent pounding on it, screaming until his voice had gone hoarse, begging and pleading with her to come back and let him out and turn on a light.
The darkness seemed to laugh at him.
Eventually, he got lightheaded.
He didn’t remember if he’d simply passed out or if he’d tripped a fourth time and hit his head again. All Rabbit knew was the next time he woke, he was at the hospital, listening to the doctor tell him the tragic tale about how Oli Easton, the rising beiska star, had committed suicide in front of him.
At the time, the trauma and the stress of it all had made Rabbit block out the truth and he’d believed them.
He’d believed them.
Chapter 29:
Someone was calling his name but it wasn’t the voice from his nightmare memory this time.
Rabbit blinked and came to slowly as if being pulled from a thrashing sea desperate to keep hold of him and bring him back under. It was tempting to allow it, to slip back into that murky nothingness where he could pretend like that night had never happened. Where he could lie to himself and act like he still believed the story the doctor had spun for his mother.
The first thing he was able to process, aside from the voice, were the arms cradled around him. He was being held close, the person’s body partially blocking him as though to shield him from something.
He wanted to laugh at that because it was too late. He’d already seen the most horrible sight there was to see. Or…
Baikal’s face swam into view, fuzzy at first as Rabbit’s vision adjusted and cleared. He appeared frantic, the tough, unshakable Brumal Prince he was used to seeing gone. The man in his place was staring with fear in his teal eyes.
And a single drop of blood rolling down the side of his left temple.
Rabbit startled, forcing himself up onto his knees, reaching for him.
“What—”
“I told you he was fine,” December’s curt tone cut through the moment. She was standing a few feet away, that glass orb still clutched in her right hand. It was hanging down by her side now, but the droplets of blood smeared on the side were impossible to miss.
Blood. Like that night.
Only this time, she’d hit Baikal.
She’d. Hit.Baikal.
“He’s melodramatic, always has been,” his mother said, but Rabbit wasn’t listening.
That night, he should have been braver, stronger. He should have stood his ground and not cowered behind the possibility of financial ruin and having to make it on his own. Up until that point, he’d always just assumed that was his lot in life and he needed to get over his personal troubles with it. He’d convinced himself that he needed his mother’s adoration and respect.
