“I get it.”She leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder.“Thank you for stopping me.You would’ve regretted it.”
I huff a bitter breath.“Stopping you is the second most regrettable thing I’ve ever done.”
“And the first?”
“Jumping off an unsurvivable cliff.”
“You…” She tilts her head.“Jumped on purpose?To die?”
“To escape.”
“I’m glad you didn’t die.”
We both fall silent again.
The sketchpad sits forgotten on the table.The ghosts continue to hover.But they feel quieter now.
“If you want to give me something…” I shift, bringing my mouth within a kiss from hers.“Tell me the truth about Jag.I need to know if my family’s in danger.I need to know what you’re running from.”
She tenses.I feel it in her shoulders, in the acceleration of her breath.
“I won’t use it against you.”I touch the soft hair that flutters against her cheek.“But if there’s something we need to prepare for…”
“Okay.”She straightens and runs her hands along her thighs.“You’re right.I’ll tell you.Just… Don’t interrupt.It’s messy.”
I nod.
“I was eight when I watched Jag kill a man for the first time.”
“And here I thought this would be a slow burn story.”
“You’re interrupting.”
I mime zipping my lips.
“My mom married his dad when I was a baby.David Rath was the only father I knew.Our parents weren’t perfect, but they were good people.They loved each other.And they loved us.”She flexes her fingers on her knees, her voice hollow.“Until that night.”
I hold still, waiting for her to continue.
“Someone broke into our house.Jag pulled me into the kitchen pantry and covered my mouth while our parents were butchered on the other side of the door.I still remember the sound of their bodies hitting the floor.”
My eyes stay with hers, my expression stripped of shock and pity.I have no soft edges to offer, just understanding.I’ve lived through worse and learned that silence says more than sympathy.
“The murderer knew we were hiding in the pantry.I thought we were dead.But the instant that door opened, Jag attacked him with a kitchen knife.Stabbed him over and over and over.There was so much blood.I’ll never forget that smell.Or his total lack of emotion.He killed that man and showed no remorse.Nothing.”She licks her Medusa piercing.“After that, we ran, and for a while, Jag became myillegalguardian.”
“Illegal?”
“He was sixteen, barely able to take care of himself, let alone an eight-year-old.We lived on the streets, dodging social workers and cops.He taught me how to lie, how to steal, how to disappear.He saw threats everywhere, and me… I was the little sister he had to feed and protect.A burden.A reminder of the night he lost everything.”
“Everything butyou.”
“He wasn’t exactly grateful for that.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“Not like that.”She draws in a long breath.“But he hurt me.Emotionally.He kept me under his thumb.Kept me scared.Trapped.I thought I owed him everything.I thought…”
“You thought what?”
