It looked like burns. Like he had touched hell itself.
Flashbacks of him run shamelessly through my head.
It’s known that they’re adopted, but they look so much like Mrs. Varner. Every time I see her at an event or in the newspapers, she looks like a Russian supermodel. Nat has the same black hair, green eyes, pale skin, and her brother—his eyes are somehow darker.
Kasien.
I’ll ask Nat tomorrow. Maybe. Or I can wait for another catering shift. Maybe he’ll be there and I can figure out this confusing interest in my head.
But that would be a whole week. My chest tightens at the thought.
I shift myself in the sheets, cuddling my pillow and throwing the blanket away. The nights have been so hot lately. My window is wide open, the summer air so warm even this late at night. Outside, crickets are singing together with some cats arguing in the distance.
I love these sounds. The sounds of nightlife, drifting into my bedroom, making it feel like I’m not alone here.
My mind uncontrollably drifts back to the Varner siblings. It must be nice to have a sibling. They were together almost the whole evening, none of them probably ever feeling lonely. They also look like they fell out of a vampire movie.
Both of them have this magnetic presence, fair skin, tall and lean features. Yet I know Natalya is one of the craziest people in school. Detention is basically her second home.
I’ve always wanted a sibling. Just someone who would love me unconditionally.
I close my eyes, trying to force sleep, but my mind won’t quiet down.
My phone suddenly dings on my nightstand. I unlock it when I see a text message from an unknown number.
Unknown: You forgot something today.
It’s definitely someone from catering, but what did I forget this time? It’s probably nothing, I’ll get it next week.
Three dots appear on the screen and then—a photo.
My fingers freeze on the screen, my lips parting to get some air in.
It’s him.
Well, only his hand.
And he’s wearing my bracelet.
I have to sit up to fully analyze the picture, my fingers trembling.
He’s wearing it.
I open the picture and cover my mouth to stop the silent giggle, immediately embarrassed by my own hormones.
Jesus, what am I, twelve?
I tilt my head and study the photo more. The bracelet is too small for him, hugging his whole wrist right where the scars start, but that’s all the picture shows – the rest of his hand is cropped out.
Sadly.
I bite my nails nervously and check the time of the message.
Fuck.
Have I really been staring at it for more than five minutes? Can he see that I read it?
I quickly go to my settings and of course I have that stupid button ON. He can see I read it.
