Still, I hated leaving him in that half-lit basement, empty arms dangling at his sides, not knowing if he’d ever get to hold me again.
I hated that I already missed the warmth of him, the way his breath had tucked itself into the curve of my neck like apology.
But, I couldn’t have that. It would never last, and it would only end in tragedy.
The neighborhood was empty. No cars humming past, no neighbors scraping frost from windshields, no distant shouts of kids too young to know what bruises lasted longest.
It was just me and the crows, picking at the bones of the morning.
I imagined every family inside, each one a snow globe of warmth and noise and normalcy, and I wanted to shatter every single one.
My hands shook, so I stuffed them in my pockets. I tried to walk slow, but my body kept speeding up, as if I could outrun the memory of Dante’s hand on my hip.
The ache in my chest had sharpened into something new: shame. For needing, for wanting, for letting myself believe, even for a second, that I could have something soft.
The wind whipped hairinto my mouth and eyes, but I barely noticed. The taste of old Sprite lingered on my tongue.
I tried to focus on that.
As I approached the house, a stinging sensation pinched deep in my gut.
My mother’s car was missing, but Lillian’s broken-down vehicle was in the driveway. I approached the front door with caution.
I stepped inside, an eerie silence immediately wafted through the air. Nothing seemed out of place, yet a gnawing dread clawed at me.
I made my way toward my room, passing Lillian’s door. It was cracked open, and I peeked inside, freezing at the sight before me.
Shock coursed through my veins, and nausea churned in my stomach. A torrent of emotions surged through me like lightning.
My sister lay sprawled on her bed, and beside her lay my worst enemy.
Caiden.
The chilling realization hit me hard: they were both naked, their clothes were strewn haphazardly across the floor.
Would I run, or would I explode in fury?
The answer became clear.
THE PAST
AMELIA’S BREAKING POINT
A wave of crimson rage, blistering and all-consuming, swept over me, turning every nerve into a flame.
My sight blurred, edges melting into a red haze, and the taste of bile rose in my throat as my lungs constricted against a belly-twisting convulsion of nausea.
The room felt too small, the wallpaper crawled toward me, tilting the air so each inhale sounded like the snap of a tightening noose.
Betrayal, I realized, was a fragile blade, its initial incision barely noticeable before it gouged out a cavern of ruin, a disaster teetering on the brink.
To be deceived by a stranger was to let a momentary wound bleed and then scab over, forgotten in time’s dull ache.
But when that knife twists in the blood of family, the cut never heals. It festered raw, throbbing with every heartbeat, and once that barrier shatters, everything splinters into shards, impossible to realign.
“What the fuck is going on?” I shouted, my voice loud enough to wake them from their slumber.
Lillian stirred, groggily looking up from where she lay, her arms splayed across Caiden’s bare chest, a sight that felt like a punch to the gut.
