I pull my knees close to my chest and wrap my arms around them tight.
I shouldn’t have asked.
“Is that all you have?” His words rumble through the room.
I hug myself tighter.
“Yes,” I say to the wall.
“Where have all your questions gone?”
I almost tell him they died with him. That I took a wrong turn, and now the road is dark and lonely with nothing but monsters decorating the shadows.
That I’m one of them.
I almost tell him I’m frightened to go to sleep, afraid he won’t be here when I wake …
But I don’t.
“I’m tired, Rhordyn.”
There’s silence for so long I start to wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then he says, almost too soft for me to hear, “Goodnight, Orlaith.”
She breathes soft and slow, still in the same position she fell asleep in hours ago. She hasn’t moved once.
Neither have I.
The storm continues to churn outside. Continues to rip me apart from the inside, lashing in sync with my splintered thoughts. I think of that glass bunny she used as a vase—once soft and alive.
Now hard and dead.
She thinks she’s the darkest shadow in the room, but there is none darker than I. No monster that holds a candle to the shit I’ve done.
She tucked into herself and put her back to her damage like it’ll all just go away. I’ve seen how that pans out. I watched my sister die too many times not to smash down Orlaith’s walls.
Unapologetically.
I’m tempted to stalk over there and whip off the cover, rip her out of bed, then back her against the wall.Tell her there’s nowhere she can hide where I won’t follow.
No hole she can crawl down that’s too dark for me tosee.
But she’s naked under the covers, so I don’t. There’s a fine line between rage and feral fucking in the blood that runs thick through both our veins, and this cabin can’t handle what I’ve got to throw at her.
The walls are too frail.
She wails, and her entire body jolts, arms flailing as she tips onto her back, face twisted.
Eyes still closed.
My heart slams against my ribs as she reaches for something I can’t see, clawing at the air. She sobs, the sound so coarse and guttural I feel it slice through me like a serrated blade.
“Don’t cry.” She chokes. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t—”
I’m up and out of the chair, charging to the bed. Lightning pops and crackles to the tune of my hammering heart as I rip the blankets back and climb in next to her, hauling her against me.
She gasps awake, eyes wide and wild, cheeks stained with tears, her breaths turning short and sharp.
Strangled.
