Shaking my head as if it can physically dispel the thoughts from my head, I clear my throat. “Nah, I’m good. You know how it is when you take a trip down memory lane; sometimes you end up tripping more than you anticipated. Anyway, now she struggles to even look at me, because every time she does, she seeshim.I’m the living, breathing reminder of everything she loved and lost, and would rather forget.”
Picking a song to play on repeat in my head, I drown out all other thoughts beyond the ones I choose to focus on, my fingers tapping the rhythm on my knee. “She took new mates, and whenever we meet up for the occasional dinner, they make more eye contact with me than she does. The real kicker is that I can’t even appreciate their efforts to do so, since I’m not sure if it’s because of my alpha designation, because I’m their mate’s son and they want to score points with her for being on their best behavior, or if they actually respect me as a person.”
“Well damn, trauma bonding for the win,” she says with a grimace. “I’ve got nothing besides... that sucks, and I’m so sorry.”
I shrug a single shoulder. “It is what it is. We don’t get to pick our parents, and we certainly can’t control what they do. All we can do is decide how we respond, and though it might hurt less to avoid visiting completely, I’m a glutton for punishment who still chooses to hold out hope that one day she’ll be in a better place with her grief. Fair to me?” I snort. “Fuck no. But it’s my decision to keep putting myself in that position rather than cut ties completely like I probably should for the sake of my own sanity.”
Unconsciously, my eyes flit to the dresser, a sinking feeling causing my chest to ache. Forcing my gaze back to her, I wink. “Good thing I’ve embraced that I’ll never be sane and revel in the chaos instead.”
She caught my slip, though, and splays her fingers wide in front of her, staring down at her hands with a furrowed brow. “What are you doing here, anyway? Did you need something?”
Here goes nothing.
Nerves assault my system that have nothing to do with my other half or the toxic energy that I stole from Sabrina. The nausea in my stomach is all mine, and I must say- not a fan.
“I got you something.”
She cocks her head, confusion morphing her features as I slide to my feet, retrieving the bag that I dropped in the hallway when I stormed in. Returning to the bed, I pass it her way, internally chastising myself for acting like a teenager fumbling his first bra clasp.
“Cinjin and Bo helped load it up, so if they’re setting me up to look stupid, cut me some slack.”
She pulls the device from the bag, eyebrows leaping to her hairline. After it powers on, she begins scrolling through the digital library as I hold my breath. When she chuckles, the sound is such a massive relief, it has me releasing a pent-up breath and nearly falling back on the bed. “I’m surprised that they were actually helpful instead of sabotaging you.”
Sheepishly rubbing the back of my neck, I admit, “We may or may not have bonded over torturing Carter.”
Her head snaps up at that, the gift temporarily forgotten. “Did he suffer?” My hesitant nod has her beaming. “Good, fuck that guy.”
“Want to see something gruesomely amazing?”
At her wary agreement, I withdraw my phone from my pocket, pulling up the picture of Cinjin’s artwork. Snorting a laugh, she steals it from me to inspect in depth, zooming in on certain parts. “Cinjin’s work or yours?”
“Cin’s.”
Her smile only grows. “I figured. It’s an absolute shame that we can’t put this one up on the fridge.” Sighing, she meets my eye. “We should probably delete the evidence, shouldn’t we?”
I think serial killers are onto something with their trophies, because damn, am I tempted to one up Cinjin and bring something back if it makes her smile like that at me.
“Probably,” I relent.
Committing it to memory, she deletes the photo and passes the phone back to me. Snatching up her phone, she fires off a text.
“Singing his praises? Hate to tell you, but it will completely go to his head.”
Without looking up from her phone as she finishes her message, she smiles wistfully. “Cinjin is... he’s the kid that asks you to watch him do a stupid trick four hundred times in a row, but is used to people brushing him off instead of seeing that he’s trying to makethemhappy by distracting them from a shitty world. He’s overdue a little praise.” As she fires off the message and sets her phone aside, she picks back up the e-reader. “I’m likely setting myself up to receive an onslaught of doodled pictures every time I turn around for the foreseeable future, but that’s a gift that doesn’t cost a single thing except time, which makes it one of the best.”
Accepting the brutal torture of a man as easy as that, she returns to skimming her new library with a look of appreciation and amusement. “I’m sensing a theme; subliminal messaging.”
Cringing, I remind her, “I only paid, they picked out the books!”
Chuckling, she amends, “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
Tapping the screen to bring up the blurb on one, she flips it around for me to read, and I cough uncomfortably upon discovering that it’s literary porn disguised beneath a plot and now I definitely look like I’m making a move on her. My reaction only serves to make her laugh harder, and for a long while, I simply observe her. It’s quickly become an addiction, watching Sabrina. One that I doubt I’ll ever be cured of.
Since I have a hint of her mindset now, after enough time has passed that it risks falling into awkward territory, I bring her attention back to me. “If you’d like, I can teach you how to shift things around in your head to make them easier to cope with.”
With only the slightest hesitation, she nods, setting aside her device. “I’d appreciate that. Things have been a little... rough,” she finally settles on, giving me her undivided attention.
For a moment, I’m paralyzed. I complained about her not noticing me, but having the full weight of her focus isn’t anything someone could prepare for. There’s something about her presence that goes beyond an alpha commanding the respect and attention of everyone in the room, something uniquelyher,that inspires the desire to rip my heart out of my chest and throw it to her feet for judgment. The desperation to earn her praise is so visceral and intense, it may as well be dubbed a personality trait.
