Page 33 of Sinister

There’s a pause, and then she writes back:

What’s not simple, Petra?

We are using each other’s full first names now. That’s how bad things have gotten.

Tears prick my eyes as I type back, my anger and guilt finally spilling over.

You wouldn’t understand.

Try me!

Her response is instantaneous; it feels like if I did ask her, she would somehow appear in my bedroom in a flash and a twinkle, like some teenage fairy godmother.

And still I hesitate, my fingers suspended midair, contorted and quivering, as if I’m literally grasping at straws.

How can I explain the whirlwind I have been caught in since that night?

How can I tell her about Sin and everything that happened?

I can’t say right now.

Why not? You used to tell me everything.

I don’t know, Ames, please don’t push. Things are difficult.

But we deal with them together, remember?

I remember, Ames. This time . . . it’s different.

Different how?

More relentless questioning that I’m not prepared for. How can I explain something I don’t fully understand myself?

I don’t know how to explain.

Is this about a guy?

The question hits me like an uppercut from nowhere, and I feel my anger rising again.

Why does it always have to be about a guy?

Because you’re acting like a girl who’s got her heart broken.

That’s such a snarky thing to say, Ames. Just FYI, EVERYTHING in my life is difficult right now.

Okay, now you’re scaring me, Petra. Just tell me what’s going on. Are you sick or something?

I pause and grapple with the sheer force of my instincts to just tell her, just come clean. But I am not sure how.

I need time, Ames. Please, can you just understand that? I’m not doing this to shut you out.

She takes a while to respond this time. I almost expect her to never talk to me again, but my phone buzzes with a final message from her.

It’s all right, Petra. Take your time. See you on the other side.

The last line sounds like a farewell message, and I feel a tear slip down my cheek. I don’t respond. I can’t.

Instead, I throw my phone onto the bed, pick up a pillow, and let out a guttural, winding scream into its soft depths.