Page 68 of Queen of Nothing

I don’t flinch.

“You don’t know the pain you caused Asta, that she would cry on my shoulder because of you—that her boyfriend pursued you, her fiancé loved you, and that all those times I had to comfort her, the man that I loved was chasing her and protecting you.”

I watch her unravel.

The words don’t hit me as they should.

Numbness.

I hold onto it.

Like a rope in the dark, a tether in a storm.

“You think we had perfect lives and you were the only one suffering,” she goes on. “We all had our pain, but you were the only one who could pout and cry her way into favour.”

Serena’s scoff is harsh, the tears on her blotchy cheeks are angry—and it’s all aimed at me.

She spits, “Do you think for a second that if Desmond found me, he would give me a watch and let me go?”

I look at the watch, crumpled against the wall, partially buried by the dollar bills that she hit aside.

“If you hate me so much,” I say, soft, “why did you bring me into this?”

She couldn’t stand the thought of living the rest of her life under the same roof as me.

Maybe more than she hated me, she hated my brother’s alleged favouritism of me.

But either way, she chose this—to live with me.

“Who else would come?” Serena runs her dark gaze over me. A snivel shudders through her before she swats at her cheeks. “You were the only one who hated her life enough to run. And I…” Her lips suck inwards for a beat, before she adds, “I can’t do this alone. I can’t take care of Sal, and work, and run, and keep myself illusioned all the time.”

I nod, faint. “You’re right.”

My words startle her.

She blinks—and waits for me to continue.

So I do.

I turn a look on her, unkind, and my lashes are low over my eyes.

I say, “I did look at your group and think it was lovely and perfect. I was jealous. For a long time. But you’ve just made me realise something. I looked at you and saw a witch who knew her value, who was self-assured and commanding.” My smile is bitter. It’s cruel. “But you are nothing more than a scared, insecure, jealous little girl—who fucks made ones and has their babies.”

Serena’s face hardens to stone.

The outrage is steel in her eyes.

A look I’ve seen before—seconds before she lunges.

But she doesn’t, and she won’t, because she can’t risk my leaving, and she can’t wake up Sal to a brawl.

So I spare her a cold glare, then slip off the mattress. The base creaks under my shifting weight.

Sal is deep in that comatose sleep of his, the kind that comes with open-mouthed snores and drooling.

I push him to the edge of the bed, then climb in beside him.

It’s a tight fit, and Serena’s molten gaze burns into my back, and it’s all so claustrophobic.