Page 91 of Queen of Nothing

And I find Dray.

At the bottom of the fireplace, directly across from me, he sticks to the shadows—and I bet he’s there to stop Serena from fleeing prematurely.

But in those shadows, the last of the feeble sunlight doesn’t reach him. Doesn’t illuminate the pale eyes that I remember so clearly, like they are etched into the grooves of my brain. But those eyes are shadowy right now, and they don’t meet my gaze—they wander my body, more filled out now, and stuffed into a tight shrunken sweater and pair of jeans.

The crunching of loose gravel draws in my gaze.

Oliver comes around the other side of the building, where there’s a narrow alleyway only large enough for a person to fit through, not a car.

He must have been blocking the exit. Making sure I didn’t run—or that Serena didn’t.

They need me first, before they will let her go.

I look at my brother, at the tension on his face, and find that he is the most blatant in his judgement.

He runs his gaze over the scuffed black canvas shoes on my feet, up the stained blue jeans that I got for ten bucks, over the polyester sweater that’s too small because it shrunk in the wash—until his gaze snags on my face, the dark circles around my tired eyes, the pale hue of my chapped lips, and the split ends that fray my hair around my face.

It’s not even my face.

It’s an illusion.

But it will be fading soon, and so the truth of my looks now are coming through the mask.

My split ends, my tired eyes, my pale complexion—it’s all me.

I look down at the oil-stained concrete.

Behind me, the jangle of keys comes before a light clattering sound.

I step aside and look back at Mr Younge.

He sets the keys down on the hood of the car.

And that simple gesture has me looking for the window above.

Serena is a shadow, a silhouette, hidden from the fading sunlight. She stands at the window. She watches, her shoulder quivering, and so I know she’s crying.

I lift my hand.

I don’t even wave, not really. But the gesture is there.

She presses her hand to the window.

A ‘thank you’.

Because I’m giving myself up for her to be free with Sal.

Truly free, in a way that we have never been.

It’s time for Serena to leave me behind, to live her life with her son, no shield, no fees, no illusions. Just life.

“The cars are coming around,” Mr Younge announces behind me, and his voice is too close, like it’s pushing into me—pushing me into step.

And it does.

A sniffle runs through me.

I wipe at my nose before I move for my brother.