Page 31 of The Unravelings

I’ll always be thankful for that kid, though. He took the pressure off my mother, sister, and me. He took my father’s attention away from his home and put it on… Well, I’ve never known. At that time, he was sneaking away on business—I assumed for Franco—but now, I’m not so sure. Considering we likely died for his crimes.

I sigh to myself, dragging my brain from the cogs of thoughts running through it. Too many memories rest within the walls of this small treehouse that I’ve somehow managed to climb into. It’s spacious, even for my adult body. But then again, it always fit the four of us perfectly, giving us room to spread out.

My back rests against the far wall with a small window to my right. I grin at the pink frilly fabric blowing in the wind.

“What the hell is that?” Mack asks, rearing back with his hand on his heart.

“It’s a curtain,” I grumble, spreading it out so the outside world is no longer visible.

“You’re girling up our treehouse!” Mack accuses, narrowing his eyes at me.

I peer over my shoulder, frowning when he sits opposite me. His gaze locks on the fabric like he’d love to set it on fire.

“Don’t even think about it,” I growl, plopping down and admiring my handiwork. “Pink suits this place; it livens it up. It’s too dull here. Not colorful enough.” Way too dull. All they do is fart, laugh, and stink up the place like smelly boys.

It needed a pop of color. Like the purple skirt I’m wearing. Color makes everything better. Brighter. Happier.

“Next, you’ll be requesting a white picket fence outside! This is our treehouse.” Mack makes a motion toward JJ and Huxley, who crawl through the door. “A manly space! Pink has no say here,” he huffs at me, crossing his arms.

“Pink hater,” I huff. “Boys wear pink.” I stick my tongue out at him.

He opens his mouth to retort.

“Yeah, ours,” Huxley says, giving him a pointed stare and interrupting him. “It’s hers, too.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” JJ whispers, sitting beside him. He scratches his ear, nearly recoiling when static fills his new hearing aids.

Tears stream down my cheeks again. All the memories. All the times we had together mix inside my brain, torturing me again. Why? Why did it have to happen like this? Why did I have to die and then come back as someone else? I could have stayed far, far away. Jonathan already knows that Franco is a bad guy. Arrest him already and let me go.

“I never wanted to be here again,” I whisper to the walls, now empty and void of the love we once shared here. If they could talk, they’d project a rich history between four people who loved each other.

Loved, I guess, is the operative word in this equation. Past tense. No more. No matter how JJ looked at me a few hours ago.

My chest heaves when the pink fabric comes back into view. The wind pushes it, and my mind is forced to remember that they let me put my own touches on this place. Mack eventually got over the pinkness and “girliness” of the trinkets I found, as well as the curtains I put up. Even the pink pillows I brought so we could lie here and just be.

“You think we’ll grow up and get away?” I whisper to Mack one night, clasping his hand in mine as we lie back on the new pillows I found earlier today.

He sighs, adjusting his head on the fluffy pink pillow.

“One day, baby. One day, we’ll take you away from here. It’ll be the four of us. Always,” he whispers.

“And a family?” I ask, swallowing hard when he turns to look at me, grinning wide.

“Definitely a big family,” he says, kissing my cheek. “We’ll have it all, Buttercup: horses, land, new names, jobs, and so much more. I’ll build you the best house money can buy.”

“And what kind of house would it be?” My gaze examines him as he smirks.

“The biggest mansion you can imagine with the best security to keep us safe. With a wrap-around porch, a swing fit for four people, and rocking chairs for when we get old. I’ll even build a sex room in the basement with a door only I can unlock.” He wiggles his brows and laughs when I punch him in the chest.

I swallow my emotions when the very pink pillows I picked out so many years before rest in the corner of the treehouse. In fact, everything I ever put into this place hangs like a shrine to the girl they once loved.

Once. Loved.

“Fuck it,” I growl, swiping a hand over the small porcelain trinkets I found at garage sales over the years. Cat, dog, horse, and pig figurines with tutus and baseball caps.

“Look at this one,” I giggle, holding a small pig figurine in the air.

“Looks like something my grandma would have had,” JJ says softly, as his eyes trace the small figurine with sadness radiating back.