Page 123 of Chaos

And I let it. I let him keep me tucked against him. I let him guide me around the dance floor.

For longer than I should, I let myself be liked by Finn Akello.

It’s only after we part ways, when I can’t take anymore and I slip from his grasp, that I start to wonder if really, I was letting myself like him.

I don’t intend on making a speech.

Like, the thought literally never crossed my mind. I assume the thought never occurred to the happy couple either; I would wager a big, fat bet that no one thought that I, the Jackson black sheep, ruiner of all things good, would haul my ass up in front of a crowd and croon about the brother I ran away from and the sister-in-law I called a bitch the first time we met.

But as the night drags on and the liquor shows no signs of running dry and one drunken groomsmen after the other step up to the plate, and the mother of the bride’s teary, wine-addled speech is comforted by her daughter’s sister—God, and I thought my family was complicated—and Pen’s nostalgic words gather the rest of the bridesmaids, I get this pit in my stomach. I realize everyone,everyone, in the wedding party is making a speech. And it would be really fucking weird if I didn’t.

And Eliza, bright-faced and wobbly-footed, hands me the fucking microphone and pulls me onto that slightly raised stage anyway, so I don’t exactly have a choice.

“Uh,” I start awkwardly and tinny feedback screeches, everyone winces, I want to disappear just a little bit more than usual. “Hi.” I shift the mic to my other hand—to the one not lifting in a dumbass wave. “I’m Lottie. Jackson’s least favorite sister.”

The crowd laughs at a joke I didn’t make.

Jackson doesn’t. He frowns softly, and though I’m talking to him, I fix my gaze on the forget-me-not boutonniere pinned tohis lapel as I spill the first words that come to mind. “I don’t have much to say that everyone else hasn’t already said, but, uh, there are a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t be here today and I just want you to know that I’m really glad I am. And I’m really glad you’re happy, that you have someone who’s always gonna make you happy. Someone who’ll take care of you after a lifetime of you taking care of us.”

There.I did it. I’m done.

Except I’m not.

I shift to look at the blushing bride and I continue, “The first time I met Luna, she caught me sneaking a boy into the house. And I was really mad and rude—shocking, I know,” I quip and earn a couple more laughs. “But I still overheard her telling my brother to go easy on me. Defending me, this little asshole she didn’t even know. And I, uh, I think that was the first time I felt like someone other than my siblings gave a shit about me. So. Yeah. I’m really glad it’s you. And really hope you never realize how completely out of his league you are.”

More laughter follows me off the makeshift stage, a round of applause providing a more joyous soundtrack than I think is appropriate for my walk of shame back to the head table.

I try to scuttle past Jackson and his new wife, too flustered and embarrassed to face either of them, but Jackson catches me. I swallow nervously as he slowly stands, waiting for him to be embarrassed too or maybe even mad or—

He hugs me. Yanks me into his arms, wraps them around me tightly, and he hugs me. He waits until I hug him back, my own arms hesitantly looping around his waist, before pecking my temple affectionately. “I’m really glad you’re here too, kid.”

Beside us, Luna snags my wrist. Tugging until my brother relinquishes his grip, she drags me down until she can smack a kiss on my cheek. “For the record, chaos girl,” she mumblesquietly and she doesn’t slur, the words are clear, I can actually believe them. “You’remyfavorite sister.”

30

His pockets are full of crumpled napkins, stained with words he’s not allowed to say.

As the brisknight air licks at my bare skin and makes sure everyone in the general vicinity knows about the twin piercings I got when I was eighteen, I stare at my phone screen. Gnawing on my bottom lip, I read the latest text in a long thread of messages.

REMEMBER WHAT WE TALKED ABOUT.

I huff.Rememberingisn’t the issue. Silas isn’t the first to enthuse about the importance of healthier coping mechanisms—I’d heard that spiel long before it came up in our weekly solo meetings, when I rant and rave about my life before attending the weekly group meeting where I don’t talk at all.

It wasn’t a conscious arrangement that we made. It just… happened. The week after that first conversation, I found myself rocking up to the diner across the street from the community center an hour ahead of schedule. I found Silas already there. I found myself sitting with him, drinking coffee with him, talking to him too, and doing it again and again and again.

I’ve never had a sponsor before. God knows Silas hasn’t claimed to be mine. But I know that’s what he is. I know that’s why he gave me his number, why I gave him mine. And I know that’s why tonight, as everyone around me indulges in my favorite vice, it’s him I reach out to.

Tilting my head towards the sky, I huff again. I should go back inside. Find someone. Grace, maybe, so I can pick her brain about her own coping mechanisms, about the ecotherapy that neutralizes her own anxiety, about stars and moons and fucking planets. But the last time I saw my twin, she was having fun.Everyone’shaving fun, that’s part of my damn problem, and I don’t want to ruin it just because I’m struggling.

Just because I’m starting to realize that the reason I drank, the reason I ever started drinking, was to not feel so… exposed. So aware of myself, of how I feel in my own skin. Because apparently, as sober clarity has granted me, I really fucking hate that feeling.

I really, really hate being sober, and I think, I’mscared, that if I linger any longer, I might do something to rectify the issue.

I don’t bother letting my sisters know I’m leaving—I know Grace would just insist on coming with me, Eliza would beg me to stay, Lux would probably demand a breathalyser test before finding me an escort home. When I peek inside the gazebo full of happy, celebratory people, I find Jackson on the dancefloor with his new mother-in-law. I don’t know where Luna is, and that proves to be the fatal flaw in my grand plans of sneaking away unnoticed.

I don’t know where she comes from—I don’t know how I don’t see her coming, how the shimmering swath of pearl-embroidered fabric wrapped around her body doesn’t immediately catch my attention. All I know is one second, I’m backing away from the tent’s entrance. The next, a lithe blonde is blocking my way, her bare foot tapping against the ground, all that sun-tanned skin exposed by her second dress of the evening and covered in goosebumps

Lacing my fingers together behind my back, I dutifully wait for a reprimand.

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