Page 33 of Where the Dark Things Bloom

They weren’t alone. Two men in suits sat beside them. For a second, I thought they were here to drag me back to the psych ward. But then I saw Lenore’s photo on the table, clipped to a pile of papers.

“Sit down,” he barked.

I dragged the chair back slowly and dropped into it, arms crossed, eyes locked on them.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Your sister’s been seeing things,” my mom said. “Things that aren’t real.”

I frowned, confused.

“She’s sleepwalking. Talking to walls, to dolls. For her good, we’re going to keep her downstairs. We’re having a party soon and we’ll need you to bring her down in the basement.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. It never did. She was fake. Always had been. Lies were her native tongue, and I’d stopped believing her years ago.

Lenore wasn’t crazy. Not like they said. Hell, she was more sane than I was. And even if she spoke to things that weren’t there—so what? She was lonely. She needed someone.

Well, don’t worry, little stepsis. You’ve got me now. And they can all burn for what they did. Because I swear—I’ll never let them lock you up the way they did me.

So I smiled. Played along. “Alright.”

“I’m glad you understand,” she said, looking down at me like she owned me.

Since I arrived, I’ve questioned everything, every glance, every word, every smile that didn’t quite fit.

I stood up. “If that’s all?”

“No,” the stepfather said. “You both will attend the party.”

“Fun,” I said, flashing him the same fake smile they gave to me. If they can pretend, so can I.

He nodded. Dismissed me.

I turned and walked out, all I could think about was her. I needed to see her. To tell her maybe we could run away. Together.

Her bedroom door was already cracked open. She sat on the floor in that black dress with a white bow tied at the back. Her long black hair spilled in loose curls down her spine. Even from here, I could smell her—lime and basil. Burned into my brain. My favorite scent in the world.

She was whispering to her doll. Too old for dolls, sure. Too crazy? Maybe. But I loved her kind of crazy. It made mine feel...normal. With her, nothing felt wrong—not with me, not with her. Just us, broken in the same way.

She gasped when she noticed me.

“Trouble?” I grinned. “Talking to dolls now?”

“I’m talking to myself,” she said, rolling her eyes and setting the doll aside. “Because I’m the only one who understands me.”

“You’ve got me,” I said, stepping closer. I offered her my hand. She placed her palm in mine, and I pulled her to her feet. Her body brushed against mine. Her hand rested on my chest like she belonged there.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she murmured, pushing against me gently.

“What wouldn’t I understand?”

“Feelings,” she smirked. Her fingers traced a slow line down my chin. “You don’t have those.”

“Ouch,” I said. “You’re colder than Nagi.”

“Nagi?” she blinked. “You named your snake Nagi?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. That pale skin begging to be touched. And those eyes, those ocean blue eyes—I could lose myself in them.

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