Page 7 of Dominion

That tick there, that was his tell. He seemed put together last night, well-behaved, but behind every mask hid a little kid who got broken way too soon.

The urge to lie was on the tip of my tongue, but what was the use of lying to Cillian? He knew what it was like. He probably understood this thunderstorm in my veins better than anyone else. “I did,” I murmured and pulled the sleeves of my shirt over my hands. “I just… I don’t know… maybe it’s stupid.” I laughed, but there was no happiness in that laughter. There was only the pain I inflicted on myself.

“It’s okay, Skylar.” He smiled at me and leaned down, closer to the table. “We don’t have to talk about it, you know? Hell, I don’t want to talk about it.”

I didn’t want to either, but I also hated seeing the shadows fighting in his eyes. There was a story there. A painful storyI wasn’t privy to. Even though my tongue itched to ask what happened and what pushed him to this, I didn’t.

Because I didn’t want to talk about my things either.

I had no idea how much he knew, or how he’d gotten into this mess, but I didn’t want to rehash all the bad things that have happened in my short life. Not today. Not right now.

“We’re not going to talk, okay?” I looked at him. “But I want to forget, you know? I want this,” I pressed my fist against my chest, right where my heart was, “this burning to disappear. I want it all to disappear, even if it’s just for a little while.”

My voice stayed steady, but he could see everything I wasn’t able to say written all over my face.

“Then let’s forget,” he murmured.

His large body hunched over the table, and he picked one of the straws haphazardly dropped on the same surface and pressed it to one of the white lines.

Anticipation buzzed through me. The hair at the nape of my neck stood up, while my heart thundered inside my chest, hitting against my ribs.

I knew what was about to come. My body knew.

He positioned the other end of the straw to his nose, and with his free hand, he pressed the opposite nostril that wasn’t leaning against the straw, and inhaled, following the white line with the straw.

I watched in fascination as the powder disappeared, waiting for my turn.

Cillian dropped back in his seat, dropping the straw to the table. My fingers wrapped around the plastic, and I looked at him, his closed eyes and the relaxed posture that overtook his body.

“May I?” I asked again, even though he’d already said yes.

A crooked smile appeared on his face, and unable to wait another minute more, I pulled myself up on my knees and bent down over the table.

The white powder almost shone in the morning glow and as I pressed the straw to the line, aligning it with my nose, I closed my eyes and did what he did.

My sinuses burned the moment the powder hit me, and I could feel it slowly cascading down, tickling the walls of my throat.

I fell backward as soon as the last drop pulled through the straw and an unexpected cough erupted from my lungs, shaking my body on the floor.

The laughter that escaped from Cillian almost made me open my eyes, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I could already feel the effects taking place. Even though it took a minute or so for it to hit properly, I didn’t want to waste my time staring at the bland, white ceiling, when I could be getting lost in my own little fantasy.

“That happens to a lot of people if they haven’t been doing this daily,” Cillian piped in, but his voice sounded far away. I could hear him, but he was miles away. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I know.” I grinned, my hands splayed around me on the floor and my legs right beneath the coffee table.

And then it slowly came. The relief, the pressure lifting off my chest. The sweet, sweet delirium I hadn’t felt in a month.

The pills I used to take were strong, but none of them made me feel like this. As if I could float. As if I could do anything.

“Do you ever wish you were somebody else?” I asked him out of nowhere.

Memories danced behind my eyes—the happy ones. Ones that didn’t push me into the pit of despair, but ones that made my heart soar. The good ones that tended to remind me that life wasn’t all that bad.

“All the damn time, Skylar. All the fucking time. But I can’t escape from who I am and all the things I’ve done.”

“You can,” I mumbled. “Like this, you can.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

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