Page 21 of Cast Stones
Falsehoods.
Deceptions.
Delays until I can figure out a proper direction for this defense.
Chapter Eight
The chainsaround my wrist rattle as I’m escorted into the courtroom. I don’t know why, but the sound makes me smile. Maybe because it’s so quiet you could hear a pen drop—as in Madi’s pen. I know it’s hers because we’re connected like that. We always have been, even when she wanted to believe otherwise.
She can’t escape the truth now.
I’m the blood running in her veins and the air filling her lungs. I know when she opens her eyes and when she closes them. We’ve belonged to each other since the day I offered to chase a ribbon.
But it’s not her I seek out first.
As I walk toward the defendant’s table, I stare at all twelve jury members. One by one, I hold their gazes until they fold and turn away. It’s one of the only useful things my father taught me. “Always gain the upper hand first, boy. Whenever you enter a room, look a man in the eye, so he knows it’s yours.”
Reckless? Maybe. But I know Madi will come through for me.For us.
Speaking of Madi…
On the last few steps, I set my sights on her, only to find her eyes already on me. The look on her face is blank. Like she’s neither accepting nor denying her fate.
It’s like she’s just…there.
For the first time since my arrest, I stumble, the past swooping in and devouring me like a starving predator.
“Cara mia,” I whisper underneath my breath as layers of the present peel away, revealing the ugly buried within.
* * *
Twelve Years Ago
“Watch, boy. Learn. This burden will fall on your shoulders one day.”
My father’s words are trapped inside my head, caught in the black mist that’s spinning inside it like a cyclone.
I knew this was coming. It’s Sunday.
Then God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it…
Words I’ve always believed in now seem dirty. Twisted. Unclean. I’ve watched dozens of the Twelve perform the purity test, and it has never affected me. Like any other ritual of the church, it never seemed wrong. However unpleasant it may be to the unblessed, it was a necessary act to please God.
Until now.
I fought my father. I begged him not to make me watch Uncle Cyrus perform the ritual on Madi. I’ve never begged anyone for anything in my life, but something about this girl challenges my faith. It makes me question all that I know to be true.
I don’t like it.
I don’t likeher.
Yet here I stand with a freshly bruised cheek and bleeding lip, courtesy of my father’s hand.
“Watch, boy. Learn. This burden will fall on your shoulders one day.”
There are the words again. Spinning. Spinning. Spinning. They break apart, the jagged edges piercing my flesh and drawing more blood to soothe her screams. My heart slams against my chest as I watch Cyrus hold her down. My fists clench the doorframe as his hand opens to strike her face. My stomach revolts as he pulls down her panties and shoves a vile finger inside her.
Inside my cara mia.
