Page 29 of Heroes & Hitmen
Miley
Tonight’s the night.
No matter how hard I try to stay distracted, that thought keeps scratching at the edges of my mind like a trapped animal, keeping me on edge.
First, it was weeks.
Then days.
Now, it’s just a matter of hours until I’m tethered to a stranger for the rest of my miserable goddamn life, and every time I think about it, the noose of anxiety suffocating my throat pulls a little tighter.
So, I’m packing.
Not because I know what I’ll need in my new home–I don’t.
Not because I think I’ll have any say in how much of my old life I get to bring with me–I won’t.
I’m packing because it’s the only thing I can think of to keep my hands and mind busy; a mundane activity that allows me to pretend I’m not slowly going insane.
My books were the first things I boxed up. Educational texts for journalism classes I’ll never get to finish, romance novels with dog-eared pages I inherited from my sister Devin when she got paired off last year. Recipe books full of desserts that never turned out like the pictures because I suck at baking. It was never for lack of effort, and I always looked the part of a baker in the frilly pink apron Jordan got me as a gag gift. The joke wound up being onher– I’d prance around the kitchen in it regularly just to mess with her.
I pack up my favorite coffee mug and the tiny espresso cup I thrifted from a place in Wrigleyville. A little jar of sand from Oak Street beach. A photo strip of me, Jordan, and Blake crammed into a photo booth at Navy Pier. Trinkets and mementos, little things to serve as reminders that I was once aperson, not a damn possession.
I move around my apartment practically on autopilot, packing my life away in cardboard boxes. All the while, I keep glancing over at the ceramic pot on the windowsill, wondering what will happen to the plant I’ve somehow managed to keep alive since I moved in. A housewarming gift from my sister Charlie that she predicted I’d kill within the first month. Its green leaves are glossy from the sun and the care I’ve poured into it just to prove her wrong, but I have no idea how it’ll fare on the nine-hour journey to Detroit.
IfI can even take it with me, that is.
Looking around my apartment, it somehow feels smaller with everything in boxes. Empty, like it’s already been stripped of life.
I wonder which of my younger sisters will move in here after I’m gone. Probably Drew– she turns eighteen at the end of the summer– but her time here won’t be long. She’s beautiful in a way that makes men leer whenever she walks by. Poor thing will probably be snatched up during her first perusal.
I suppose I should count myself lucky I made it as long as I did.
Three years of pseudo-freedom is better than none at all.
I press the flaps of a box down and reach for the roll of packing tape just as a dull thud sounds at the door, startling me out of my thoughts.
“Come in!” I call, glancing in that direction from my spot on the living room floor.
The door’s shoved open a second later, pushing a half-packed box out of the way as Jordan wedges herself through the gap with a grunt.
“Since when do you knock?” I tease, arching a brow.
“Since you turned your apartment into an obstacle course,” she mutters as she climbs over the box, kicking the door closed behind her. “Why are you doing all this yourself?” she questions, glancing around at my mess as she wanders further inside. “If it were me, I’d leave Alpha to pack all this up as a finalfuck you.”
“You and I both know he wouldn’t pack a thing,” I sigh, sealing the box with a strip of packing tape. “It’d be one of his henchmen.And the last thing I want is someone like Ross pawing through my underwear drawer.”
Jordan snorts a laugh. “He’d totally steal a pair to jerk off into.”
“Gross,” I groan, face screwing up in a grimace.
She flashes me a grin as she steps over to the couch, flopping down onto it like she owns the place. Or like it’s still mine. I can’t help but smile back at her, even though my chest feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise.
God, I’m going to miss her.
“Some sexy redhead dude was asking about you downstairs,” she remarks casually, twirling a dark strand of hair around her finger.
My heart stutters in my chest, eyes snapping up to meet hers. “Who?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
