Page 90 of Lust
This was what needed to be done. Almost as if it were my fate, my destiny. Oddly, it made good sense. If I kept on living, it’d only hurt everyone I loved.
After all, I didn’t look like a member of my family and only brought them emotional distress. Would they even miss me if I were gone, or would they be relieved?
They’ll be relieved, the voice whispered.It’ll solve all of their problems.
If I kept on living, Tristan would continue hurting people. He couldn’t help himself. I was his weakness, and if I was no more, then he’d become the great man he was always meant to be.
That’s right, Sara. Take away his weakness. Commit this one mortal sin and join me in purgatory to save him and everyone you love.
Jump, Sara, jump.
Four Years Ago
* * *
“Can I bum a cigarette?” Curious pair of crystal gray eyes peeked through a thick layer of lashes.
Glancing at the lit cigarette between my fingers, I wondered about my choices in life. What was I doing wrong in life if a teenager could so callously direct such a question my way? Did I come off as a terrible influence on today’s youth?
Biting down on a sardonic smile, I leveled the troublemaker. “Do I resemble a cigarette dispenser?”
Sara was in her floor-length debutante dress, no doubt hand-selected by Mary. Her bouncy curly hair was spun in a bun, adding a look of sophistication.
Damnit. She looked older than sixteen tonight, I grudgingly admitted. And really fucking pretty. Damnit. Dammit.
I clenched my jaw, averting her eyes.
Meanwhile, Sara looked me up and down, mulling over my question earnestly. “Maybe,” she drawled.
Shaking my head, I let out a grin. Though I should be disciplining her for the request, Sara had a way of flying under the radar of my anger. Sure, I tormented her, but the jabs were filled with humor, not ire.
“Baby sis, go inside before I call your dad.” I pointed at the double doors to our home, which was currently flooded with guests. It was Sara’s debutante ball. Shouldn’t she be acting all perfect and lady-like?
“Is that a no on the cigarette then?” she asked with a bored yawn.
Sara was intent on making my life hell. Putting my cigarette out on the ashtray, I turned to face her. She looked puny in contrast to my six-foot-three frame, yet she showed no signs of feeling intimidated.
A worthy opponent.
“Since when do you smoke?” I asked with genuine curiosity. Sara was well behaved, a good student, and already turning into a bit of an activist. From what I gathered while I was away, she protested racial equality and women’s rights and had taken up an active role at a shelter our parents sponsored.
Her interest in smoking was unprecedented.
“I don’t smoke, but I decided to take it up,” she stated with utmost sincerity.
“And please elaborate on why your debutante ball is the perfect playground for such groundbreaking undertakings.”
Sara strode closer to the edge of the patio. I loved this space because of its access to the northern wind. It was also easy on the eyes. The antiquated look of the natural stones contrasted with modern pillars and extravagant railings. She hopped onto one of the decorated railings.
“Because you are my older brother,” she declared. “And I want to follow in your footsteps. If you insist on smoking, so do I.” Without further delay, Sara reached for my cigarette pack.
Before the hellraiser could get any ideas, I swiped the pack to pocket it. “What do you think you are doing?”
“I’m copying you,” she replied straightforwardly.
“Enough!” I scolded, pushed to irritation by her antics. “I better not catch you smoking… ever!”
“Why not?”
