Page 29 of Written in Sin
“Yeah, we’ve got about fifteen minutes.” I may not have anything left. No home, no family. But I have him, and that’s enough. I lay my head on Zed’s shoulder, trying to enjoy the last few minutes of quiet before I’m surrounded by people I never planned on seeing again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Zedediah
Iroll over and stare at the moon through the window. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since Cat’s parents died, and she hasn’t either. The first few months she cried nearly every night. I would sneak over to her room and hold her, watching her fall asleep. She had nightmares at first, but their frequency slowed once I was able to help her find some semblance of closure.
After begging, I somehow convinced Harold to let me go to her house the next time Fenris left. I grabbed a few photo albums that we went through, one time. She told me every detail of every picture before throwing them in the fire, one by one. It felt like she was ridding herself of the memories. She tried to hide the crack in her voice when she picked up the final memory, frozen in time.
A small picture of the house she grew up in. Her father’s arm draped over her mother’s shoulders as she cradled a baby Cat, looking down at her with so much love in her stare. “It’s hard. It’s hard knowing the same house that used to believe inbirthday parties and Christmas mornings no longer knows my name.”
I held her while she cried, her broken speech coming in waves as the pain that’s been rooted inside of her finally made its way out. “I guess a picket fence can’t stop the rot from seeping into the coffin shaped like your home.”
She talks about leaving nearly everyday now. I guess with them gone, she thinks that there’s really nothing holding her here. She fails to realize her parents never had control over what happened to her once they handed her over.
I know Fenris didn’t want me going with her to the funeral. He made that clear. I keep hearing the words he said as we were heading to the car to leave, and I’m still just as anxious to find out what it’s going to cost me.“You owe me.”I don’t owe him shit.
I wouldn’t change a thing, though. There wasn’t any way in hell I was letting her go alone, especially after seeing that look in his eyes when he told her. Whatever happened to her parents, he had a hand in it. I press my fingers into both sides of my temples, attempting to release the pressure that’s been building all night.
Swinging my legs over the bed, my bare feet hit the cold hardwood floors, and I make my way to the bathroom, not bothering to flip on the light. I dry swallow a few ibuprofen before filling my cup with cold water and drinking the entire thing in a single gulp. I need to go grab a snack or something because if not, they’ll tear a hole in my stomach.
After I throw on a shirt, I leave my room, shutting the door behind me to make my way down the hallway. As I walk closer to the first set of stairs I hear whispers. It’s two in the morning; no one should even be awake right now, so I slow my steps trying to quiet my movements. The voice isn’t shushed on purpose. It’s just muffled.
It’s Brady. When the fuck did he get back? Does this mean Melinda is back too?
He’s talking to someone that I can’t place until I hear them scoff at him. I’d know that tone anywhere. His words are hard to make out—I guess a broken jaw can alter your speech.
The pressure in my chest builds, a tight, crushing force behind my ribs. Then nausea builds as bile threatens my esophagus. But it’s not from the ibuprofen. As I piece together the words he’s saying, I double over, the acid burning my throat as my mouth goes dry. My stomach flips and I stumble, tripping over my own feet. I hold my breath as Brady stops talking.
Silence.
Shit.
I make my way back around the corner and pray to anything that can hear me that he’s too stupid to walk down the hall and see where I’m hiding. His footsteps stop just short of discovering me.
Sweat is soaking through the fabric of my shirt as I stumble back to my room and fumble with my doorknob before shoving it open. I barely make it into the bathroom before my knees slam down against the tile. I try to catch my breath in between the painful heaves, but the lid isn’t even fully up before I double over and everything violently comes up.
It feels like I’m choking on the words he said.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
Everything fades away and I slump over, passing out on the floor.
I woke up in my own vomit. After showering I spent the next five hours in my bedroom pacing back and forth, trying to think of how to tell Cat what I heard.
Come on.I’m practically begging for the ability to speed up time. Once my alarm starts to shout, I run out the door, not even bothering to check that I’ve locked the handle. I’m halfway down the hall before I hear the door slam shut behind me.
She’s where I expect her to be, closing the laundry room door.
She smiles when she sees me, but I don’t give her a chance to speak. I push her back inside, shutting the door behind us.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need you to listen before you respond. Can you promise me that?”
“I can try?”
