Page 31 of Boy of Ruin
I always do the wrong thing.
Cutting her shirt off.
Trying to make her jealous.
Always fucking wrong.
I know something is wrong with me, but I don’t know how to fix it.
For a second I just stand there, fist still against the shower wall, staring at the clouded over glass doors. There are four shower heads in here. Plenty of room for Sid, too, and I’d probably give anything to get her naked in here.
I’ve seen her naked before.
Once.
After that night a year and a half ago. After I…
I close my eyes tighter, slamming my fist so hard against the tile, it hurts, and I know I need to be careful. With the injury to my hand, the nerves there, breaking my fingers in the shower could fuck up my hand completely.
And I need that hand. I’m left fucking handed, and of course, thanks to fate or Satan or what the fuck ever, it’s my left hand that was permanently injured from my time in that…house.
I open my eyes as I shove open the glass door of the shower, stepping out into the large bathroom, grabbing a white towel from the rack and dragging it over my face, blinking the water out of my eyes.
Blinking away the memories too.
Of darkness. Hunger. Pain.
My stomach twists into knots, and I stumble over to the marble sink, letting the towel fall, my hands planted on the counter as I try to force it all back. What they did to me there.
What happened after.
What Lucifer fucking Malikov did too.
An inhuman cry leaves my mouth, and I snap my head up, staring into the fogged-up mirror, wanting to bring my fist against it, letting the glass shatter, my skin bleed so I can fucking feel something.
I’m only ever able to do that with her. It’s like she’s a poison beneath my skin, crawling ever closer to my heart, circling in my veins. One day, I’m pretty sure she just might fucking kill me.
I glance at the bobby pin on the white marble countertop, and it’s the only thing that calms me. And just barely, at that.
Startling me out of those thoughts, there’s a soft knock on the door and I tense, turning to the black door, double-checking the lock is on.
I clear my throat, my pulse racing. It’s either Nicolas, or her. Only those two would fucking come into my room, knock on my goddamn bathroom door. Besides, a quick glance at my matte black watch on the counter beside one of the gold double sinks, I see it’s not even six in the fucking morning.
“What?” I call out, not bothering to keep the edge out of my words. I like to have my mornings to myself. Truth be told, I like to have everything to myself.
I see the gold handle of the door wiggle and I curse myself for not grabbing the gun that’s in my nightstand. I have guards and a locked gate, but with the 6 and the Unsaints circling around, waiting to fucking strike and try to get my sister back, I should be better prepared.
Still, I stand up straighter, stride to the door. “Who the fuck is it?” I growl.
“It’s me, you fucking—”
I flip the lock, yank the door open before Sid can finish her sentence. I kind of like when she talks shit to me. She’s the only person in the world who has never been afraid of me, but I’m not in the mood to deal with her bullshit right now.
I don’t think.
Even still, there’s a smile on my face as the cold air from my bedroom hits my naked body, one hand against the door, the other by my side as I tilt my head to take my foster sister in.
But when I do, her silver eyes wide as they trail up and down me, my attention gets caught on something around her throat, snagging like skin against a rusty nail.
