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* * *
I had a little over a grand saved up from my after-school and weekend shifts at Jean’s. It was easy work. He’d given me the job over a year ago, though Romero demanded that the money be kept in a savings account. Now I’m glad he did.
Scanning ads while my headphones blasted “Nightmare” by Halsey in my ears, I blocked out the big, oddly quiet house despite the fact that Romero hadn’t left. He’d stomped around like a brewing storm all morning before knocking on my locked door to offer me breakfast sometime after ten. I ignored him.
I clicked on the image of a small white Corolla. It looked worn, the milage was high, but I was desperate. Flicking the owner an email asking when I could come look at it, I worried my bottom lip. Legally, a car title couldn’t be put in my name without a parent or guardian.
Well, I’m fresh out of parents.
I wasn’t Romero’s responsibility. Besides, I didn’t want to live in this house with Vanessa’s memories everywhere closing in on me twenty-four seven.
I’ll figure it out. After all, I’m on my own now.
A knock sounded at the door again, but I barely heard it over my music—which probably meant he was close to breaking down the door. I ripped my headphones out of my ears.
“What?” I barked, not caring that I sounded exactly like a petulant teenager.
Romero’s voice was hard. “You need to eat, Julietta. Don’t make me take this door off the hinges to get in there and force-feed you.”
My jaw clamped shut, a thousand bitter, vile words trapped inside as I pushed to my feet and snagged my jacket from the back of my chair. I threw the door open, dodging Romero’s dark gaze as I attempted to squeeze beneath his arm where he looked like he was holding up the doorframe.
He grabbed me easily, snaking an arm around my waist. It took little effort for him to toss me back inside. I stumbled and fell on my ass. Anger struck through my veins like lightning, and I lifted my chin to glare into his cold, stony gaze. For the first time, I saw shadows in his eyes. A darkness I couldn’t quite name. It capped some of my rage, but not enough to stop me from glaring.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he growled.
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. “Out.”
His eyes narrowed. “Out where, poca ave?”
Little bird. Getting to my feet as gracefully as possible, I held his gaze. Then I took a step forward. “Don’t get in my way.”
He let me pass him this time, but his words made me pause. “Her funeral is tomorrow morning at nine. Don’t be late.”
I didn’t answer or look back. I couldn’t. Part of me had no intention of showing up to her funeral. But the little voice in my head—damn annoying bitch that she was—reminded me that regardless of our less than friendly relationship, she was still my mother.
* * *
Voices carried from the hall, even with the door closed. I blinked, taking in the room that wasn’t mine and the girl sleeping soundly beside me, her arm draped over my waist. It was a California king bed, yet she’d somehow managed to curl herself up next to me. Dark brown strands hung in her face, fluttering slightly with each steady breath. The corner of my lips tipped up as I cautiously pushed the hair out of her eyes, careful not to wake her.
She was beautiful, I had to admit. In sleep, her personality wasn’t quite so abrasive. Despite not wanting to bother her to hang out with me on my birthday, I’d called her last night and asked if I could crash at her place. She’d agreed without question.
Always so willing to stick her neck out for everyone else. The girl was a saint.
My smile faded. People like her would be eaten up by the world. Pummeled to nothing but blood and shattered bones.
I lifted her slender arm slowly before sliding off the bed. My phone sat on her dresser, probably dead. I spotted Arie’s plugged in on the side table and picked it up, checking the time. 8:03.
Damn it. I had hoped I would sleep through the funeral and not have to feel the gnawing guilt eating me alive.
Funeral is at nine. Don’t be late, Romero’s voice replayed in my mind.
I picked up my jeans and slipped them back on, forming a different plan. Arie shifted, rolling onto her back, and yawned.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Go back to sleep,” I whispered.
She moaned a sound of content agreement and the room filled again with her soft breaths. Grabbing my phone and bag on the way out, I headed through the house that was slowly coming to life. Arie’s parents were awake, her younger siblings running somewhere on the other side of the house and squealing happily. The dark cloud of anger and resentment hung over me so thick that the sounds made my teeth grind together.
