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Navigating to my messages, I click on her name and then type out another message and hit send. It pings back as undelivered, and I squeeze the phone hard enough to break it while I glare at the ground. I count back from ten…trying to calm myself before I do something stupid like beat the fuck out of my best friend.
Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Once I feel a smidge less murderous, I speak.
"Is her cell phone included in her house arrest?”
Seb turns and gives me his typical icy glare that eats through my insides like acid. "She’s not under house arrest, fuckwad, and I didn't take shit from her. She threw her phone away because you kept texting her. I was happy to supply her with a brand-new one. One that doesn't have your number in it."
Lee’s gaze darts between us, the sides of his mouth turned down into a scowl. "Will you two stop your fucking squabbling and pay attention? I think we just lost one of the fuckers."
One of the recruits lies sprawled out in the grass, appearing to be passed out only a few feet shy of the finish line. Not quite, buddy. I march over and check his pulse, then his fingertips and toes. "He's alive but very drunk.”
Not so gently, I haul him to his feet, and a jumble of slurred words slip past his lips while I drag him over to Lee. The guy's knees buckle beneath him as I hand him off, and lucky for him, Lee is quick. Otherwise, he’d be eating dirt again.
I meet Lee’s eyes over the kid’s shoulder. “Get that number for me, yeah?”
“You missed the finish line by five feet, man,” Lee tells him, with a quick nod to me, and then they disappear back toward the house. All over again, it’s Seb and me left by ourselves. I turn and find him looking at me. His piercing gaze slices straight through me.
"I understand why you want to protect her, but you can't keep her from me forever. Eventually, she’ll have to return to school, and inevitably, I’ll see her. I’ve known you for the majority of my life, and I know you like to think you can control every situation, but you can’t. I’m warning you now. I don’t give a fuck what you think or how you feel. Bel is mine. She was mine before you found out she was your sister, and she’ll be mine long after.”
He smirks, but it's the serial killer’s smirk as he lowers the knife to your throat.
"Sure… but let me share something with you. The Bel who was yours? She’s gone. Now that I think about it, what was that nickname you called her? Wallflower?” He taps at his chin like he’s lost in thought. “Ahh, yes. I’d say she’s more like a wildflower now, and we both know you don’t want anything you can’t tame. Your best bet is to leave her alone… that is, unless you want our friendship to end and your ass ten feet in the ground.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You won’t kill me. We’ve been through too much.”
He gives me a shove, but I barely feel it.
“Don’t tell me what I’ll do or not do. If you think I’ll stand by and let you treat her like shit, you don’t know me at all. When it comes to Bel, I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect her. Even kill you, if that's the only way to get rid of you. Family before anything.”
I’m not sure how to react, but I continue staring him down, refusing to show an inkling of fear. Sebastian is taking this brother role very seriously, and I don’t think he’s bluffing. That’s the thing, though, neither am I.
Eventually, one of us will have to give…
2
BEL
Time feels different when you’re grieving. Like every minute and day that passes is excruciatingly slow. The wound left in my chest from the absence of my mother’s presence in my life feels as if it will never heal. Every thought and reminder of her makes my eyes burn, tears forever falling from my eyes. Even when I try to blink them away, my vision is never clear. Every breath I take makes the pain worse and reminds me this isn’t a nightmare I can wake up from.
It's been a month since I lost her, but it feels like it’s only been seconds. That’s how fresh the pain is. I peer around the space that is now called my room. Yes, it’s my room, but it’s not really mine. Nothing about this room says Bel. It’s perfect, from the painted walls with crown moldings to the silk bed sheets and plush carpeted floor. It’s everything I’m not, and it makes me miss my mother and our tiny little house. We didn’t have a lot of money, but we had each other. I blink back tears and press my hands into my eye sockets to stop the steady stream of tears from falling.
Think about something else… anything else.
There’s a never-ending pile of new clothes, all still with the tags on them, and a stack of paperbacks that sit near the bed on the floor. I look at them with rage. I’m not alone in my grief, but I feel like it. Sebastian thinks he can buy my happiness, and I know this because of his constant need to shower me with gifts—new books, new clothes, new everything.
Those things are nice, but they don’t fill the void. Maybe those things work for him, or perhaps that’s how he’s always coped, but that’s not how I cope. I can’t just buy something new and forget about my problems. Seb and I are not the same. Money can solve a lot of issues in a person’s life, but it cannot fill the void and loss of someone you love. You can’t replace people with objects.
Here and there, I have the desire to leave this room and venture to other parts of the house, but those times are few and far between. I try my best to keep to myself. I don’t belong here. I don’t need another reminder of exactly how much I don’t belong.
Everything in my world is so much darker without her… without him.
It’s like all the color has been drained from my life. I try not to think about Drew, but if it’s not him, then it’s my mother, and I’d rather think of the thing that hurts less. I press back against the pillows and stare up at the delicately patterned ceiling, wondering what the hell I'm supposed to do with my life now.
I think back to the conversations with Sebastian in the past two weeks when he expressed his desire for me to return to class. I wish I could, but I haven't gathered enough courage. Not when there is a risk of seeing Jackie, or Drew, or anyone who knows what happened that night. I don’t need their pity.
Like yesterday and the day before that, I roll over on the bed when I get tired of staring at the ceiling and stare at the doorway.
