Pink and green beads strung in a crooked line.
“It’s not as good as yours. But I tried.”
“It’s great.” I smiled. “I love it.”
She tied it around my wrist. It was big around me so she tightened it.
I hadn’t eaten in a few days.
All I felt was empty.
My father had done this. To me.
I knew he didn’t care for me. He had made that perfectly clear, more than once.
I never once thought he hated me.
Not until now.
“Knock knock.” Kieran’s voice came from the doorway. I flinched, pulling my blankets up.
“Can I let him in?” Sable asked me.
“I don’t want him to see me like this.”
“Seph you look fine – “
“I don’t.” I whispered, tugging the blankets up to my chin like they could hide the ugliness on my skin.
Sable frowned, her fingers tightening around the fraying sleeve of her jumper. “He’s been worried.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Me too.” I said.
Before I could protest again, Sable crossed the room and opened the door.
Kieran stepped in slowly, like I might bolt. I pulled the blanket tighter.
He looked around the room, taking in the mess — the untouched water on the bedside table, the tray of food congealing, the dark circles around my eyes.
Then he looked at me.
And froze.
“Seph…” His voice cracked. Just barely, but enough that I felt it like a bruise.
“I’m fine,” I lied, staring at the ceiling.
“You haven’t eaten,” he said quietly.
“Says who?” I snapped, too tired to be polite.
Sable exchanged a look with him — a silent plea, a silent warning. He ignored it.
“Your father shouldn’t—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off, sharper than I meant. “Please. Don’t.”
Kieran swallowed. His jaw tightened, like he was biting back everything he wanted to say.
