“I wasn’t hurting him!” I shout, staring at his hand where he holds Atlas behind him firmly. “Why are you acting as if I’m out to get my own family?”
“That’s not what I’m implying.” Julian stares at me with a steady gaze. “Tell us what happened when you left the room. Where is the book? What did you do with it?”
“The book?” I question. We’re bouncing around to different memories, different topics, and it’s messing with my head. I’mangry, and I’m hurting. “It’s in my room. Why?”
“We need to get rid of it,” Julian says confidently. “Did you read it? Did you use a spell?”
I freeze. I can feel my skin flush as I stand before them, guilty.
“Oh, god,” Atlas whimpers, burying his face in Julian’s back.
Julian’s grip on his arm tightens as they take a step backward.
“What is happening?”I’m pleading now, desperate for answers. “Yes, I used a spell. I was trying tosavehim. I would have done anything!”
“I know,” Julian says gently. “I know, Atticus. I would have too. Idid. But I think… I think you may have touched on something you shouldn’t have.”
“Like what?” I demand.
But I know what. I made a deal that sold a decade of my life to a demon, and…
Now I’m sleepwalking, disappearing for several hours at a time.
My knees give out, and as they hit the floor, I can’t breathe.
“We need to see Reverend Clark or Madam Lu,” Julian insists, staring down at me with a heavy mixture of pity and fear.
And I hate it.
“Who?” I ask, my voice barely resonating around us.
“People who can help. Who can tell us what you did,” Atlas chimes in, looking around his boyfriend’s body to see me.
His expression, his agony, is so clear on his face that even though my first reaction is to say no—no way in hell—I don’t fight it.
Not if there is a chance that one of the most precious people in my life will stop staring at me like I repulse him.
“Okay,” I whisper, my gaze dropping to stare at my hands as they shake.
It’s only midday on a Tuesday, so I’m unsure where Julian intends to take me, but I don’t deny him as I stand, following the two of them to my BMW.
Julian takes the keys from my trembling hands, and I get into the backseat of my car for the very first time.
Trees pass, and storm clouds gather overhead, but luckily, in the springtime, there is no fog at midday.
The closer we get, as we enter town, my heart thunders wildly. I’m not used to asking for help; I’m not used to being dependent on others.
Iam the one who fixes things. I make the decisions, guide the lot, dictate each and every moment that I’m a part of. The discomfort of this situation is strangling me.
I’m in control. Deciding to go is my taking charge; asking for help is my decision,I repeat in my mind like a mantra. It does not make me feel better.
Because the truth is, I’m not.
I didn’twantto touch that book; it was a desperate move forced upon me by concern and fear.
I don’t want Cameron to move on, to leave; I had no choice but to send him away.
I’m no longer in control. I haven’t been for a long, long time.
