Page 59 of What’s Left of Us

We weren’t running errands, not really. We both knew what we were doing, and yet, neither of us acknowledged it.

By the time we returned home, Nat was locked in her room. There was no mess to be cleaned, but that didn’t mean my sister was unscathed. That night, once my parents were asleep, I snuck into her room. She faced away from me, the only light coming from her illuminated phone.

My own phone was on the charger in my bedroom. There was a slew of texts from Atlas waiting for me, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer them. I’d only assured him that Nat was home. Everything else would have to wait.

“Are you okay?” I whispered through the darkness.

Nat turned onto her side, and moments later, her bedside lamp flicked to life. In the dim glow, I could see everything I’d been working so hard to ignore. Her skin was terrible. Her coloring sallow. She looked sickly, and from the dark bags under her eyes, she needed sleep more than I did. There were no visible bruises though, and I let myself believe that meant he didn’t touch her.

“I don’t feel like talking about it,” she said without looking at me. Her pupils were dilated again. According to Google, that was another sign of meth.

“I’m surprised Dad let you keep your phone.”

“He didn’t.” She smirked, her eyes locked on the screen. “This is a spare.”

I didn’t know what that meant. I was going to ask, but I was distracted by the realization she wasn’t wearing pajamas.

“What are you wearing?” I yanked back her comforter to reveal a cute top and black shorts. No matter that it was the middle of December. “Are you seriously going out again?”

“It’ll just be for a couple hours.” She rolled her eyes. Soundless videos played on her phone, and she swiped from one to the next, never lingering for long. “I promise I won’t leave you hanging again.”

“No.” My voice was sharper than I intended. When Nat looked at me, brows stretched toward her hairline, I lifted my chin. “I’m not doing it again, Nat. You’re going to get yourself killed. Whether it’s Dad⁠—”

“I’m not responsible for what Dad does.” She gritted her teeth as she spoke. “You’re being dramatic anyway. I’ve got a backup plan so last night doesn’t happen again. It’s not a big deal, all right?”

“No.” I crossed my arms, hoping she couldn’t see the way I trembled. I didn’t tell Nat no. I didn’t tell anyone no. “I’m not doing it.”

“Not doing what, exactly?” she challenged, and the question was laced with venom. “You didn’t really cover for me this morning, did you?”

“What the hell was I supposed to do?” I demanded. I realized we were being way too loud and immediately lowered my voice. “You didn’t come back.”

“Go to bed, Violet.” She shoved out of her own bed, knocking against my shoulder on the way to her closet. Crouching in front of her shoe collection, she grabbed a pair of heels and roughly strapped them to her feet. “I don’t need you to cover for me, all right? Just go to bed.”

My insides ached. I wasn’t going to cry—I wouldn’t let myself—but god, I wanted to. I should’ve known better than to assume Nat cared how I felt. Still, I couldn’t let her leave. I couldn’t toss and turn for hours again, waiting for her to come home. I couldn’t get pulled out of the house, just so Dad had privacy to hurt her. I couldn’t keep doing this. And if she wasn’t going to stay…

“Can I come?”

She froze.

“That’s not a good idea.”

“If it’s not a big deal and it’s just a couple of hours, then let me come.”

She looked at me then, really looked. I had no idea what she was searching for in my expression, but I held my breath the entire time.

“You sure?”

I nodded. I’d go with her, stay sober, and make sure she got home okay. It was an easy, fool-proof plan.

“It won’t be like your high school parties.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“All right,” she said. She turned back to her closet. “Go put on something cute. Shayna will be here in fifteen.”

My heart thrummed as I got ready, as I climbed through her bedroom window, carefully following her path down the roof. My panic grew as we got into Shayna’s car and drove to a strange apartment with dingy lights and people who all seemed way older than us. I’d heard about Shayna plenty of times, but this was my first time meeting her.

Nat originally told me she was ‘around her age’. I should have known to press for specifics. As it turned out, Shayna had just turned thirty-one, though she looked even older. She smiled at me like I was a little kid, and she seemed to take immense joy in the idea of corrupting me.