Page 194 of Midnight Curfew

By the time it’s over, her voice is strong, and I’m relaxing a little. Thank God she didn’t go full freak-out like she did with him. I would’ve been in serious shit.

I shouldn’t have said those things to her. She could be on the cusp of coming back to herself or she could be like my mother—only a matter of time. I don’t know her enough to talk to her like that.

Holding her tight, I rest my chin on her head, staring across the room at her Victorian dollhouse. “You have to remember, Anna-Katherine,” I tell her, “we’re all just kids inside, trying to pretend that it feels good to be grown up.”

“Why?”

Maybe because it’s expected when we turn eighteen. Maybe we need money.

But instead, I say, “Because we think freedom will give us things that are good for us.”

That’s why we want to grow up. That’s why we pretend we’re glad we did.

“Eventually,” I explain, “we realize that we’re not doing the things we do because we can.”

The sex. The drinking. Spending money. Zoning out into our phones.

“We’re doing them,” I tell her, “because we can’t stop anymore.”

We become addicted to the escape.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers.

Needles prick my throat, and I almost can’t get the words out, because it hurts so badly.

“I don’t want to be free,” I choke out.

I don’t want to drink whenever I want or sleep with whomever I want.

“But I’m really good at it.”

I can detach the way my brothers can’t. I’ve come to hate it, but I know now that nothing will kill me, so there’s that.

Putting her into bed, I shut off her light, her eyes already closing as I plug in her phone on the nightstand. I actually hope he didn’t see me on the cameras. I’ll call Damaris back. I’m not in the mood for any more shit tonight.

As soon as I step out of the room, though, I come face-to-face with Callum. He leans back on the banister, his gaze on me. I straighten. How long has he been here?

He got here quickly. He must’ve been in town.

My eyes drop to the chain peeking out of his collar, and I pull her door closed, squaring my shoulders. “I didn’t touch her.”

“You did a little bit,” he points out.

A smile sits in his eyes. He watched me with her. Did he hear me?

Behind him, downstairs on both sides of the front door, stand two security detail. The guys in black suits sit like imposing columns, and it’s the first time all day I’ve wanted to smile.

He’s afraid we’ll retaliate, so he hired bodyguards.

“I didn’t touch her like that,” I explain.

And he knows it.

Moving past him, I head down the stairs, hearing him behind me. “Wait, I owe you for babysitting.”

“Fuck you.”

I move for the front door.