Page 16 of Unmasking My Dark Knight

She put a carton of noodles in front of me, and my chopsticks poked out like little headstones from the food. Before she sat down, she tossed a coin right onto my lap.

I shut the book and looked at it.

It was red and heavy. It had a number ten on it.

“Ten years already?” I asked proudly, looking up at her with a smile on my face.

Rachel dug into her food, sticking a clump of rice right into her mouth. “Ten years and eleven days sober. And every day is still a battle,” she answered, but I could see the pride in her eyes, the look of well-earned achievement that glistened from within.

“Good thing you’re a warrior then,” I said, placing my hand over hers. “Congrats, Rach. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“I know.” She wiggled in her seat, getting comfortable. “Now no more mushy stuff. Eat your food.”

I laughed, picking up the orange chicken to take a bite. Rachel wasn’t one for sentimental moments, but then again, having emotionally detached parents left us little room for navigating our feelings—more so Rachel than me at times.

It wasn’t easy growing up in a house where we were treated more like burdens than children, and the way we coped with our traumas took us down very different paths.

Mom died when we were fourteen.

Dad was an out-of-control alcoholic.

Nothing was easy, and no two days ever felt consistently stable, unless it was the bond Rachel and I shared. All we had was each other, bound by blood, tethered, and as life-giving as an umbilical cord.

But not even that was enough. Where I once was the emo outcast who turned to reading and acting as a coping method, Rachel turned to the disease that eventually killed our father. And it got her good.

Finding her on the stairs, covered in her own vomit, felt like a lifetime ago. The long nights. The mood swings and days when she would go missing. She was just a teenager at the time, and she already hurt herself so much that I had to find a way to save her—to force her into a program and keep her accountable. I was there for the withdrawals. I was there for the fevers and the anger. And now she was here for me, saving me with a warm couch and an even warmer meal.

“By the way, they had these in the basement of the church tonight; I thought you would be interested,” Rachel said, pulling out some pamphlets from her back pocket. She placed them on the coffee table, and I looked at them while chewing.

“Theatre classes?” I said, flipping through them.

“I know you want to get back into it. I think you should look into going. Just check it out.”

“It is something I want,” I answered, looking more carefully. Free classes at the YMCA were a far fall from being a financial advisor, but something about it felt curious and right, just like it did with Ivy Jade.

It almost felt like a sense of direction.

Something I wanted to follow.

And without a plan going past next week, when Scare Night was officially over, I had no idea what I was doing, so maybe it was time to consider pursuing something new. Who knew where I’d end up after this? New York, maybe? Chicago? Los Angeles?

I had no clue.

“‘Unmasking My Bright Knight?’” Rachel looked down at the book by my side. “Book five?”

“It’s addicting,” I said, taking another bite of food. “I think I like romance novels.”

“Steamy ones in particular, I see.”

“It’s much more than steamy,” I said, gawking. “Wait, why am I defending it? These are your books.”

“Just promise to keep your hands above the blanket. This is my living room, not a brothel for you to enjoy sexy romance stories.”

“Dude…” I said, wiping my face with a napkin. I was going to throw up. “You don’t need to worry about me defiling your precious pink blanket. I’m actually exchanging your couch for something much bigger this week.”

“Oh yeah? And where’s that?” she said, unconvinced.

“That fancy chateau outside of town,” I smirked.