Page 16 of Where the Light No Longer Follows

“I have everything to give and no one to give it to. Use me.”

“That does not sound like companionship.”

“We can overlook it.”

“I don’t have friends,” she admitted. She only had one friend, Az. And only because he had not let her be and tagged along nearly most days even when she had not wanted company.

“I wouldn’t go around shouting that. There isn’t a great pride in loneliness.”

“Pride is for the living. Besides, you have a brother.”

Dropping his head back, he sighed. “As you always seem to remind me.”

“You don’t have to be alone.”

“Then you know nothing about having a sibling.”

“I had one,” she admitted. “I had a sibling. A mother and a father. Just like you do.” She had it all. In name—only in name. “He was the only friend I’ve ever needed. My only friend. I think I was his only friend, too, but he used to lie to me so I wouldn’t worry about him being alone at work when he left for entire days and sometimes weeks to dig up the mines for whatever little coin they would give him.” Silene had never felt the wound she’d thought had closed as raw as she felt it at that moment. And that was the most Silene had spoken of her one life she’d been granted and lived so little, for so little, so lifelessly. Though she had once dreamed of forgetting every agonising moment of that life, she was thankful Death had punished her with the curse of never forgetting a single moment. Silene did not know who she was without pain, and she was afraid—Silene was afraid that if she didn’t remember the violence, she would forget who she was. Silene was afraid to live without remembering the pain. She was afraid that she might forgive herself for what she had done.

“You haven’t tried to find them?”

She shook her head, taking the bottle and bringing it to her mouth, letting the liquor burn down the ball of longing in her throat. “I’d like to think two out of three are burning in a deep part of Azriel’s hell. Over and over.”

“And the third?”

“I’d like for him to think I’m burning down there with them.”

“What could you have done for your brother to wish that?”

Silene’s throat clogged with a sob. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” he said, heading towards the cans of paint on the corner of her kitchen. “What if you’re a murderous psychopath?”

She snorted, her nostrils burning from the liquor she’d had inhaled. “Maybe I am,” she said, running a sleeve over her mouth.

“I want to be afraid. If only I could be.”

“You’re a murderer’s dream victim.”

He picked a can of paint and two brushes. “Is your brother the one you wish you were no one to? The one who Azriel reminds you of?”

Her tongue darted to lick her lips and his attention dropped there. “I don’t think I want to tell you. You’re not my friend.”

“Can we not be friends?”

Silene took one stuttering inhale. “We can’t.”

“What if we pretend?”

“We can. Doesn’t mean we should.”

“We should,” he said, standing over her. “We should pretend.”

“And what do I get?” she asked, tilting her head up to look at him.

“The lovely experience. Come on, get up. I will help you paint the stupid cabinets.”

“I don’t need your help.”