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Alphas!
The volume increases, and it sounds like they’re having an argument.
I flip through more of the sketchbook while attempting to eavesdrop.
Wilson wriggles out of my arms and jumps back onto the desk, watching with interest as I turn the pages past the disturbing images, hoping to find one that doesn’t make me shiver.
“Oh, hey.” I point to a particular sketch of a kitten, then stroke Wilson’s nose. “That’s you.”
Baby Wilson is adorable, made of all black fluff, and more fur than body. He’s asleep on a canopy bed, curled up in a ball.
James captured him perfectly.
The voices downstairs grow louder.
I hear Beau’s voice, followed by Grey snapping and James yelling.
I’m about to storm downstairs and demand they stop when another sketch catches my eye.
“What?” I whisper.
It’s kitten Wilson, but he’s being held by a smiling woman.
A smiling woman that looks exactly like me, without the scar.
I stare, dumbfounded.
All three of them are shouting downstairs.
I flip through the rest of the sketchbook and gasp.
Me.
It’s me, with longer hair, minus my scar.
In some, I’m sitting and smiling.
In others I’m in the garden, tending to the flowers.
It’s a sketchbook full ofme,followed by a broken heart.
Wilson meows loudly, demanding my attention and swiping gently at my hand.
But I can’t move.
There’s a crash on the first floor, followed by Charlotte’s yelling.
I flip back and forth between the pages, hoping that somehow, I’m wrong.
Maybe it’s not me.
Itcan’tbe me.
Right?
Or maybe he drew them after I came here.
I flip through the book, my stomach churning as I catch a scrawl in the bottom corner of each page.
