Page 21 of Corrupted


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Papers rustle in the background, and I tap a restless finger on my laptop. “What are you talking about? Wait, have you forgotten your meds this morning?” She cracks a joke. Like me she sometimes uses humor to hide what she’s really feeling.

“And here I was wondering if you overdosed on your morning concoction of smart-ass.”

She chuckles and I relax. It’s good to hear her voice. We’ve both been working so hard, it’s actually been months since we sat down and talked face-to-face. But with the holiday upon us, hanging out in person is not going to happen anytime soon. Not because we’re busy but because we both hole up and just try to get through the festive season the best way we know how.

“I’m calling because you asked if I would be home for Christmas.”

“Yeah, sorry,” she says, a hitch to her voice. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I’m off my meds.”

My heart constricts at the uncharacteristic longing I hear in her voice. “Are you okay?” I ask, struggling to loosen that imaginary band squeezing my chest.

“Never better,” she says, injecting a fake ounce of lightness into her voice. “What about you? How did your meeting go with Luis?”

“Great, actually. I think the new line is going to be a huge success.”

More paper rustling, and a stapler clicks. “What are you not telling me?”

I chuckle inwardly. My little sister is too smart for her own good. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

“Try me, bro. I need a good story. Something to cheer me up.”

I stiffen, and my heart stills. “Why do you need cheering up?”

A beat of silence and then she replied, “Ah, nothing really. You know, the holiday.”

“Yeah, I know.” I spin in my chair, and glance out the window, debating on how much I should divulge.

“Spill,” she says, “Or I’ll hunt you down. You know I’m a teacher. I have ways of making you talk,” she teases.

I laugh at her antics, and a bit of the tension leaves my chest. “You’re not going to believe who’s here with me.”

“Ooh, do tell.”

“Londyn Harding.”

Peyton goes so quiet I think she might have hung up on me. I wait a second for the dial tone, and when it doesn’

t come, I say, “Are you still there?”

“Bro, seriously, what the hell is going on?”

“I actually bought her at an auction house.”

“You...bought her?”

I wave my hand even though she can’t see me. “It’s not quite like it sounds. It’s all aboveboard. So don’t worry.”

“You...bought her,” she says again, and I don’t need to be face-to-face to know hers is scrunched. A familiar gesture when she’s trying to puzzle something out. “Like, you own her?”

“It’s not quite like that. It’s just—” I pinch the bridge of my nose. What the hell possessed me to open my damn mouth, anyway?

Oh, maybe because you need someone to talk to about Londyn.

Nope, I don’t. I really don’t.

Liar.

“It’s hard to explain,” I say.

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