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I run.
* * *
My birthday has always beena weird event. One, I’ve never really liked to be the center of attention, and that situation can turn from mildly weird to full-blown awkward.
Unlike me, Maya thrives on being the star of the show. She’s wearing a white chiffon princess dress with high heels that add unnecessary height to her already long legs. Perfect blonde curls fall down her back, teasing at the bare skin beneath it. As is customary on our birthday, I’m wearing the black version of her dress with knee-length leather boots. My hair is tied in pigtails intertwined with blue ribbons.
This is the first year we’re celebrating our birthday without our parents. Mum and Dad offered to come, but Maya said she wants to celebrate with friends. I didn’t encourage them either, because I could and would blurt out everything about the chaos that’s been happening in my life lately.
Still, Mom and Dad sent us gifts and were the first to wish us a happy birthday. They told us they loved us and that we were the brightest stars of their lives.
Niko, Kill, and Gareth threw us a massive party in the Heathens' mansion. Everyone from TKU and their next of kin have flocked to the extravagance of money and blinding power.
They look up to my brother, cousins, and Jeremy as if they’re celebrities. The Heathens’ nonnegotiable power and untouchable vibe are everything they want to be. Mom has always told me that power is a dangerous game if you don’t know how to play it.
The Heathens, led by Jeremy, definitely do.
And that type of charisma attracts people like a magnet. This is why the hall downstairs brims with people, alcohol, and loud trendy music
Maya is dancing with a group of her fake friends of the week, taking pictures, and chugging alcohol. Technically, we’re supposed to wait until we’re twenty-one, but we’ve been drinking since last year. Besides, it’s the UK, and the legal drinking age here is eighteen.
Niko doesn’t seem to mind either. I’m sitting between him and Kill on a sofa on the upper floor. From our position, we can overlook the entire party while being detached from it.
I’d rather go to the chess club or have a birthday talk with my plants instead of taking part in this mindless celebration.
Worse, a part of me sees it as an anniversary of being a powerless mute. It’s been nearly eleven years already and there’s still that dooming thought that I’ll never be able to speak again.
Here’s to another year of complete silence,I tell myself as I take a sip of foul-tasting beer.
I don’t particularly like alcohol, and I’m such an embarrassing lightweight, but I need to shut off my brain tonight.
Especially since it’s been on high alert ever since last week when Landon declared that he’d let me go. He hasn’t tried to contact me from a thousand numbers, hasn’t cornered me again, and hasn’t even gone to the chess club.
I’ve been there almost every day to play against Mr. Whitby, but I was told Landon hasn’t been coming to the club at all lately.
Not that I care.
In fact, I’m glad he’s out of my life. I suspected the brief, tension-charged meeting in the bathroom wasn’t the end of Landon, but maybe I’m reading too much into it.
Maybe he’s finally done with me.
Good.
I don’t need the definition of toxic drama in my life.
And yet the beer tastes even more bitter and disgusting. Everything does.
I’m convinced it’s just a phase. Ithasto be.
“Why aren’t you dancing down there with your less pleasant clone, baby Sokolov?” Kill yells over the music and nudges my arm with his.
I lift my shoulder and don’t say anything.
Besides, one—or two—of us needs to keep an eye on Niko.
I steal a peek at my brother, who’s been chain-smoking for the past thirty minutes. One after the other, as if he’s on a mission to give his lungs cancer.
He’s been getting worse, not better, despite the coping methods Jeremy has been dishing his way. It seems that no amount of violence will drag my brother from his state of mental self-destruction.
