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I flinched at her tone and words. “I don’t want you to hate her. I just want you to understand she isn’t a saint. She isn’t a good person, and she doesn’t care about us. All she’s ever cared about is her next hit. If she wants you to visit her it’s because she wants you to score drugs for her or do something that results in her getting drugs.”
“What if she’s changed? What if she’s really getting better?”
For years I had played the what-if game. What if this time the rehab worked? What if this time she really wanted to get custody of us back from our foster families? What if this time her boyfriend was a good one? What if this one didn’t hurt her? Every single time I had been disappointed.
I laughed. As soon as I did, I knew it was the wrong response, but I couldn’t take it back. I wasn’t being the mother figure in this conversation; I was being the woman who had shielded her little sister from every bad thing imaginable. “Don’t be naïve, Alexi.”
Her jaw tightened and her brows drew low. “Don’t be such a judgmental, overbearing, jaded, egotistical jerk, Julia!” With those words, she spun on her heel and marched away.
My hands started to shake, and I realized they were clenched into fists. I took a deep breath, trying to calm down and loosen up my muscles. It took a good five minutes of breathing exercises before I was finally able to drop my shoulders and unclench my fists.
I was angry. It wasn’t Alexi’s fault. She didn’t know. She didn’t understand. She had been a little kid when we were with Mom. She didn’t know the things Mom had done—the drugs, the alcohol, the parade of men. How she would forget to come home sometimes or forget to feed us. How she would spend all our money on drugs and we would have our heat shut off.
I shoved the memories out of my mind. I couldn’t think about the past or fall into that never-ending black hole. It would eat me alive if I let it.
Unable to sit still, I bounced up from the bed and stepped into the adjoining bathroom. I turned on the tap and splashed cold water over my face, again and again, until the cold numbed my senses. I scrubbed my hands with soap, though I knew they were already clean. I stripped my jacket and shirt off until my arms were bare. I grabbed more soap and scrubbed up and over the old scars. I scrubbed until my skin turned beet red. And then I scrubbed some more.
Finally, I shoved my arms under the stream and let the water rinse everything away. All the soap, the memories, the tears. I watched the water circle the drain before disappearing. The old pains were supposed to be dead. Dead and gone. Not ghosts.
I turned the faucet off and grabbed a hand towel, burying my face in it. I dried my arms and winced at how raw my skin now felt. I set the towel down and finally looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was wet, turning from its normal reddish-orange color to blood red. Brown eyes that had seen too much stared back at me, framed by thick lashes. My eyebrows needed to be plucked again. The hair was growing in an unruly fashion. Creamy, pale skin looked red everywhere but my neck. Dark freckles stood out against the raw skin. A faint scar traced down the side of my neck, near my ear. Most people never noticed it.
My arms hurt, and I looked down at them, though I didn’t want to see the scars, hated seeing the scars. I tried not to scowl at them.
Enough, Julia. Enough.
I grabbed a clean shirt, threw it on, reached into a drawer, and pulled out a pair of tweezers. I leaned close to the mirror and began plucking my eyebrows. The little bursts of pain grounded me, and focusing on the task cleared my mind. I didn’t want to think about anything else.
When that was finished, I tossed the tweezers down and went back into the bedroom, turning music on. I turned it up, louder than I normally would have, louder than I should have. I didn’t care if Alexi heard it. I didn’t care if the neighbors heard it. They could send an enforcer to ask me to turn it down if they wanted.
I grabbed the side of the bed and shoved it all the way against the wall, clearing some space in the middle of the room. I unfolded the little stepladder I kept in the closet and placed it in the middle of the floor. I grabbed one of my punching bags from the corner, hefted it up the ladder, and attached it to a hook in the ceiling.
Once the bag was secured and swinging freely, I grabbed my work gloves and pulled them on. I punched the bag, over and over again. I kicked it a few times, rotating to do combinations. The music pounded into my ears, making its way into my veins, pulling me out of my body. I paused and closed my eyes when a particularly good song came on. I swayed back and forth, tilting my head.Nothing can hurt me, not here, not right now. Not the past, not the future.
Anger surged in my veins, and I punched the bag again, and again, and again. I tried to push all my anger into my fists and release it. Let the anger out. Kill the bag. That was the goal.
The door opened behind me. I didn’t hear it or see it, but I could feel the change in air pressure. I had my back to the door, and I didn’t turn around. If it was Alexi, she would say something or leave. If it was anybody else, they’d try and sneak up on me, and it would be the last thing they’d ever do.
I punched the bag again, grunting as I did. I’d be sore tomorrow, and my knuckles would hurt, but I didn’t care. After a few moments, the door closed, and I kicked the bag. Hard. It swung around and I grabbed it, stilling it. I took a deep breath. I needed to return to the unflappable, unstoppable cop and big sister. I needed to pull myself together. I was the responsible one, and I needed to take care of things, to protect my sister, and to find out who was responsible for kidnapping High Chancellor Barrows. I needed to be the strong one everyone relied on.
But not yet.
I hit the bag again.
CHAPTER THREE
Julia
"Are you sure you’re alright?” Jordan gave me a worried look. Again. He’d asked me probably five times since we got on the ship.
“I’m fine.” Despite my attempts to conceal my annoyance, some of it leaked through my tone.
“Are you sure?” He obviously wasn’t convinced by my words.
“Seriously, Jordan, lay off.” I looked around us carefully, making sure no one else was listening. The rest of the team didn’t seem to be paying us any attention, but the last thing I needed was anyone thinking I had a problem that might affect the team.
“Okay.” Jordan glared at me. I felt a pang of guilt, but I ignored it. I wasn’t in a good mood, and no, it wasn’t his fault, but I couldn’t magically make myself want to talk about it. I just wanted to pretend yesterday didn’t happen.
The ship shuddered when we dropped out of hyperspace. I sighed, relieved we’d finally made it to Viridis. I felt like I was going to claw my skin off if I had to stay cooped up for much longer. Normally, I didn’t have a problem with the longer trips, but not today. I had no patience for anything today.
