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It takes me a moment to answer because I, suddenly, want to laugh. My best friend and I took a tiny step forward today and now I just lost something precious. It’s like life is scrambling to balance me out. To remind me that the more I open myself to happiness, the more I’ll lose.
“Kaelyn.” Brenna squeezes my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I blink. No.
Brenna opens her mouth to question me more but, at that moment, the workmen step out with her prized African vase. Her eyes lock on the vase and she charges forward. “Hey! Do you know how expensive that is! Be careful!”
While she argues with them, I pull out my cell phone.
The first person I want to call is Kastle.
It’s instinctual.
Whether it’s good news or bad news, I’ve always chosen to share it with him.
And he always answers.
He’s always there for me.
But his family did this.
His mom did this.
To me.
Willfully.
She donned spiked gloves and punched me in the gut. A dirty move. No rules in the ring. Amelia wants me on the floor. She wants me bloody. She wants me to stay down.
It’s excessive force. My perceived sin did not require this harsh a punishment.
I hear Brenna’s voice screaming and scolding in the background. Amelia didn’t only hurt me this time. She hurt an innocent person. My eyes train on Brenna and then on the pile of our belongings left forlornly on the street side.
Someone I care about got caught in the crossfires and that is unacceptable.
How can I get Amelia back?
How can I destroy her without destroying Kastle?
My phone chirps.
AMELIA: What a charming building. It’ll fit so nicely as a fashion studio.
I spin, searching the area for a witch with too much Botox and thousand-dollar shoes. There are several cars on the street, but I can’t see into any of them. I can’t see her.
Even if I was right in front of her, I probably wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye.
She’s bigger than me in this war. She’s more powerful.
Another text comes in.
AMELIA: Don’t mess with me, Kaelyn. Whatever you’re planning with my son, stop now.
I clamp my lips tightly to withhold my scream of frustration.
Screw this.
I don’t care what I need to do.
