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My sister gently turned my head until our eyes met. “Don’t you trust me?”
“I already failed once,” I choked out. My throat closed up.
“You can stay outside the door, okay? I’ll tell you everything I see.”
“I want pics. Take photos of them. I need to make sure.”
“Fine,” she acquiesced.
Clara’s eyes darted from me to Star, volleying back and forth with our negotiation. We spoke about her as if she weren’t there. That, and the fact that she didn’t have anything to say, was more proof that she was in shock.
Star slipped her hand into Clara’s and slowly led her away from me. My demon screeched in protest as the distance grew between us. Clara followed her passively. Panic gripped me by the throat like a tightening noose. I’d never seen her behave meekly, and it made me want to shake her until she was her normal, sassy, rude self again. Guilt crashed through me. If she’d been with me, she would’ve been safe. If she’d at least been at my mother’s house, she would’ve been safe. But I’d rejected her advances and then kept her at arm’s length until she almost died.
Star slipped her hand in Clara’s and slowly led her away from me. My brain screeched in protest as the distance grew between us. Clara followed passively, head down. Panic gripped me by the throat. I’d never seen her behave meekly like this.
Swiping up the first aid kit, I dogged them to the hallway bathroom.
As Star went to close the door, I put my palm against it.
“Leave it open a crack,” I ordered as I handed her the kit.
Through the gap in the door, I could see most of Clara’s reflection in the mirror.
My sister dragged the T-shirt off her. I inwardly cursed at the expanse of beautiful creamy skin speckled with little cuts. I seethed inside. Adrenaline pumped through my blood. If the hurricane had been mortal, I would’ve gutted it like a squealing pig by now.
Carefully, Star dabbed iodine on every cut, clucking gently like our mother would have. Clara’s shoulders slumped forward as my little sister took care of her. My heart cracked open further. Then, Star applied antibiotic ointment on each tiny wound. She snapped discreet close-up pics of Clara’s arms, hands, and collarbone. I felt my cell phone vibrate in my back pocket as the texts poured in.
Vibrating with rage, I stood stock-still as I watched. The desire to murder tore through me, but I was powerless. It was the same inane sense of helplessness I felt as when my father disclosed his sick secret to me, but a hundred times worse. I’d become semi-obsessed with Clara since our one kiss, but I’d stupidly thought I could stay away from her and smother my feelings.
The realization that she could’ve died and I’d failed to protect her drowned me in remorse and self-recrimination.
There was only one way to make this right.
I swore to myself, to my clan, to my God, I would never fail her again.
I’d be so up her ass, she’d wish that hurricane had never hit New York City because she’d never be rid of me.
