KESTER.
She was still standing there. She fucking
Lood like she could fucking fix me.
The fear in her eyes faded too fast, dissolving into something worse. Something sickly.
Concern.
What was she? Kasmine? My mother? Some fucking saint who thought she could put me back together, piece by piece, like it was her duty?
“Kester,” She whispered, ignoring the blood dripping out of her face. She wasn’t healing just yet. How would she heal when the pieces of glass were still in her flesh, and all she
cared about was me?
She should have been backing away, pressing her hands to her wounds, pulling the shards. out–something, anything.
But no. She stood there.
She wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t flinch.
I wanted her to flinch.
I wanted her to stop looking at me like that… Like she could still see something in me that wasn’t already rotting.
Blood streaked down her cheek, down her arm, onto the floor–staining the fucking floor.
Like if she tried hard enough, if she held on long enough, I’d give a damn about
something other than wanting to tear her apart.
She reeked of rotten desperation.
A muscle jumped in my jaw. My fingers twitched. My skin burned, too tight over my
bones.
“Take a deep breath…” She said, and, fuck! No one told me June had become a therapist.
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My breath shuddered out as I grabbed my phone from the table–fingers so tight around it my knuckles burned. And then-
CRACK.
The phone hit the wall. Pieces of it rained to the floor.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out.” I counted my words through gritted teeth.
I took a step forward, and her whole body tensed. The stupid, desperate look in her eyes flickered, replaced by terror.
Perfect.
your
“Otherwise, your corpse won’t even make it home for a funeral,” I added coldly as I took another step, and she sucked in a sharp breath, her throat working.
“I’m… I’m sorry…” She trembled so terribly.
I had lifted my hand to grab her by her throat when suddenly, the door slammed open.
“Kester!”
It was Kasmine.
Her voice shot through my veins like ice. I jerked, my momentum halting just before I reached June, my body locking up.
She was breathless, her worried eyes frantically taking in the room–the shattered phone, the broken glass, the blood, June.
Her lips parted, a tremor in them.
My stomach dropped.
No. No, no, no.
I never wanted her to see me like this. Not ever. Not after the last outburst I had when we were younger. I lost control and ended up locked away behind thick walls, under cold. lights, with white coats monitoring every breath I took.
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They poked. Prodded. Measured the depth of my supposed sickness like I was truly sick.
And when I’d given them what they wanted–when I smiled, when I nodded, when I played their fucking game–they signed me off as “stable.”
They thought I was better and that a little bit of therapy sessions would finally set me on
track.
They thought that I had clawed my way out of the dark, but they had no idea…
And after a few weeks of therapy, everyone thought I had passed every test and evaluation. and that I was fine. Little did they know that not only did I kill my therapist, I also drafted a report by her, stating that I was in a better condition.
I had walked out of that place, not healed or rehabilitated–just better at pretending.
And now Kasmine was looking at me like she could see past all of the facades I had been putting up all these years… Like she could see what lay underneath the mask I had carefully had on all along.
My hands curled into fists at my sides. My pulse pounded in my skull.
I never wanted her to be afraid of me.
Never.
KASMINE.
I barely breathed as I took in the wreckage of his room–the shattered phone, the blood, the tension so thick it made my skin prickle.
But Kester’s looks scared me the most.
“Kester…” I called carefully.
I didn’t even know where to start. He was a trembling mess. His eyes were crimson red, and I could tell this anger wasn’t just about whatever June might have done to him. She was only unlucky to have been there at the wrong time and probably said something she shouldn’t say at such a time.
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I tried to mask the fear and worry curling inside me. I didn’t want him to think that I was afraid of him. I didn’t want him to think I saw him as a monster.
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