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“Yes.”
“I see.”
“If that’s all.” I stand.
“See you in two weeks.”
A moody pianotune hits my ears as I step out of the elevator, causing me to haltat the familiar sight.
Past
Blonde hair falls over her shoulder as she hunches over the piano. That’s all she seems to do these days. Cut her wrist and play the piano as the blood splashes on the keys. I want to shake her, ask her if she realizes what I sacrificed so she could be safe? What I’ve endured while she mopes around life. Ungrateful brat.
I watch the blood drip from her wrist.
Drip.
Drip.
On the keys as her fingers smear through the blood. It’s like she’s lost to the music. Hell, maybe she is. From what I’ve gathered, she remembers nothing. Which is for the best but it doesn’t explain why she’s so sad.
I shouldn’t care. I should walk away. And I do, but I stop, growling as I reach into my glove box, grabbing a crumpled receipt and writing a note to her aunt and uncle. Maybe they can get her some help.
I leave it in their mailbox, casting one last glance at her window to find her watching me. Her head tilted slightly as if trying to read me.
I don’t give her a second chance as I get in my car and drive away.
Chapter 12
“The darker the night, the brighter the stars." - Fyodor Dostoevsky
I was surprisedto find a pair of pants and a sweater in my closet. The sweater is white, but anything beats the antiquedresses I’ve been wearing day after day. I even found a pair of boots. Thank God, not the cowboy variety.
I walk around the stone porch, checking all the doors to see where they lead. I even follow the path to the gate at the end of the property. It ends at the freaking ocean. So far, every side has ended in a body of water. When we went to Seattle, I thought we flew for fun. So, Atticus could show off his money and status. But as it seems, that’s the only way off this… island. How much money does one have to have to own an island?
I shake the thought, climbing back up the winding steps that lead to a side view of the house. This side has chairs and tables on the porch. Except, I’m not alone. Atticus is passed out in a chair. Scotch abandoned, cigar burned in an ashtray. I creep closer. A little spark lighting me up at the prospect he might be dead. He definitely looks it.
I lean over his body, hand waving in front of his face. He doesn’t move and I can’t tell if he’s breathing or not. The thought has me holding my breath. Out of fear or joy, I’m not sure. My fingers shake slightly as I go to press them onto his neck to check for a pulse.
An iron grip grabs my wrist, pulling me forward so I fall onto his lap. My eyes widen as I look down into frosty, forest greens. “What are you doing, Bird?”
His sleep voice? Fantastic. Nine out of ten would recommend it under any other circumstance.
“Checking to see if you’re alive?”
He smirks, thick eyebrows rising as he looks up at me. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Not forgiven. Now, let me go.” I huff.
He pulls me closer so I’m practically on his lap. “You woke me, entertain me.”
I shove out of his grip, straightening my sweater. I begin to walk away when his voice has me pausing. “Do you know what tomorrow is?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“Are you prepared to survive this time?”
I shrug, “Guess we’ll have to see.”
