Page 77 of The Cannibal

“I prefer to call it comfortable, snug.”

“Not very social today?” She took a sip, her cheeks already flushed from previous refills.

“Just conversating with myself.” I patted the journal on my lap. “I had to outline some procedures for tomorrow’s test anyway.”

“Your pencil is still sharp, I bet that journal is empty.” She was drunkenly antagonistic, but still playful. “Why not let yourself enjoy some time away from things that stress you?”

“Hard to do when everything is the stressor.”

She clicked her tongue at me before sitting back, watching the room with me. “You can’t keep up the socially inept act forever.”

“Act?”

“You’re technically a Dam now, a real one. People look to you, even if you don’t think so.”

“Was it not real before?”

“Of course, but you know what I meant⁠—”

“Phoebe, why do they hate me all the same, then?”

She tossed her head at me, her ringlets of strawberry hair nearly smacking me in the face when she did so. “Hate you?”

“You’re observant, don’t play coy.” I took a sip of the wine, smacking my lips at the tang.

“No one ever likes the people in charge.” She pointed to my chest. “You will be miserable trying to please everyone.”

“Quite the statement from a professional socialite,” I scoffed.

“Which should tell you everything you need to know about my advice being true.” She gave me a knowing eye.

“Did I do something wrong?” I mumbled, scraping the edge of the cup with my nail. “You’re the only one who’s spoken to me since they’ve arrived.”

Phoebe placed her hand on my thigh, shaking it slightly in reassurance. “They do not know what Edith did. That is between the innermost circle and you. But to others, it looks like you’ve abandoned them.”

“I died,” I hissed.

“I know,” she whispered sharply back, “but we would have bigger problems if they knew what Edith did. People would become paranoid and question whether you can discern between threats inside and outside of the Nest, and whether or not it’s justifiable to kill someone without some sort of input from the other members.”

“She had a knife to your throat,” I snapped, but not above a whisper.

Phoebe glanced toward the others. They were pretending not to stare, but I caught their glances. I abandoned the bloodwine on the table, raising my hands in defeat as I departed. The silence made me walk even quicker to escape the glances.

The nagging sense that I was a burden was worsening with every step. How could it be that I gave everything and it still wasn’t enough? There was no perfect solution, yet they expected a perfect sacrifice. I should have died for good, maybe it would have been enough.

The hallway was dark despite it being early in the evening. Black clouds shielded the sky, which bled red from whatever remnants of the setting sun could be captured in the sooty phantoms hanging heavy over the city.

Like a compass, my legs carried me straight back to the roof, where I knew not a soul could bother me any longer.

I nearly stumbled out, the door slamming as I swung it open and walked straight toward the open sky.

The red of the firmament painted every raindrop a bloody tint, the entire city covered in it. Clouds dipped low in the distance, the rain pulsing with the wind as it fell.

Lightning snapped across the sky, grounded by a far-off building.

My hair was yanked back by the wind and the rain christened me with its sweet tears. Every part of my body raced like a wild mare, a mighty conviction racing the very blood in my veins, every contraction of the heart a hoofbeat of thunder.

My feet slipped from my shoes as I pulled myself up onto the thick slab of the marble ledge, the water slick under my heels.