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“Hey! Whose side are you on?”

The voice goes quiet and I roll my eyes. Seriously, my inner voice must be broken. In books and movies and things they talk about their inner voices. And gut feelings. Instincts that help guide. Mine has always felt like it’s trolling me. My lips twitch and my mind goes back to my childhood. My very first friend. Frank. She lived with us and went everywhere with me. I was a shy, sensitive child but Frank made me strong. Brave. My joy at the memory dims as my mind flits to the therapist appointments my foster mom took me to after I lost my parents. She seemed to think imaginary friends were the work of the devil.

Hey, what do you care? Those people all sucked and you’re here and you’re you and you’re fucking fantastic.

A snort escapes me. Great. Now my inner voice has started cursing. Shaking off my thoughts I pat my croissants gently then decide that’s as good as they’re gonna get. I brush them with melted butter before putting them in the oven.

“OK, so now I just…wait. I guess.” I groan when I realize I’m talking to myself again.

Looking over my shoulder at my wall I wonder if Gabriel is next door. Can he hear me? Does he think I’m mad? Or does he think it’s just the TV? I flick mine on, letting it play in the background. I mean, at least that way if he does hear me talking to myself again I can blame The Secret Lives of Mormon Housewives.

Totally solid plan. My inner voice snickers. I give myself a pat on the back and then sit my ass at the kitchen table. Waiting. For what? I can’t say. All I know is that I feel like I have too much energy in my body. Darting my gaze to the clock it’s only midday and I’ve already exhausted all the things I had on my list for today.

It’s funny, Wednesday never dragged when Grammy was around. There was always something fun to do or see. Perhaps that’s what I need. I need to get out and about. I’ve not been to the movies since Grammy was here so maybe I’ll do that. Deciding this is a solid plan I pull up the movie times on my phone and scroll for something Grammy and I would have wanted to see. Checking the time once again I note that I have enough time for my croissants to cook before I have to go. Excellent. I get croissants, an outing and I’ll be away from my home which will stop me making a fool of myself in front of Gabriel.

Perfect plan.

Yup. Perfect.

Chapter 6

Gabriel

“Kris? La Madrina?” I call out as I walk through the door to my sister's house/office.

“Wow, great decor,” Grammy says, head on swivel.

I get it. Kristie and Dima have a great house. Actually, scrap that, Dima has a great house. Kristie moved in with him and apart from a large collection of Doc Marten’s at the door, I can’t see anything my sister may have added to the decor.

“Cool studded penis thing.”

OK, maybe she put that there. My footsteps echo on the stained wood floors as I make my way through their front room and down the hall.

“Kristie?”

Moans and then a giggle drift down the hall and I freeze in place. I’ve walked in on those two fucking more times than I would like. Kristie may have no shame, but as her brother knowing there's a man out there who wants to willingly do things to my sister grosses me out. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad she’s found someone who fiercely loves her, it's just in my eyes she’s still the pain in my ass who filled my shampoo bottle with Nair. She’s evil when she wants to be. Which is often.

“I’m giving you 30 seconds to cover your private areas then I’m coming in!” I call out.

“Oh, are they in love?” Grammy whispers. Which is pointless, given that I’m the only one who can hear her.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Dima almost died to save my sister. He’s a good guy. Not sure what he sees in her, but there's someone for everyone.”

“If you’re really lucky there are two someones.” Grammy winks and I stare at her. “You know? Those throuple type set ups.”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that.”

“Hey, I wasn’t some boring old fuddy duddy before I died. I’ve done stuff.”

“Annnd their time is up.” I cut Grammy off because I do not want to hear why she got up to in her younger years. Or her older years. “I’m coming in!”

I gingerly swing open the door, peek around the corner and am met with Dima sitting behind his mahogany desk and my sister perched on the side, legs swinging.

“You are such a prude, Gabe. Is that why you never have any girlfriends?” Kristie says, a smirk on her face.

“I never have girlfriends because I’m always talking to dead people.” I answer drily, taking a seat on a puke green velvet chair.

“Bah, first world problems. Try killing every-”