backs away from my house. I don’t know why. I wanted him to leave, right?
Then why am I mourning his departure? Why did my text message seem so…final, like the last nail being drilled into our coffin, sealing our fates?
Ignoring the pang in my chest—the throbbing of my heart demanding me to call him back—I dial the only other number I have in my phone. I wait with bated breath as it rings, rings, rings, rings, rings. At first, I think she’s not going to answer, but after the tenth ring, my mother picks up the phone with an annoyed, “What?”
“Did you know?” I don’t bother with pleasantries. Neither of us can be bothered with it.
“Know about what?” she huffs, and I hear muffled chatter from behind her. “Can we hurry this call up? I’m getting my nails done.”
“About the Bloods. And their attacks. Did you know?” I scarcely breathe as I wait for her to respond. Her sudden silence is so pronounced, that it’s almost answer enough. I bite down on my lower lip, abusing the tender flesh, as I nod my head slowly. “You did, didn’t you? You sent me to live with Nana, knowing that Bloods were targeting humans and witches in the area.”
“I didn’t send you to live anywhere,” she snaps, some of her original ire returning. I can literally hear her take a deep breath as she attempts to moderate her volume while in public. “You chose to go there.”
“After you chose to kick me out.” I try to keep the confrontation out of my voice, but it seeps in unbidden. The hurt and anger I’ve kept locked up oozes from my pores, contaminating the air with its sickly scent. I can feel my power fizzle and spark beneath my skin, demanding an outlet, and I have no doubt that if Mother was directly in front of me, I would zap her to hell.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” She attempts a light, carefree laugh. “You’re perfectly safe.”
“What else do you know?” I demand, heart juddering in my chest.
“You’re trying to find connections where they don’t exist,” she snaps. “Stop it.”
“Mother…”
“I need to go now. Fabian is here to give me my afternoon massage.” She doesn’t bother to say “I love you” or even “goodbye” before she hangs up the phone. Instead, only static greets me, and though I expected it, it still feels like lemon juice is being squeezed into a particularly deep cut. I’m bleeding out, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
First Karsyn, melting down my walls when I want nothing more than to keep them impenetrable.
Then Elias, checking in on me when I thought he still hated me.
And now Mom, with her blatant dismissal of me.
I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong.
With a roar, I throw my phone against the wall, watching it drop to the floor with a loud smack. I don’t bother to see if I cracked the screen. All I can do is collapse onto my bed and bring my knees up to my chest. Pain bombards me from all directions, squeezing at my heart like a steadily shrinking iron vise.
Everyone in my life always hurts me, always leaves me.
People say you can’t die from a broken heart, but what they don’t say is that it may just make you want to.
Chapter 22
The next week is relatively uneventful…if you don’t count Karsyn’s haircut as “eventful.”
On Monday, he arrived at school with his normally unruly blond waves shorn in a buzz cut. On anyone else, the hairstyle would make him look hard and severe, almost like a drill sergeant, but on him, it only serves to accentuate his masculine features. His cupid bow lips. The dimple in his right cheek, normally hidden by his scruffy hair. His prominent forehead and honey-blond eyebrows. The strong dip of his jaw.
Rumor circulated that Karsyn woke up on Saturday morning—the morning after I completed my spell—with his hair on fire.
I still can’t stop the sly smirk from overtaking my features at the thought. I initially feel a stab of guilt whenever I see the current state of his hair, but I dismiss those pesky thoughts like one would an annoying fly. I remember how he talked to me at my house, the anger emanating from his eyes, and I know that whatever that “moment” was had only been one-sided. He still resents me for coming back, and honestly, I can’t even blame him. I’m planning