Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
It’s not her hands I want on me.
Never will be.
“Touch me again, and I will throw you out of my fucking house,” I threaten. Her eyes widen, and she takes a step back.
“You wouldn’t. They would find me,” she says and gives me her best fake cry.
“I would. I’ve killed for you and helped you more than I would help anyone, but that does not give you permission to touch me.”
It’s moments like these that she has clarity. Understands the mess that she’s gotten herself into. But it’s when her edginess kicks in and she needs more drugs flooding through her body that she sees them more as friends than enemies.
“I can be better for you,” she pleads. “I’ve tried all these years. Remember how you liked to watch me dance? I want it to be like that again, Alek. I just don’t know how to go back.”
My jaw tics as tears trickle down her face. I don’t think it’s entirely a lie. But how much more could I give her? Lena’s words from just before I left her in her apartment have bothered me. That I’d die protecting Cinita. But that isn’t the case. And neither will I be her caretaker.
“Once he’s dead, Cinita, I’m kicking you out of this house, and we’re done. I owe you nothing. No more. You need to learn to stand on your own.”
I go to walk away, but her hand clutches at my shirt. She drops it immediately with the glare I shoot her. “I’m sorry, Alek. I really have no one else. I know I fucked up, and I’m scared. I don’t know what to do. Please help me.”
My jaw tics again.
There’s something in her that I recognize, and it’s that part I’ve been trying to save for so long. But I realize now that it’s time to let go. Or I’ll sink with her.
I turn and leave, ignoring her crying as I walk to my room. It’s felt empty ever since the night Lena slept in it with her concussion. I smirk at the thought of when she frantically tried to change from the porn channel.
The truth is, I’d only had that TV installed that day, and I’m certain my sister had something to do with the porn appearing right away, because she knew it would grate on my nerves. Instead, it brought me, dare I say, amusement.
When I look at the painting of the dancer on the wall, I realize immediately how wrong it feels. Lena and Anya had changed most of the things in my house, but this they left.
I remove it from my wall, knowing there’s only one thing to do with it.
Burn it.
CHAPTER 33
Lena
Two weeks have gone by since I last saw Alek, and I still count every fucking day. I’m furious with him for putting her first, and pained at myself for falling for him when I shouldn’t have. I’m also confused that he had such an impact on me, and if anything, it’s put a fire under my ass. I’ve gone for two auditions for roles on Broadway in central Manhattan. I didn’t get either part, but rejection is my thing right now, so I suck it up and get ready for the next one.
However, sitting at dinner with my parents, the mention of rejections does nothing to boost their confidence in my chosen career. I know they’re only here in the city because Archer is still here. They’ve been oddly quiet and skeptical of my apartment and the new furniture in it.
I also notice Archer hasn’t told them he plans on moving to the UK, and it’s not my place to tell them. But it’d be nice if they could focus on that instead of my failings.
Archer hands me the bottle of wine, and I pour myself a glass. It’s my third one to help get me through this dinner.
“I saw Lena sing the first week I arrived. It was truly a beautiful thing to witness,” Archer says, and my heart fills with the compliment, but I cringe at his obviousness. “While you’re in town, you should go see her,” he says to my parents, and I sit there gripping my glass of wine as neither speaks.
It’s hard to describe parents who were there for you but were never really emotionally supportive. It felt like I’d become a chore to them when they realized my aspirations in life didn’t go past singing. I’m not my brother, and I will never be my brother. We are two completely different people. Yet he treats me better than my own parents do, when he’s the one with all the shiny papers and accreditations. They own their own accounting firm and can’t see past numbers. They see an income and judge worth purely on that.
“Maybe tomorrow night, we can all go,” Archer offers. “Mother?” he asks as she looks up.