Page 2 of Ruined Beta

I’ve been her older sister for twenty-one years now.

She’s not going to suddenly start calling me Mom.

It would be weird if she did.

This is it now, Leanne. It’s your last chance to say something before you head back to the city.

I don’t take that chance. I let her open the door and step out of the house.

She moves down the path and I step out onto the porch.

My memories of this place have always been a little blurry.

Maybe I’ll make some clearer ones when I’m in the city.

I lock the door and take the key off my keychain.

I post it through the letterbox, like I promised our real estate agent I would.

It feels so final. I can’t ever come back here. It’s not home anymore.

I guess it hasn’t been in a long time. When Mom died, it just became a house.

Walking away, I notice the sky’s getting darker. We’ve been out here for hours already.

Secret’s mates will probably be going crazy waiting for us to get back. They loaded up their cars and took the final lot of boxes back to the city at least twenty minutes ago, at Secret’s insistence that we’d be right behind them.

Now, it’s just us.

There’s still time to talk on the drive to our new homes in the city.

All I need to do is find the right words.

Chapter Two

Leanne

When you’re still recovering from being stabbed eighteen times in the chest and abdomen, normal everyday things, like putting on a seatbelt, really fucking suck. Bras were a no-go for weeks, until I found a soft, bralette style that could give a little support while not irritating my red, raw scars.

The wound on the side of my stomach that hasn’t healed properly is another story.

The seatbelt puts pressure on the dressing and makes me hiss out a breath.

“Oh, God, your wounds!” Secret says, her hand covering her mouth.

“It’s n …” I start, before I look down and regret my choice to wear a light colored sweater.

I’m bleeding through the dressing. Great.

“You’re bleeding!”

“It’s okay. This just happens sometimes.” I downplay it as I take off the seatbelt. It looks bad. I can see why she’d worry, but she doesn’t need to. “Can you reach my purse in the backseat?”

She moves quickly, climbing onto the seat and stretching out to grab it.

When she sits back down, I take it out of her hands and retrieve a fresh dressing.

“It’s been a couple months,” Secret says. “Should that still be happening?”

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