Page 33 of Ruined Wolfsbane

I set the plate on my desk to take down later. Pushing the joggers down my legs, I slowly climb back into bed, under the covers this time.

My phone blinks on as I’m preparing to go to sleep. Reaching over, I pick it up to make sure there’s nothing pressing before I pass out. Looking at the screen, I see fourteen missed calls and thirty unread texts from Ava.

Shit. I was supposed to call her last night.

I type out a quick message, so Ava doesn’t worry.

Sorry I didn’t call last night, Bun Bun! I got caught up at a friend’s house. Love you.

Tossing my phone aside, I start drifting off to sleep. My phone vibrates, pulling me out of the start of a dream. I open my tired eyes and glare at the annoying device. Picking it up, I see it’s Ava. I answer it, wondering why she’s calling instead of texting. “Hi, Bun Bun. Sorry about last night,” I say in as normal a tone as I can.

I hear only hysterical sobbing and instantly go on high alert. “Aves, what’s wrong?” When I get no response other than her hiccupping cries, I try again. “Honey, can you please calm down for a second to tell me what’s wrong?”

I still hear nothing other than her heartrending sobs. “Ava, sweetie, I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m going to take one of Patrick’s cars and come up to your school. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it for you, Bun Bun. I promise.” Whoever hurt her has a slow, painful death to look forward to. I struggle to sit up. Before leaving, I need to get dressed, scrounge up some cash around the house for gas money, and boost one of Patrick’s least-favorite cars.

While I’m making plans, I hear her crying quiet. “Rosie!” Ava wails.

“Yes, honey, I’m right here. Ava, please tell me what’s going on,” I plead with her.

“I… thought… he… killed you,” she tells me haltingly between hiccups.

“What are you talking about, sweetie?” Why would she think anyone hurt me? I’ve kept what her dad does to me a secret—at least I thought I had.

“I know what my dad does to you,” she whispers in a hoarse voice. “I thought he had finally killed you when you didn’t call.”

“Well fuck,” I reply, too stunned to say anything else.

Ava lets out a watery laugh. “You can say that again, Rosie.”

Collapsing back on the bed now that I know there’s no threat to Ava, I try to scrub a hand over my face. The movement pulls at my side, sending a bright flare of pain zinging through me. I’m able to bite back my groan so I don’t worry her further. “How long have you known, Bun Bun?” I ask, hoping it’s only a recent thing. It kills me to think she’s been worrying about me. So much for keeping her out of it.

“A few years, I guess. I thought now that I’m at boarding school it would be better for you. It’s only getting worse, isn’t it?”

It is, but I’m not going to tell her that. Instead, I ask, “Why would you think leaving would change anything?”

“He beats you when I mess up. Dad doesn’t know when I mess up at boarding school, so you can’t get in trouble anymore.” Her voice shakes, and she sounds on the verge of tears again.

“Oh, honey, none of this is your fault,” I tell her, my tone brokering no argument. “Your dad lays into me when he has a bad day or drinks too much. It has absolutely nothing to do with you, okay?”

Jesus. I’ve been a horrible sister. I can’t believe Ava’s known about this for years and thought she’d caused it.

“It’s not my fault?” Her voice has a hopeful hitch in it.

“Nope, Bun Bun, it’s not even remotely your fault.” It’s no one’s fault other than Patrick’s. No kid deserves to be beaten or abused in any way by their parental figure.

“Why am I at boarding school then?” Ava questions, voice tinged with confusion.

“To keep you safe, Aves,” I say gently.

“Oh, Rosie….” Ava trails off with a sigh. “You avoided my question earlier. It’s getting worse. You haven’t passed out from it before.”

Christ. I was hoping she’d buy that I was at a friend’s house. Since she already knows, there’s no point in keeping this from her. “I have, sweetie. Remember those mornings you had to wake me up for school?”

“Yeah.”

“I hadn’t forgotten my alarm. I was passed out and too injured to wake up to it. You just didn’t know.” For the past seven years, I’ve been in charge of taking care of Ava. I’d wake her up, get her to and from school, make sure she does her homework, and cook meals for her.

A few mornings in the last couple of years, Ava’s had to wake me up after particularly bad beatings. I always played it off as forgetting to set my alarm. She loves to tease me about how forgetful I am. It feels like I’m stealing a bit of her innocence letting her know what actually went on.

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