Page 41 of Stitches

“I’m not great at eggs,” Ashes finally said. “Or any breakfast food really.”

“It’s all good, man. Thanks. I appreciate it. You’re the best we have when it comes to food.”

“Think so?” He ate a forkful of eggs. “You’re pretty good at making that one soup thing you make.”

“Mole de Olla,” I said, mentioning the soup my mother used to make with me when I was a kid. It was really one of the only things she ever did with me. It was a core memory, and I never forgot how to make it.

Ashes cleared his throat. “How are you and Sirena? Was last night good?”

I stuffed my mouth full of eggs, so I didn’t have to answer right away. Chewing slowly, I prayed he’d become distracted, or Church would come back.

Of course, luck never worked in my favor.

I swallowed. “It was fine.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“No.”

“Anything, man?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Do you want to talk to me? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

“You’re the best listener, but I’m just not ready. I need to sort through the shit in my head, and you guys constantly asking me isn’t helping.” I put my fork down. Church came back into the room with my angel looking as beautiful as ever. She’d dressed in her uniform and her hair hung loosely around her.

Church pulled her chair out, and she sat in it.

Sin’s chair. His old spot. Now hers.

My throat tightened again, and I quickly got up. I noticed she’d reached for my hand, but I’d been too quick to leave to feel her touch on my skin.

Quickly, she snatched it back, her cheeks darkening to a deep crimson.

“I’m going to head out.” I stumbled a little and caught myself on the kitchen island and shook off the tipping feeling I was becoming accustomed to with the meds.

Ashes reached out to steady me, but I shook him off.

“I, uh, need to do some stuff,” I mumbled, desperate for some damn air.

“Malachi—” Church called out, but I didn’t let him finish.

I left the room fast as I could and went out the front door, the cool air smashing into me like a damn brick wall.

Fuck, I hated the cold.

But I hated myself more.

And I repeated that shit to myself all the way to my first class of the morning.

CHURCH

She was sad, and I fucking hated it.

So was Stitches. Ashes.Me.

Having emotions wasn’t something I enjoyed having, and as of late, it seemed to be all I was filled with. Navigating it all was making me feel like I was losing my damn mind.

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