Page 77 of Petrichor

Joel Locke. Is he really that same kid? I can’t remember his face clearly, but his sweet smile and the excitement in his voice…he’s still the same. The dreams I’ve been having of that night, it’s like my brain was trying to show me the memories I pushed away.

Regret doesn’t require courage or determination it’s a form of self-pity, I never fucking felt any regret—until now. Where is he? I told him to leave but he said he loves me. Is he with Arturo Enzino? The thought rubs me the wrong way. I grab my phone and try again but the tracker doesn’t seem to work. Did he find it in his bag and smashed it into pieces? Did the rain ruined it? Aren’t does things waterproof?

We had a deal! He still owes me. He’s mine! Mine. How dare he go and mess things up when I started to…

“Ahhhh!” I grab the crystal butterfly from the box and throw it with all of my strength against the wall. It shatters upon impact into a thousand pieces, reflecting exactly how my pounding head feels.

I can still see him under the rain. The drops trapped on his light eyelashes like sparkly diamonds, pale lips wet, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. And those pleading, cloud-gray eyes asking me to believe him.

I’m filled with unbearable pain. It hurts so much I can barely breathe. I stroke my face, wiping the wetness away. Then unbutton the shirt cuff and roll up the sleeve. I grab the pocket knife Fly dropped on the ground outside the warehouse. I don’t know why I picked it up. I guess to remind myself that Fly had been here. In my life. That he’s real.

I flip the knife in my hand and stroke my thumb over the blade. A single drop of blood forms on the tip. I stare at it for a moment.Red water.More memories coming from that night.

I slide the knife under the thick leather cuff around my wrist. It takes a few seconds to slice through it, and I push the knife harder, not caring if the blade also pierces my skin. Physical pain is welcome.

I beat the three men who tried to kill me to death, and now my hands are puffed and bruised. But the burning ache doesn’t make me forget what happened with Fly.

A dull thud and the bracelet is off. It’s weird not to feel the light restraint around my skin anymore. For ten years, it reminded me what my place was, what needed to be done, what was expected of me. Until fucking Fly re-entered my life.

I couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t hurt him. Even though I threatened him to do worse. Even though it was my duty, my obligation to the family. But seeing the fear gleaming in his eyes made me regret it straight away.

Blood drips from my wrist down to my pants, and still, I don’t find the will to care. I don’t lift my eyes when I hear the beeping sound of the front door opening. I know who it is.

“It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t go around now that we know that Mario Enzino wants your head.”

Seb hums noncommittally.

I made the men who shot at me talk. They said quite a lot. And now we know Seb was the real target and also why Arturo Enzino is suddenly working with Mario. Still we need more.

“The boys are outside, and Nicola is home with Luca, surrounded by twenty extra guards.” Nick is Seb’s son. He’s only eight and needs to be protected at all times.

“Ugh!” Seb scolds me, sitting on the armchair, “Look at the mess you’ve made.”

I look down at the blood still slowly dripping down my wrist and grab the perfectly ironed blue handkerchief he hands me.

I press it on the cut. “I didn’t kill him.”

“I knew you wouldn't,” he deadpans, knowing I’m referring to Fly.

I fucking hate when he turns into a psychic. “Are you disappointed in me?”

He looks straight into my eyes before saying, “Why would I be? I knew he was special to you from the start.”

“Special? I couldn’t stand him.”

He tsks. “Denial is a self-inflicted wound.”

I groan, tossing the handkerchief on the coffee table to grab my cigarettes and light one. Luca talked about denial as well.

Seb heads to the French windows and opens them, letting the fresh night air invade the room.

“We are inescapably conditioned by our upbringing and our experiences,” he then states. “You were wounded by betrayal once before andfixedit. Not this time.”

“Are you doubting Marco’s loyalty to the family?” I suddenly hear Luca’s voice. Seb is holding his phone. Luca must be on speaker.

He huffs. “No need, when he’s the one doing all the doubting himself.”

I am fucking torn in half. On one side is my family, the people I spent half of my life with. On the other is my pretty, sweet, feisty Butterfly. And it’s absurd that I don’t fucking care if he betrayed me or not.

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