Page 93 of Kortlek

“Hm?”

“I love you,’’ I mutter. “I’m sorry for worrying you all the time.’’

“Don’t think I wasn’t serious,’’ he draws out. “There won’t be a next time because I swear to everything that is holy, I will lock you up.’’

Somehow, amidst the madness that we’ve found ourselves in, that doesn’t sound terrible. In fact, I’m liking the idea.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Ishift uncomfortably in my seat, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. The tea in front of me starts getting cold, and I am yet to give it a try. Instead of focusing on the situation at hand, my thoughts are elsewhere. My eyes are glued to my lap, and I can’t bring myself to look up.

Heavy footsteps fill my ears, the pacing in the room seems to be never-ending. The tension is thick in the air, the dreadful conversation looming over me. I gulp, trying to figure out a way to sneak myself out of this situation, though at the time, it seems impossible.

The pacing abruptly ends, and while looking down, I see a pair of shoes directly in front of me. I’m not the one to back down from a verbal argument. In fact, I love them. My tongue is sharp, and at times, I even shock myself with the witty, quick, and sarcastic responses I can come up with.

Not now, though.

Currently, I’m in for the scolding of my life. Mom’s scolding consists of her flapping her arms around, rambling on and on, then reminding herself to calm down. Eventually, she just makes me promise I’ll be more careful.

Dad, on the other hand, has this tactic he likes to use on me. He stares me down until I start apologizing profusely, then he has his men following me around for the foreseeable future, and there’s nothing I can do to shake them off.

Right now, I’d take either of those over this.

After Cove managed to cover me with his coat, he drove us to his place, where we spent the night. An hour ago, he went to buy me some donuts from the shop I really like for breakfast, and he hasn’t returned yet. I’m praying he gets home soon, because I’m barely surviving this thick tension.

I allowed him to leave only after I tended to his wounds that were inflicted by some of Wyatt’s people. Worry gawks at me, but Cove isn’t too injured, luckily, and it shouldn’t leave a scar. It doesn’t mean I’m still not checking on his wounds whenever I get the chance.

It’s becoming a habit for me to tend to his wounds, and as disturbing as it sounds, I like it. The intimate moments that cannot be described in words, the silent times when no words are needed, pure affection shown through actions.

Slowly, I raise my head and shiver at the sight of Arlo’s piercing gaze. He blinks, brows narrowed at me. His arms are folded in front of his chest, and he doesn’t speak. He stares me down, just like Dad would. However, as scary as Dad is, he’d never actually yell at me.

Arlo has no such morals, and he’d yank me by the ear if he thought I’d listen.

I give him a sheepish smile, pointing my finger to his brows. “Bleached the brows too? Looking good.’’

“Shut the fuck up, Aria.’’

That causes my mouth to clamp shut.

My brother takes a few deep breaths, calming himself down before walking over to the kitchen and dragging a chair. He sits in front of me, lighting a cigarette, and just continues to observe me. His eyes travel all over my body, settling on the cheek where Wyatt hit me. It just has a small red mark left, nothing major.

A gray cloud of smoke hides his face, and for a moment, I’m not sure if I’m dreaming or if it’s reality. As the smoke evaporates into thin air, I freeze in my spot.

Arlo’s eyes redden, and a tear slides down his cheek. He doesn’t say anything, his breathing doesn’t change. His stoic face is unmoving, except for the smallest tear that falls down his chin, onto his grey shirt, leaving a dark spot.

“Arlo?” I whisper, worry starting to build inside me.

“Do you know what it felt like? The night when you sliced your wrists open? Hearing Mom’s screaming and coming into the bathroom to find you almost dead? Do you know what it felt like to see life drain out of you, the water turn red, and your body losing all the color?”

I open my mouth to speak, but Arlo doesn’t let me. His voice is controlled, calm, and smooth, but emotions are obvious as he lets tears fall freely.

“Can you even try to comprehend, just for a moment, what it felt like in the hospital while we were waiting to see if you’d pull through or not? Can you even imagine the fucking guilt I’m feeling for not noticing how Wyatt was treating you? For not killing the motherfucker right then and there? Do you know what it felt like to see your almost dead body in my dreams every single fucking night?”

The raw, unfiltered pain is in his words, and I can’t form a coherent sentence. Instead, I’m able to stare at my older brother as he smokes his cigarette, his hands trembling and eyes watering. The agony as he remembers one of the darkest times our family has faced is evident on his face, and I can’t do anything to lessen it.

“Do you know that I would never be able to live without you, Aria? You’re more than just my little sister. You’re my other half, you dumb girl. I can’t lose you,’’ his voice is hoarse, thick with emotions. “And I know just how stubborn you are. Hell, all of our family is. But I thought that if I couldn’t make you see the reason, Cove could. After all, you chose him, didn’t you? No matter what I say on the matter, you won’t care, and you’ll stay with him.’’

“Arlo…’’

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