Page 11 of Bound By Ruin

The voices of the damned begging for scraps of our lives.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m the only one who hears them, or if we’re all pretending as we look the other way and paint smiles on our faces.

But the smile Celia gives me isn’t one of feigned pity or grief—it’s relief, overwhelming as she gently coaxes me into lying down and slips onto the mattress with me, careful not to tangle inside my double-IVs. My body is covered in gauze and tape from head to toe, but Celia rests her cheek on my chest anyway, listening to the beat of my heart in the exact way I want to listen to hers.

“Sleep with me, Ruin,” she murmurs, closing her eyes. “Just for a little while.”

Slowly, I lift my fingers to her hair and weave them through the silky strands, knowing that I’m dirtying her, understanding that I’m ruining her, but unable to help it.

She might be ruining me, too.

I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and the pain eases from my limbs as I drift away into the darkness of slumber, guided by the gentle glow of Celia’s light as she keeps the whispers of Death at bay.

I sleep, and for once, I dream.

Not of screams, or heat, or pain.

But of the parts of my body that have long been missing finally returning home, lured by the subtle glow of a once-weeping soul nestling next to mine.

* * *

Neither the police nor the bratva have found the college girl. I overhear my brothers discussing the details while Celia sleeps soundly beside me. Sitting up pulls at my bandages, but I do it anyway, knowing that stretching my body’s limits is part of the healing process. I’m not burned nearly as badly as I was thirteen years ago, so in theory, I should heal much faster. Even if I don’t, I can’t lie here forever.

No matter how tempting the woman beside me.

I reach around the mattress and find the hidden tear in the side, slipping my fingers through the slit to pull out a rolled-up bag of pot from when I was last here. Rebel perks up at the sight, quickly coming over to help me roll a blunt and share in the spoils. He has to step outside to light up, but once he’s back, I can see the tension slipping from his shoulders as he exhales a cloud of smoke. I do the same after he hands me the blunt, inhaling as deeply as I can and holding it until my lungs burn.

The nurses disapprove, with the bravest of them scowling at us from across the room as she rolls away oxygen canisters, but none of them try to stop us. They know we’ve been through hell more than once, and one little game ofpuff, puff, passisn’t going to kill us.

Celia stirs from her slumber, cracking her eyes open to peer up at us through the smoke. Once her mind catches up to what she’s smelling, she chuffs, running a hand through her tangled hair and down her face. “Unbelievable.”

Rebel kneels on the edge of the bed and leans over me to grin at her. “Want a hit?”

She crinkles her nose. “No thank you.”

Exhaling in her face, he steals a kiss and hums against her lips. “It’ll help with the stress.”

“I’m not stressed.”

“Mmmhm.” Rebel kisses her cheek before returning to his side of the bed. It’s a tight fit with the three of us, so he slips onto the cot beside ours. “We’re getting ready to roll out. Mikhail said something about a trip to the police station.”

Celia looks over to the table with only Thanatos and Rage still present. “He’s good at that kind of thing.” She waves her hand in the air. “Smoothing things over. Talking to people.” Quieter, she adds, “Maybe they’ve found Sara.”

I share a look with Rebel, both of us unsure of the best way to respond. The marijuana is a little stale but working wonders, and it loosens my tongue. “Maybe there is nothing to find.” My voice scratches my throat, and I have to clear it. I take another hit before passing the blunt to Rebel. “It’s a good thing,krosotka. She is better off being dead.”

Wringing the thin bedsheet in her hands, Celia shakes her head. “You’re wrong. There’s so much to live for.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” I run my palm over Celia’s soft thighs.Thismight be something to live for. I wonder if Sara has that—something to hold on to through the pain of life.

Clearly, my father does.

I wish he didn’t.

Rage wanders over while Thanatos walks the long stretch of hallway and through the front door, stepping into the morning sunlight without a single moment’s hesitation. Unlike him, leaving the cool, dark comfort of The Box is going to hurt me. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose, knowing that my last seconds of comfort are in this moment. The subtle warmth of Celia’s body, the weight of her against my side, the drugs pumping through my system.

I can hear the medical team preparing to-go kits for us, mine undoubtedly being the largest. One of them clears her throat and wanders closer, the patter of her footsteps like falling rain on the sidewalk. “Excuse me, Miss Monrovia?”

The soft click of Celia’s throat as she swallows precedes her voice. “Yes?”

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