Page 9 of Ruling Scar
But then the accident happened and the friendship stopped.
If only because Gia Akatov was mere seconds away from declaring World War III.
Due to business, and because Dad and Lev are such good friends, our families are still close. It means we’re constantly hovering near one another, without actually trying to come into contact.
At least on my part.
Elijah doesn’t give a shit about my mother’s anger. I’m sure in his opinion, the accident was a mere incident. There’s no merit in dwelling over it.
I sort of agree with him, though, I’d die before admitting it. I’m supposed to be angry at the person who caused a lasting physical deformity.
Nat’s got her phone in one hand, but with the other she reaches out to grab mine, gently squeezing.
It hurts my heart, but I don’t know why.
“Ads is about to fall into the chocolate fountain,” I say. Her head snaps toward our younger sister. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
I don’t have to go, but my introverted nature demands I seek shelter in the calmest place I can find.
Or at least try to.
I walk in the direction of where I think the bathroom is when a server almost rams into me.
My back hits the wall. “Sorry!”
“No guests over here!” another girl sternly says, eyes flashing.
Yelena makes her house cold on most days, but right now it’s downright hostile.
It doesn’t help that my memory is muddled. As a kid we had free range, playing all the time over here. Now visits are few and far between and Yelena likes her renovations. With the bathroom I remember out of commission, I awkwardly turn, my tail tucked between my legs.
And make direct contact with gray eyes that shine like silver from across the room.
Elijah’s smile is more of a smirk. A reincarnation of the Cheshire Cat. He’s on the other side of the living room, guests and servers milling around him, but his gaze never wavers.
He tucks a hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of liquor. The Zimins are all disgustingly good-looking. Elijah’s brown hair is fairer than his brothers, his eyes lighter, but he’s tall and broad-shouldered like he works out a lot.
I don’t work out at all and my muscles are reminded of this when they start to shake.
Elijah does this shit all the time. He stares at people like they’re about to be his next meal. The annoying thing about it, though, is the smiling.
Who smiles before they kill someone?
A psychopath.
And I know that’s exactly how my mom and sisters would categorize Elijah.
If I was Adeline, I’d flick my hair back and make a face. Smirk or pout, not giving a damn. Nat would roll her eyes, annoyed but unbothered because she has so many more important things to do.
I, however, would like the ground to swallow me whole.
I am not meant for such places as this. Fancy parties. I’m wearing a nice designer dress, but I can never be fucked to wear heels. I don’t know how, much to my mom’s chagrin. Normally, I don’t care about rocking sneakers, but now I’m noticing how short and stubby I am compared to all the gorgeous gazelles in the room.
Get the fuck out of here, Lennie.
I bolt.
Or try to.
