Page 38 of Her Darkest Possession
"I think I will be." She sits on the edge of the bed, pulling her knees to her chest.
I perch beside her, keeping a careful distance. I don't know if she wants to be touched right now. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to start.
And suddenly I realize. This must be exactly how Amara felt two years ago, after I stumbled home from Bennet's office and walked straight into the shower with my clothes on. She must've felt that uncertainty. She must've known my fear.
And worst of all, she must've become all too familiar with the feeling of not knowing how to help.
God, how much more does my family have to suffer because of me?
I take a deep breath and force myself to speak. "Anatoly told me some of what happened after he found you. And that you told him a bit about what took place before he found you." I hesitate, my heart pounding. "But did anything else happen? Did they?—"
The words stick in my throat, and I'm ashamed to say that I can't force them to materialize. It's almost as if I know that if I say them out loud, it'll make them real to me.
Amara shakes her head firmly. "No. They didn't touch me. Not like that, if that's what you're asking."
I nod, relief washing through me like a physical force. I can't find the right words, so I just reach for her hand.
"For all the horrible shit Lola did," Amara continues. "She actually gave explicit orders about that. Not because she cared about me. She said a virgin would make a better gift."
The relief inside me transforms back into white-hot rage. That fucking monster. Talking about my sister like she was merchandise.
"I'm so sorry, Amara," I whisper. "This is all my fault."
"No it isn't," Amara says firmly. "How could you have known Lola would ambush us that morning? You brought me here because someone was already following me, remember? You were trying to protect me. You've always been trying to protect me."
Her words don't ease my guilt. I should have been more careful. I should have anticipated this. I should have?—
Amara squeezes my hand. "As scary as it was, it's over now. I'm here again."
I nod, feeling tears well up in my eyes.
Then Amara tilts her head and asks with a hint of her old spark. "Do you think this makes for a good essay topic for Columbia? 'How I Survived Being Kidnapped by a Psycho Bratva Bitch?'"
A surprised laugh escapes me. Leave it to Amara to find humor even now.
"Maybe tone down the details a little," I suggest, wiping at my eyes. "Make it semi-believable at least."
"Yeah, probably should leave out the part where I was in a cage," she agrees, a ghost of a smile on her lips.
"I'm so glad you're back. That you're alright. That you're safe. And I'm glad that you can still laugh." I hold Amara's hand between both of mine. "You're stronger than I am."
Amara looks at me, and her expression slowly turns serious. "I learned to be strong by watching you, Miels."
I shake my head, feeling a hollow laugh escape. "I'm not strong, Amara."
"Bullshit," she says immediately.
The ferocity in her voice makes me look up.
"You keep saying that, but it's not true." Amara's eyes harden with conviction. "Ever since Mom and Dad died, you've carried everything. You dropped out of Columbia to work so I could stay in school. You put food on the table. You paid the rent."
I look away, unable to hold her gaze. "That's just... that's what anyone would do."
"No, it's not." She grips my hand tighter. "You put yourself back together after what Grant Bennet did to you. You kept going. You even found time to live life again when you had every reason to keep hiding from the world. If that's not strength, then what the hell is?"
My throat tightens. I want to argue, but I can't find the words.
"Don't ever sell yourself short to me, Miels." Amara squeezes my hand tighter. "Don't ever tell me you're not strong. Because you are. You're the fucking strongest person I know." Her eyes drift to my stomach. "And you're going to be a great mom."
