Page 91 of Bound to a Killer
Reaching for my phone again, I glance at the screen. My pulse still skittering, but no notification breaks the soft, orange haze of my lock screen. I groan, shoving the screen away and scrunching my nose at my own vulnerability, a hand coming to rest over my eyelids.
It’s fine.
I thought I heard the low rumble of his engine before the call ended. Maybe he was already driving. He’ll see it later.
Still, neither my mind nor my heart will settle. I keep circling back, picking apart every word, every pause, every breath, until the overthinking wears me out completely and my eyes finally give in to sleep.
26
ARIA
Panic stirs in my chest before the sound registers: metal groaning and grinding through the familiar hush of the house.
It’s the garage.
My eyes snap open, a flutter of unease catching in my throat as my fingers freeze against the chilled section of the comforter near my ribs. I stay completely still, waiting until the screeching grinds to a halt. For a moment, it takes my breath with it, the world sinking back into an unnerving quiet.
Broken only by the distant chirp of birds outside and the faint, morning glow settling over the pale walls of my room.
My thoughts are still hazy and sluggish, but I force myself to move, pushing through the fog of confusion. In my rush, my foot stays tangled in the sheets and I lurch forward, catching myself at the edge of the bed.
I heave in a pained breath, shaking the grogginess away. The pounding in my ears grow louder as I straighten, my mind sifting through the myriad of disquieting possibilities. An intruder, a break-in, a breach of the only corner of safety I have left, until the memory of last night comes into focus.
First it was Jayce. That disastrous kiss.
My heart sinks before it stirs again. Ledger’s voice, low and steady, before the call spiraled into undeniable tension that caught fast and burned through the space he put between us, consuming me whole.
Flushed, I bite the corner of my lips as I inch out of my room on the tips of my toes, heart battering my chest as I dare contemplate that it’s him downstairs. There’s only one other person besides me who knows the combination to the garage and that would be?—
Right as I take my first step down the stairs, I twist my ankle and stumble, my foot thudding against the wood, fingers scrambling for the railing with a sharp clack that ricochets through the quiet house.
My heart plunges like the first drop of a roller coaster, fast and defenseless, already tense as I brace to be caught.
“Aria?” a voice echoes from below. It’s familiar, but softer than usual and stretched thin with tension.Mom.
I fold inward, knees faltering as my body and spirit give way together, and drag myself the rest of the way down the staircase. Several months ago, I might’ve been relieved to hear her voice again, elated even. But that was then. Now, I know better.
She’ll come and go. Discard me as if I never existed in her orbit. As if the time we shared in my childhood can be erased, reduced to nothing more than a few old photos tucked away to gather dust in a photo album somewhere.
If this thing with Jayce has taught me anything, it’s that people don’t change just because we hope they will. When someone shows you who they are the first time, believe them. My mom’s stance has been made clear time and time again. This is not any different. She’ll leave, and I’ll be left picking up the pieces of my heart, wondering what I did wrong or why I was never enough to make her stay.
Reining in my emotions, I pad through the narrowentryway into the kitchen, the cool tiles sobering against my feet. Her gaze snaps to mine the moment she spots me through the doorway, her hips propped against the counter beside the box I left there the day before.
She drops a hand from the frayed ends of her hair, her usual toffee-colored eyes dragged down by the shadows clinging beneath them, dulling their warmth. My stomach twists at the faintest glint of my mother I still recognize in them.
It’s buried deep inside those worn-out features, but there’s no point holding onto that version of her. She’s gone. The signs are written all over her as she stands there with her head hung low.
She’s using again.
Why am I not surprised?
“You look horrible,” I say plainly, pressing every trace of emotion far enough inside me so that it can’t reach me, can’t make me vulnerable again.
She worries her chapped lips, fingers twisting, picking at hangnails as she lifts her gaze. “I came back,” she starts, but her voice dies off before she can finish, too ashamed to even try.
There’s no hiding it.She knowsshe’s abandoned me.
Usually, there’d be a bitter sting behind my eyes. My chest would ache, then inevitably wilt again, only for the cycle to repeat, wearing down every paper-thin shred of hope until it tore.
