Page 120 of Sinister Legacy
“I think I’m broken.”
“All the best things are.” Her words float in the air between us. I guess I’ve never considered my brokenness something to be admired and cherished. I have always thought of the cracks in my facade as ugly, less than perfect.
“Can we go?” I ask as Madison lowers my hand from her mouth.
“I’ll get you your change of clothes.”
Madison continues staring at the tall flames while I change into a pair of jeans that are slightly too big and shredded at the knees. The geo-patterned, wool sweater smells of Madison. Like strawberries and her coconut shampoo.
She slowly turns, letting her ice-blue gaze float down my body and back up before bending at the waist and picking up my discarded sweater, soaking it in the snow. She takes her time wiping my face and neck clean of blood, her eyes never trailing from my face.
There’s something between us.
Something almost sexual, but not quite.
As if she can’t help herself and wants to test the icy waters, she leans in and presses her soft, cold lips to mine. I don’t move. I don’t even breathe, but I do taste her strawberry lip balm, and I like it. I also like her frozen fingertips on my cheeks as she cradles my face. I like how she holds me, so softly and tenderly, as if I’m an autumn leaf that might crumble if she applies the slightest hint of pressure.
Her tongue darts out, warm against my parted lips, and she bites down hard, tasting my blood. It’s such a contrast to the gentle way she’s cradling my face.
She breaks the kiss, then takes my hand and leads me to her car. “You can have a shower when you get back to my house. So you can wash the blood from your hair.”
Nothing is said about the kiss, but I feel it tingle on my chapped lips.
Madison turns on the TV and throws herself on top of her waterbed, causing the mattress to bounce. The water gurgles inside it.
I’m seated with my back against the upholstered headboard, staring at my phone.
She flops down beside me, pulls the pillow from beneath her ass, and puts it behind her head. I breathe her in with my next inhale and let her comforting scent wrap itself around my clenching heart. I wish King would contact me.
As if she can sense my thoughts, she takes my phone from my hands and sets it down on the bedside table. “He’s probably not allowed to contact you.”
“I’m worried about him.”
Madison says nothing, but her hand finds mine again, and she strokes her thumb over my knuckles in a soothing, back-and-forth movement.
“Why have they not released him yet? He didn’t do anything, so why won’t they let him go?”
“I wish I had the answers for you.”
“Don’t you ever worry the mattress will break and flood your room?” I ask to distract myself from the thoughts that won’t stop screaming in my head.
Madison’s room is painted a light gray. Movie posters with black frames line one wall, and a large corkboard with countless movie ticket stubs is mounted to the other. She’s the only person I know who prints out her tickets and keeps them.
Her bookshelf to the right has more movies than I can count. The age of DVDs might be giving way to the digital age, but Madison likes old traditions.
“Not really.” She lies down and shifts onto her side, her head cushioned by her folded arm. “Tell me about King.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What’s so special about him?”
Drawing a leg up, I extend my arm and rest my elbow on my knee. “What you saw today… He’s seen that side of me, too. He didn’t run or tell me I was a monster like my dad.”
“You’re not a monster.”
I look at her black hair on the pillow and her woolly, red, turtleneck sweater that sits below her chin. The large, golden hoops in her ears, one of them lying half across her cheek. Her socks are fluffy and red to match her top. “I’m more like my father than you think.” It’s a soft admittance, whispered delicately in the ensuing silence.
Madison’s fingers dance across the sliver of exposed, pale skin where my sweater meets my jeans, and then she grips my hip. Her touch is warm. Like an anchor to steady me. “You don’t need to hide from me. I’m your friend.”
