Page 109 of Made to Sin

He nonchalantly shrugged and gulped his drink like it was water. I grimaced at how bitter it must have tasted without aspeck of sugar or cream. If the sudden appearances didn’t convince me, this part made me certain he was supernatural. Nobody could drink black coffee with the kind of straight face he had.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh, you should go get it checked. It’s been happening a lot.”

The corners of his lips tipped up. “You’ve noticed?”

I blushed, unaware of the implications until now. Of course, I’d noticed. Every time he was around, my skin flared for attention. Every time he spoke, his words were engraved into my mind.

“It’s hard not to notice the strong scent of coffee every morning for the past week,” I lied.

He hummed a strange and out-of-character agreement, took his mug, and left me by the island.

Well, that was another semi-successful civil conversation as roommates, I guess. With a sigh, I drank the rest of my now-cold hot chocolate and washed the cup before reclusing to my room.

—

I stared at the mess in front of me. The opposite of what I was meant to be doing was scattered on the hardwood floor.

Dressed in some knockoff brand’s black lounge set with my hair in a bun, I was in the middle of “cleaning” my room. Since I wasn’t in the mood to go out nor did I feel like having another dreadful conversation with Luciano, I decided to be productive.

But the thing about cleaning was that I was quite indecisive about how and where I wanted things. This was only a third of the stuff that Maria had taken from Marco’s estate when she transferred jobs, but I’d already spent five hours organizing it.

After spending thirty minutes on some keychains just to put them where I first hung them, I was ready for a new item and blindly darted my hand into the never-ending closet. I instantaneously froze upon contact with a small wooden box.

My body turned cold like someone blasted spikes up from underneath me. I didn’t have to look to know which box it was. The dusty cover and splintered wood grazing my finger were from the box that held the last of Mamma’s belongings.

Trepidation sprung from my body outward as if my soul left my body, sweat beading on my forehead. I hadn’t opened it since the night of my engagement party when I told myself I would wear her jewelry at my wedding.

I didn’t.

When I saw the lingering stains of blood, I slammed the top shut and went to vomit my guts out. The memory of cake and alcohol burning my throat was enough to send a disgusted shudder down my spine.

The urge to skip over the item was strong, but if I didn’t try, my anxiety would eat me alive. It had been seventeen years since her death, and I still hadn’t brought her justice. Sooner or later, I would have to face my fears, right?

Right.

I errantly retrieved the box before I could psych myself out. Taking a deep breath of courage, I unclasped the lock and lifted the rustic cover.

The inside was the same as it had been years ago. Tears fell from my eyes as I lifted her modest emerald necklace, her matching emerald earrings, and her huge emerald wedding ring into my palm. If it wasn’t plain as day, Mamma loved her emeralds.

Papà had loved to give it to her at one point in their marriage, spoiling her with riches. That was until he fell victim to gambling. When he lost our money, alcohol was the next resort. Then, it all played out like those campaigns against gambling where the marriage was ruined, our family broke apart, and he started getting abusive.

I wiped the stray tears, taking a closer look at the last things I had left of Mamma— of my happy family. The necklace was themost gorgeous, despite its smallest jewel. Classy and elegant like how Mamma was.

I held it up, so the centerpiece dangled in front of my face and admired it as it shimmered under the recessed lighting. It was a shame I’d forgotten what else this angle revealed. Dried crimson flakes etched into the corners. Mamma’s blood. The same blood she most likely died in.

My stomach churned, acidic bile crouching up my throat. I thought I could do it, but I couldn’t. Not yet… not ever.

Dropping the jewelry into its prison container, I rushed to the bathroom. My breakfast came up as quickly as I had gobbled it down. I shook as I held onto the toilet basin, too busy trying to suppress the panic attack to be disgusted.

I couldn’t breathe. Too much air left my lungs but not enough came back. My chest rose and fell at an erratic rate, my heart beating a million beats per minute.

I distressfully cried for help, submitting to the fatigue and exhaustingly retreating to the fetal position I was too familiar with.

“Katarina, are you okay?”

Luciano’s alarmed voice and approaching footsteps were distant, lost in the hollows of my mind.

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