Page 25 of Reign
If I leave, my Briar legacy won’t matter, Sabine will live on as a vindictive queen, Falyn will become a porcelain plaything like she’s always wanted, and Chase will…
Chase will…
Ivy won’t…
My mom will never…
I shove into my dorm, my winter coat puddling to my feet as I storm into the kitchenette, throwing open cupboards and searching for the bottle of vodka I know Emma stashes here somewhere.
Emma’s quiet voice sounds at my back. “I’d ask you what was wrong, but that’d be a stupid question.”
The top cupboards don’t provide me with anything, so I bend down and pillage the bottom shelves. “Where’s your—” Goddammit. Why must everything be so hidden all the time? “I need—” There. My hand scrapes across a frosted, cylindrical surface. It’s in the corner cupboard, behind the lazy Susan. I twist off the cap, fall onto my haunches, and chug on my knees.
“Are you sure getting drunk is the best way to handle this?”
The burn of room temperature vodka at my throat is my answer.
“Oh, Callie.” Emma shuffles closer. She crouches to my level and puts her hands on my shoulders.
I meet her eyes through a blurred haze. Vodka dribbles from the corners of my mouth. My cheeks are hot, warm and sticky like the vodka dripping from my chin, but my head’s not tipped back that far. There shouldn’t be vodka on my cheeks.
It’s because I’m crying.
My cheeks are wet because I’m crying.
A wet hiccup leaves my mouth and pull the bottle from my lips and gag. Then I sob, the half empty bottle leaving my lifeless fingers and clanging to the floor beside me, spilling clear fluid across our floors, spreading like blood.
Emma’s forehead crumples, and she pulls me into her chest. “Let it out.”
My lips rip apart, my teeth going dry from the sudden suck of air, and I wail.
I howl in her arms, my nails digging into her flesh, and I weep for my mom. For Ivy. For Chase.
For me.
11
Callie
I’m meant to be thankful on Fridays.
TGIF, right?
It’s the last day of school before Christmas break, and my final exam before I can exit these halls and find relief in New York City for two weeks. All I have to do is make it through three more hours, then by lunch time, I’m on a train back to meet my new baby sister.
I hold onto that flash of goodness as I roll onto my back, but hit something soft on the way.
“Oomf,” Emma moans, frowning as she pushes me off her.
“Oh. Sorry.” I sit up, pushing my hair out of my face and taking stock of my surroundings.
Emma’s shelves stare back at me, barren of pictures but full of knick-knacks like vintage My Little Ponies and various POP figurines of Disney villains.
It hits me at the same time I tuck my hair behind my ears and cock my head at a miniature Darth Vader. I’ve never been in Emma’s room before.
And yet here I sit, in her bed where she comforted me for hours last night as I drained the last of her smuggled alcohol and tore out my heart for the third time.
The headache hits me next.