Page 64 of Scars of the Sun
“Whenever I feel like it,” I spat back with anger that was taking over my frustration.
That, at least, my father picked up on. I was wearing Río’s sweatshirt, and the sleeves were more than long enough to cover my scars. Even before, when they were shorter nicks to just release the tension in my mind, he’d never noticed. At least, at the time, I chalked it up to my fast healing erasing all of the evidence by the next day.
But this time I’d fucking tried to kill myself. In the moment, I’d barely even thought about my parents, just the relief I was feeling at the fact that everything was nearly over.
Now, though, I felt that suffocating block climbing up my chest and into my throat. My chest was so tight I could hardly breathe.
Dad’s eyes widened then narrowed. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but I’m not one of your little friends. Lordknows I thought you’d grow out of this shit by now.” My fingers were itching, the back of my mind already trying to plan how to get to the nearest sharp object. Just to take the edge off a little.
Mom popped up on the screen, putting a sandwich and a can of coke in front of my father. Some of her harshness seeped through as she spoke, “You apologize to your father, right now.”
Instead of a response, I gave a dry laugh. At this point, I didn’t think even showing them my scars would have them believing that what I was experiencing was real. What did I have to be depressed about, anyway? I’d never wanted for anything. All that I needed was provided for me, and even with their anger, my parents never threatened to cut me off.
“You need to get your shit together. There is no damn reason for you to be acting like this. Are you even thinking about your future? How much work we’ve put into helping you succeed in this world? I didn’t work my ass off for you to think you can just lay up spending my money forever.” It wasn’t worth it to reveal to them that I’d had a part-time job on campus since the third week of freshman year. That I’d juggled working in the campus library and my classes, all while feeling like I was walking through a sludgy dream.
Just as the plan solidified, to go into the kitchen and bring back one of the kitchen knives to my room, my eyes landed on Ollie’s toy chest that rested in the corner. It was still open from when I’d been in the middle of straightening up the house after bedtime and been interrupted by the slew of texts from my mom.
A wet sob choked up my throat. I’d been about to hurt myself in Ollie’s room. With one of my brother’s knives that he used to make meals for us, something that made him feel at peace.
Dad’s expression loosened, but his voice still had a harsh edge. “We’ll give you some time to think about your actions. At least we know you’re safe at Orion’s. But best believe that if you don’t come to your senses, we’re dragging your ass back here.”
Mom sat back down next to him, and when their eyes met, she nodded and leaned into him. “You know what’s best, Sean. And I agree. We’ll keep checking in.”
Dad gave a final nod, and they may have said more, but it was all muffled, distant. I snapped my laptop closed, and as I climbed under the covers enclosed in a circle of more blankets, I held my face into one of the pillows while I tried to cry as quietly as possible. My body shook with rage and despair and longing for my Jaguar, and that’s how I fell asleep. Tear-soaked pillow sticking to my cheeks while I fought to still keep one ear open to make sure the babies were sleeping soundly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
RÍO
Four days. Just over half a week, and I was too close to ripping someone’s face to shreds. I pulled my phone from my pocket, simultaneously checking the time and to see if I had any messages. There were two texts from Tyler, asking if I’d be cool changing the time of our next rehearsal, and it’d only been ten minutes since I’d last looked at my phone.
I pulled up the conversation between Ramona and I, and though she’d responded to everything I’d sent, she was off. Four days since we’d last seen each other. Since I’d gotten to hold her in my ams and feel her body writhe with mine. Or see the way she would grumble and huff before I coaxed a small grin out of her.
I’d opened Vinny’s again today, and I luckily didn’t have to close. But there was still another hour before my shift was done, and my skin was crawling with the need to go to my mate. I scrolled through our last conversation, and instead of the short, bantering words, they were perfunctory, one-word responses.
Was she free?
Limón 7
No.
Did she want to skate?
Limón 7
No, sorry.
Was she okay?
Limón 7
Yeah.
“Shit,” I muttered as I finished typing out next week’s shift schedule in the tiny office near the kitchen. I also had a fucking migraine. It was Mara—finding me and trying to wedge her way back in my life. Tocatch up, she kept saying, but I didn’t believe a word she said. Or her promises not to report back to our sister or father about where I was. I had a splitting headache trying to decide what to do.
Something was wrong with Ramona, but she made me swear not to say anything about the scars on her arms, about what she’d tried to do. And, yeah, at the time, my desire to care for her eclipsed all else. It made me agree to her demands while we lay together in Tyler’s guest room. And, like I’d said that night—who would I even tell?
Did her family not even know? Or care?