Page 124 of Made for Cyn
Joy contemplates her question with a thoughtful expression before nodding slowly. “Yes, I believe if you’re truly repentant.”
“What about murderers, rapists?” Iris asks, and I grab her hand, clenching it in warning.
“Yes. Iris. We’re all gods’ children, and if we truly see the error of our ways, we will be welcomed.”
“Too bad,” Iris mutters, so low I barely hear her.
“Okay, how about some refreshments?” Joy says, clapping her hands.
The boy next to me smiles, and I stare bewildered. How the fuck did I get here?
As soon as everyone starts to stand, I pull up my messages and wince.
Cyn: Is that a joke?
Cyn: Beauty?
Cyn: You better fucking answer me now
Sighing into the universe, I respond before following Iris into the next room and accepting a glass of punch from the boy next to me with a weak smile.
Rain: It’s not a joke. If you don’t believe me, you know how to find me
I don’t hear from him again, and we leave after several more excruciating discussions where I squirm at my hypocrisy.
It’s barely one a.m., and for a moment, I’m dazed. The events of the last twenty-four hours and my place in it are so fucking unbelievable I’m not sure I won’t wake from this nightmare with a laugh.
From the party at the warehouse where Hate threatened Cyn to the man who threatened to end both of them popping up on Iris’ arm and concluding with a late-night prayer session, I’m not sure which fucked up part to focus on first.
But I’m exhausted, so I push it aside and lean against the window with a pathetic sniffle, dreaming about Cyn until we slow.
“What?” I turn to Iris in surprise when I see our house, and dread curls through me like smoke as I stare out the windshield.
The house is dark when we pull into the drive, and we both sit in silence, staring at the facade before Iris sighs and says, “Well, let’s go.”
With a halfhearted nod, I follow her into the house and glance around. Nothing seems out of place, but the darkness gives me the creeps. Turning on a lamp, I glance at Iris, standing at the base of the stairs, with a weird look on her face.
“Iris?” I say cautiously.
She looks at me with a thousand-yard stare, and for a moment, I don’t think she recognizes me. But her expression clears, and she dips her chin before heading up the stairs slowly.
With a shiver, I pause at the bottom, but with no other option, I follow as sweat trickles grossly down my spine. When I reach the landing, she stands before Pam and John’s room with her hand on the knob.
I swear my heart physically jumps in my chest when she slowly turns the knob and pushes the door open. After a minute, she sags, and I exhale harshly before following her into the room.
It’s empty, and the bed is made neatly with sweet little throw pillows adorning the headboard. The one in the middle reads—our happy home.
With an ugly chuckle, I look away, shivering in the still air because it’s fucking creepy to be here in the moonlight.
“It’s over,” Iris murmurs, sitting down on the side of the bed and clutching her head.
Approaching her quietly, I sit beside her and agree. “It’s over.”
But the preternatural quiet that follows feels ominous, and I can’t help but wonder once more at what cost?
Chapter Twenty
Sunday rolls around quietly, and when I emerge in the kitchen, it’s to find Iris sitting at the table and staring into a cup of coffee.