Parrish hits the wall beside my door so hard that his hand must hurt, but he doesn’t stop walking, storming out of the room and down the hall as Chasm passes a stricken look my way.
“Jesus, Little Sister. That was fucked-up. Were you raised in a barn or something?”
Chasm takes off after his friend, leaving me alone and trembling and wondering how I could’ve said something so awful.
I’d say that Parrish Vanguard brings it out of me, but that isn’t fair. I’m hurting on the inside, so I’m lashing out. He’s doing the same, but how do we reconcile that?
The answer is something I’m afraid of: we don’t, we can’t.
“Crap,” I groan, sliding my hand over my face and sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed in my robe. Is hating someone supposed to hurt this much? When I’m around Parrish, I burn. When I’m not, I feel like a pile of cold, wet ash.
I fall back on my bed, one arm slung across my eyes; I don’t leave that spot for hours.
After a quick video chat with Maxine, I curl up early and fall asleep, plagued by awful dreams where I relive the hideous words I said to Parrish.
That wasn’t like me. I’m not like this normally, I swear. I tell myself that was Mia Patterson I was channeling when I need to remember with every fiber of my being that I’m not her. I’m Dakota Banks, and I was raised better than this.
In the morning, I wake up to an early alarm and head downstairs, fully dressed and slipping past Parrish’s door where the maid is currently cleaning.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” I tell her, and she glances over at me in surprise, brown eyes crinkled at the edges with confusion. It takes me a second to realize that this is a different girl than the one I met on Wednesday. Oops.
The new maid isn’t very old, likely around the same age as me. The way she’s staring, I’m starting to get the idea that she doesn’t often speak to the residents of the homes she cleans. I decide to try a different tactic. “You must be new?” I hazard and she shakes her head briskly.
“JJ usually works Monday through Friday and I do weekends.” The girl shrugs. “She didn’t show up today, so I’m filling in.”
An awkward moment of silence follows before I decide to, you know, add yet another drop of cringe to the moment. Giving a little bow—I watch too much anime and way too many K-dramas—I decide to add, “and thank you, in advance, for everything you do.” The girl stands up from where she’s leaned over, smoothing the black blanket on Parrish’s bed.
“No need to thank me,” she says crisply, like she’s worried I’m dragging her into some sort of trap. “This is my job; I’m paid to do it.”
I pause there, one hand resting on the doorjamb, as the girl’s eyes find my t-shirt and lift up in surprise.
“Paul,” she starts and then sighs, like she’s made a mistake she didn’t intend to make. “Dr. Vanguard, he isn’t going to like that t-shirt.”
I glance down at the design–it says Pro-Cats, Pro-Magic, Pro-Witch. Back home, we didn’t always see eye to eye on everything, but the Banks family never lashes out or overreacts. We talk through our differences and try to understand each other; I can’t imagine living a life any different from that.
“Thanks for the tip,” I tell her, trying to force a smile. “Do you mind if I ask for your name?”
“Delphine,” she tells me, but with an obvious reluctance, like she isn’t sure that anyone who lives in this igloo can be trusted. That’s probably true, to be fair.
“Dakota,” I say, pointing at myself. The momentary flicker of surprise on her face tells me that she was introduced to me under a different name: Mia Patterson.
“Have a wonderful day … Dakota,” Delphine says, and then she disappears into Parrish’s bathroom without another word. Huh.
My mood slightly soured, I turn and head for the stairs, taking the curved metal steps quickly before I lose my nerve.
I woke with a very specific purpose in mind today: to apologize to Parrish. It’s going to hurt sure, but I’m fairly certain that’s why apologies are so important. They hurt because when you give them, truly and genuinely give them, it’s like ripping out a thorn embedded deep inside your heart. It bleeds, at first, but later it feels so much better. There’s a sense of relief that follows.
Even if I dislike—hate—the guy, it doesn’t mean he deserves to be ripped apart verbally. I’m not sure what came over me that first night, but I won’t let this riff between us turn into an all-out brawl.
I don’t expect to find Chasm in the kitchen, but maybe I should have, considering how often I’ve heard his name mentioned in the last two days. “Tell Chasm he can spend a few nights at his own place.” That’s what Tess said right after I got here, as if she was so used to Chasm spending the night that it’d become habit.
“Good morning,” I say cheerily, breezing into the main living area and discovering with a surge of dread that Chasm isn’t the only person digging into a basket of pastries on the counter. Parrish is here, of course, which is what I wanted, but it’s Kimber’s presence that makes me feel like I’m struggling with wobbly sea legs on the bow of a storm-tossed ship.
She lifts her eyes up to mine, the color so similar to my own that I choke back another stab of pain.
They’re a reminder, those eyes, that Kimber and I share something that Maxine and I don’t. Blood, DNA, things that don’t matter half as much as the legality that keeps me chained here.
Parrish was right: I don’t fit in here, and I never will.
He barely glances my way when I come into the room, his eyes half-lidded and lush with feigned boredom. Somehow, I see beyond that, to the seething anger that simmers beneath.
“Good morning, Little Sister,” Chasm says, giving a breathless laugh that makes Kimber’s cheeks pink. She sees me notice her reaction and turns feral, blocking my sudden discovery with a barrage of hate.
“What are you even wearing? Did you find time to go dumpster diving last night?” Kimber stands up from the sofa, dressed in her Whitehall uniform, the one that I have to be measured for this afternoon since we ran out of time yesterday. “I mean, after you snooped through my brother’s room and then verbally assaulted him?”
Chasm laughs again, the sound wicked and thick with careful calculation. The way Parrish glances at him, sharp and cutting, tells me that he wasn’t the one who told Kimber about yesterday.
“Actually, that’s what I came down here to talk about,” I hazard, watching Parrish’s stoic expression to see what his reaction might be. “I wanted to apologize—”
“Save it,” Parrish tells me, shoving the basket of pastries across the counter. Chasm looks between the two of us with an iniquitous gleam in his amber eyes. They’re the color of the autumn sunshine on the trees back home, that soft, clinging light that bathes the trunks of the oldest trees in late afternoon. His personality is the exact opposite of that, apparently. “Because I won’t be returning the favor.” Parrish finally looks at me dead-on, and my entire world shifts. All of that carefully crafted calm, that strong resolve, that genuine feeling of regret, it feels like it’s being ripped away under the challenging heat of his stare.