Indebted to Roman

1 | Deal with the Devil

"I love you, Margot!"

The pink bear that's just been shoved underneath my nose squeals.

I seal up the last few cardboard boxes at my feet, laughing.

"Love you too, Berry." 

Cardan hands me the bear, revealing his face. The navy blue eyes we both inherited from our father look sleep-deprived, and his tousled brown hair needs a comb, but his cheeky grin holds strong.

I stare at Berry. I'm surprised to see that, despite having been buried in the attic for years, the bear is still in good condition. It even smells vaguely like strawberries still.

I drop it onto one of the cardboard boxes. I guess that's coming with me tomorrow too.

"God, there's so much shit up there," Cardan exclaims, referencing the attic. "Mum was such a hoarder."

I feel a stab of pain.

It always hurts hearing them referred to as ghosts of the past.

Mum was.

Dad used to.

They loved.

It was only twelve months ago that they were still with us. Now all that's left of them is this old manor house and a few picture books.

"Do you think that's everything?" Cardan asks, surveying the cardboard box-ridden floor of the parlor.

I nod. "I think so, shy of taking the kitchen sink."

Cardan smiles. "I'm going to miss you, Margot."

"I'll keep in touch. Way too much."

"You better," he threatens, before making his way over to the liquor card.

"Want a drink?" Cardan offers.

"No," I sigh. "I think I'm going to take a bath."

"Suit yourself." 

His bicep bulges as he lifts a glass of whiskey to his lips.

As I make my way out of the room, trying not to trip on any of the boxes littering the floor, I spot Cardan's choice of footwear.

Green velvet slipped trimmed with lamb's wool.

"They're hideous by the way, Cardan," I tell him as I walk past.

"It's high-fashion, little sis," he frowns at me. "Shame you don't understand."

"Style, Cardan. Shame you don't have any."

He flips me off. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

—

The sound of glass breaking echoing up the manor's stairs stirs me awake. But I'm not alarmed.

Cardan often stays up until the early hours of the morning, practicing bad habits. Habits like drinking entire bottles of whiskey on his own, entertaining girls he doesn't care about, and beating the living hell out of punchbag set up in the basement.

I've just started to drift off again when I hear a serious of crashes that sound like someone being thrown around. This time it's accompanied by angry voices.

My eyes snap open. I stare at the cracked white paint of my bedroom ceiling.

More shouting.

I hastily throw my duvet aside and get up. The cold air that bites into my exposed skin tells me I left my bedroom window open again.