If We Could Be Endgame

C h a p t e r 2

I sit at the table, picking at my pulled pork sandwich. It looks delicious, but some of the scars my mom left on me are not visible right away.

"Are you not liking it?" Dandelion asks, peering up at me with her round brown eyes like melted chocolate.

"No, it's great," I say, smiling at her and forcing myself to take a bite. It really is delicious, not to mention probably the first home cooked meal I have had in forever, quite literally.

"You should try Mama's fruit salad," she says and I don't miss the fact that she calls Kali 'Mama' even though I know none of these kids are her or Jasper's. She leans into me and I bend so my ear is near her mouth. "She puts special ingredients. I know this cuz she lets me help her."

I smile at the little girl and wonder how she ended up here. She quite obviously has scars that trail down her neck and dip below her shirt, reappearing on her left arm and spiraling down to her elbow, but she appears so innocent, like the world could never hurt her.

I am him with a longing to be Seven again and believe the secret ingredient to good fruit salad was real magic and cooking with your mother wasn't just weighing calories together.

I finish half of my sandwich and set it down, picking at the helping of fruit salad that Dandelion placed on my plate.

She looks up at me expectantly as I spear a grape and tangerine and stick them into my mouth. Something about how she looks at me makes me want to do whatever she asks. The flavors explode on my tongue and I offer her a genuine smile as I begin eating again.

"So, why are you here?" Hunter asks from my other side.

I hear Kali cough at the head of the table, but I turn to Hunter, choosing to answer anyway.

"Crashed my car while I was high on my pills," I say flatly and a choking sound comes from someone across the table.

I look across the table to see French pounding on Jax's back, rolling his eyes.

"You... got high on drugs?" Jax wheezes, stick coughing.

"Ya, is that so hard to believe?" I ask flatly, glaring at him across the table.

"Not at all," he says sarcastically, turning back to his meal.

I scowl and out of the corner of my eye, I see Jasper and Kali exchange a glance.

The rest of dinner is uneventful and soon we all retire to our floors.

I walk into my strangely plain room and shut the door behind me, locking it absentmindedly out of habit. I begin unpacking and hanging my clothes in the closet, folding all the stuff that can't be hung and setting them in the drawers of the dresser, where I arrange my makeup and other toiletries. I toss the blankets off the bed and let them pool on the floor. Swiftly I unfold my weighted blanket and place it on the bed, along with my hugging pillow. I pull a photograph out of my bag and place it on my side table. I reach to pull something else out of the same box and instead find a photo of my family when it was only semi-broken. My mother is smiling and I am perched on my fathers shoulders, my 6-year-old smile bursting from my lips.

I take a deep breath, trying to stop the anger bubbling up but instead I hurl the photo at the wall. The glass of the frame shatters and it falls to the floor, shards of glass skittering across the floor.

I jump, unsure of how long I was standing watching the still photo resting in a pool of glass, when someone bangs on my door.

"Sarah Mae, open the door right now," Kali said sharply and I jerk from my daze.

I stride over to the door and unlock it, opening it to reveal a concerned Kali staring back at me.

"What shattered, Sarah?" She asks and I shrug.

"I threw a photo frame at the wall," I say, waving her into my room.

Kali steps inside, shaking her head when she sees the shattered glass and turning to me. I expect her to scream, shame me, tell me to clean it up. Instead she looks at me, her eyes soft, which I might hate even more than the yelling, and nods her head once.

"Ok, I'll get a broom for you to clean it up," she says and disappears out the door.

Instead of waiting for her, I bend and begin picking the glass shards up with my bare hands. The glass pricks my fingers and tiny flowers of blood bloom on my fingertips as I try to remember the last time someone besides Maria didn't yell at me for screwing up.