Trying To Endure

Chapter Thirty-Nine

I instantly leave the website, switching to WhatsApp.

Bloom Carter is dead, I texted Luke.

She was Mother's best friend, and stopped all contacts after Mother's life was threatened.

Two ticks showed. Luke read my message, typed, then didn't.

I clamour, Is the car crash accidental?

We're figuring that out, he replied a minute later.

Am I far-fetched for assuming that Bodie is tied to this?

His instant counter constricted my breathing, evolving into a panic attack.

I assumed that the second I saw it on the news, brother.

***

When we woke at ten, it was dead, void of smoke. The sole window up ahead views the calm currents of the lake, the sun peeking above the mountains, light trickling through the white-laced curtains.

I toss to my left, the floor rasping. Duke abandoned me. Both dogs are protectively encompassing April, their collars shimmering and enticing to the sin of theft. 

I frown, suddenly remembering that the Dobermans would do that if someone is afraid. That is what they did to me — since puppies, at the resonances of Dad's footsteps, they encage me at nights after Dad's suicide. I was afraid. Afraid of the dark, as the dark lurks of the blood and screams of Dad and his pain, of my pain. My ghosts, my demons, traumatised me.

The door groans open. Duke's ear perks up, indicating he is awake, eyes remaining closed. I peer over my shoulder. Feet tiptoe nearer.

"Shut up," I grumble under my breath. "You're going to wake her."

Theo glances at April peacefully slumbering. His grin belongs to a Cheshire cat. "In the library?" He wiggles his brows. "Sneaky, sneaky."

"Oh my God," I mutter in his tongue, dragging a hand down my face. "I swear, you think it's always that."

Hands-on hips, he inspects the mess. Wilfred's sketch is rolled and tucked on a nearby table. "You got blankets, pillows and your shirt is off."

"It's hot."

"It's cold, dude."

I roll my eyes, staring at April. Her inhales and exhales are soft, a folded arm veiling her lips and chin. Frizzy strands clutter around her head, a muss, a crown. On the floor, the water lilies and their petals are wrinkled and faded. She is beautiful. Inside and out. I think she's sensitive to words, to emotions, to people. I want her to build herself up from the sticks and stones that broke her bones. I don't think she realises how strong and influential she is. She has this aura of bravery and power.

"Checking her out?" Theo whispers above, minty breath wafting on my cheek.

I hurl a fist into his jaw, my face reddening. He stumbles back, cupping his right side, groaning, cursing in delightful Spanish. April's eyebrows twitch. Heavy sleeper. Duke jolts his head up, softly growling at Theo. Be quiet.

I haul upright on the floor. "I swear to God, man, if you fucking wake her up ..."

Theo's frenzied grin is irritating. "You're blushing."

"I'm not—"

"You were checking her out. Edward Cullen shit right there." 

I stand. "Did you compare me to a dead-white man who stupidly shines in the sun?"