Where We Began

by Nora Flite

  His eyes darken severely. “If anyone tries anything, tell me.”

  I watch him makes angry fists, the veins in the backs of his hands dancing. It thrills me to know he's so protective. “Thanks,” I say, reaching out to brush his wrist. “I think I can handle them. But I'll let you know if it gets out of control.”

  Dominic considers me for a long minute. “I almost want to leave right now,” he whispers. His body guides me backwards, my calves bumping the chair. “Take you upstairs to my room and forget all about this party.”

  I've never seen his room, not since he came back. I didn't go in there once after he left for school. I wonder how it looks now. How his bed would feel. If we got under his covers, like we did as kids, what would happen?

  His eyes are smoldering. They twitch, spotting something to my left. Intrigued, I follow his line of sight and see a man in the crowd. He's wearing a brown vest over a white shirt, the rest of his outfit as gray as an elephant. “Someone important?” I ask.

  “Potentially,” he says, hesitating.

  I read between the lines. “Go. Talk. It's why we arranged this event, after all.”

  Dominic separates from me. I watch him go, lamenting that I'm now going to have to make polite conversation alone.

  It's a large crowd that only grows, and I notice a pattern quickly. The men are older, sometimes with multitudes of wrinkles and graying hair. There are a few younger guys, like Dominic, but not many. The women, however, are all young and beautiful. Their dresses sparkle, like their job is to be an expensive handbag for the men to wear on their arms.

  It sickens me, and mingling becomes a chore.

  “Ah, you must be her,” a voice says. I prepare my false smile, turning towards the speaker. He seems to be Silas's age. They don't look alike, but there's still something familiar about him that I can't place.

  Black, piercing eyes focus on me. His hands are shoved in his jacket pockets. I get the odd feeling that he's resisting the urge to touch me—if it's to harm, or to show affection, I can't tell. I'm busy waiting for him to speak while being held in place by his burning stare.

  He rakes his eyes down my face, to my long hair. “Did you know they call you the Wild Girl in our circle?”

  “Excuse me,” I say, gathering myself. “I didn't catch your name.”

  He hasn't blinked. It creates a grim energy, and the longer he looks at me, the more damage I recognize in his expression. Those furrows in his forehead are exaggerated by his widow's peak. I'm getting used to recognizing trauma. I wonder what his is.

  I wet my lips, noticing they're dry. I wish he'd just blink. “How do you know the Bradleys?” I ask, trying to force conversation, or find a way to exit.

  His attention doesn't leave me. “I'm Vahn, Annie's brother.”

  I see it the second he spills her name. They share a similar shape to their chins, their hair the same reddish brown, like a fox's fur. My lips twitch, unable to hold my smile. Anyone associated with that woman is bad news. “Oh.”

  “Yes,” he whispers. “Oh.” He sneers as he repeats me. “She's told me a little about you. The rest I learned myself.”

  My pulse is racing. I wipe my clammy hands on my dress. “Did you need something from me?” I fight to keep my tone polite. If Vahn is Annie's brother, anything I do will get back to her. Any words I speak, any poor behavior.

  Finally he breaks his stare, and I breathe a hair easier. He's glancing over my head at something. I'm tempted to look, but I control the urge. “No. I hope I never do. I just wanted to look you in the eye for myself, and see how similar you were.”

  “Similar to who?” I ask, baffled.

  He doesn't respond. Vahn pushes past me, acting like I'm as interesting as a coat rack. With him gone, my adrenaline hits me hard. My spine feels like a length of ice cubes strung through me, my dress sticks to my sweaty stomach.

  Queasy, I hurry towards the sidelines. I fall into a chair and close my eyes. The darkness spins, so I quickly stare at the bright ceiling instead. What the hell was that about?

  Dominic replaces my view of the chandeliers. He towers over me, his eyebrows knotted with concern. “Are you okay?” he asks. “You look pale.”

  “I'm fine.” It's a white lie. I don't want him to worry about me. “Just... I met your uncle a minute ago.”

  His nostrils flare. “You met Vahn?”

  “Dominic, what's wrong?” I ask warily.

  He keeps staring. “What did he tell you?”

  “Nothing. Not really.” I run the conversation back through my mind. “He said he wanted to see if I was similar to someone. Do you know what that's about?”

  Ignoring me, he obsessively scans the ballroom. I catch the ripple of pain that creates wrinkles in his forehead. His eyes are an oil slick, moving around, unable to rest on anyone or anything as he searches. Is he looking for his uncle right now, or someone else? “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Yes.” He snatches the last champagne flute off of a table, swallows it in one gulp. “I'll go get more—for both of us.” He wades through the packed crowd without giving me a chance to figure out what's got him so edgy. Left alone, I get to my feet. I don't want to leave without Dominic, especially if he's coming back with drinks. He'll expect me to be here. Looking for a way to kill time, I start studying the party-goers.

  I make a game of counting the dress colors. Five red ones, ten blue... seven white. I'm enjoying this. It’s like bird watching, in a way. I'm happy to be doing something that keeps my mind busy.

  The next dress I see is more interesting than the others. Transparent sheets with little crescent moons stitched in gold are draped over creamy silk that swallow the woman's legs. Heels that glitter like a thousand falling stars peek out beneath the hem. She's someone who doesn't care about movement, comfortable in her confinement.

  I could never be that at ease. But I still admire her from behind, thinking she's a real beauty. Short, perfectly even hair tickles her earlobes. It's a glistening brunette cap on her head. I'm waiting for her to turn, painfully curious if her face could be as elegant as the rest of her.

  A young man approaches, speaking up at her elbow. The woman's hair barely shifts as she responds to whatever he said. I catch her gentle profile; her blue eyes with their green flecks. And as she comes into view, letting me look upon her face—more beautiful than I imagined—my stomach free-falls to my knees.

  It's Kara.

  My sister.

  - Chapter 26 -

  Laiken

  I can't breathe. The room swings up around me then back again, like I'm in the middle of a boat in a hurricane. It can't be. But it is. It's her and there's no question about it. Kara is in the room with me, standing comfortably—like she belongs here. I abruptly feel like I don't.

  My eyes won't move from her hair. It's shorter than it was when I said my goodbye. Time has turned her into a graceful woman. My brain struggles to connect the new Kara with the Kara of my past. The edges of my vision go fuzzy; I need to blink but I can't. What if she vanishes when I do?

  “Here,” Dominic says, holding out a glass to me. “Nice and cold.”

  Why is her hair short?

  Did she cut it? Did someone else?

  What happened to our promise?

  “Laiken?” His voice is burdened with concern. He moves until he blocks me; I grab his arm, trying to push him out of the way. He doesn't budge. “Hey, what's wrong?”

  Snapping out of my trance, I stare up at him. “It's... my sister. Kara is here.”

  “What, where?”

  I motion at her with my chin. “Right there. In the white dress.”

  I'm too busy looking to see his reaction. Over my head, he whispers, “What's she doing here?”

  His question snaps me from my funk. “I thought she'd be far away from this place. That Dad and her and the others...” I blink at him, suspicion making my neck hot. “Dominic, did you know she was coming?”

  He shakes his head sharply. “I didn't,
really.” He skips a beat, his voice softening. “I knew she wasn't with your father. It's only your mom and brother that got out with him. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It seemed merciful to let you think everyone else escaped.”

  I'm too surprised to be upset at him. “I need to talk to her.”

  “Yes, you do,” he agrees. Something cold touches my hand, the drink. I take it this time, thanking him with my nervous smile.

  Swallowing the champagne, I revel in how it pops down my throat. While neither of us is old enough to drink, this is the Bradleys' home. They don't care that we're drinking at their little party.

  I think about the things I want to say to her. I have a torrent of questions, a million stories both good and bad, and all are important for her to hear. We have years of catching up to do. And while I didn't think I'd see her so soon, or in a place like this, a part of me begins to soar as I cross the ballroom floor and close in on her.

  “Kara?” I ask gently, though I don't doubt it's her. She might look different than she did when she was thirteen, but she looks like I do now—just with shorter hair.

  The breath she pulls in steals the heat from the air. It makes her stand tall, like a length of string pulling her upwards to the ceiling from the top of her head. Kara turns until she's facing me straight on, her mouth a tiny circle, but she's less surprised than I was. The off-kilter way she stares at me melts into something cool. There's indifference in her eyes aimed at me. “Laiken, it's good to see you.”

  “It's a good to see me?” I repeat, wondering why we aren't hugging. There's a strange force field around her, an energy that says don't touch me. It extends a foot in every direction. It takes everything I have to break through it and reach for her.

  My arms circle my sister, and it feels like she's giving this to me, instead of reciprocating. Her arms start to come around, but they don't finish the circle. She stiffens and then backs away, staring at Dominic beside me.

  They eyeball each other. I can't read their expressions. I'm flustered, like I walked into a room of strangers when I expected it to be close friends. “Kara,” I say, “this is Dominic Bradley.”

  She doesn't offer him her hand. “Nice home you have here.”

  “Thanks,” he says, his arms stiff at his sides.

  “I see you have drinks.” She nods at our glasses. “I'm at a disadvantage, I don't have the comfortable numbness that alcohol brings. I'll go fix that.”

  “Wait!” I shout, stopping her before he leaves. Why does she want to leave? I stumble over my tongue. “Kara, this is weird. Why are you acting like it isn't? I haven't seen you in years! I didn't know what happened to you! If you were with dad, or trapped like me... and your hair... who did that to you?”

  My sister brushes the fine ends of her cropped hair. She doesn't look at me, but instead over the heads of the partygoers. She's unaffected by my earnest panic. Just as placidly calm as any other stranger wanting to politely end a conversation.... and I realize something that's bothering me.

  Kara, my wild sister, looks so natural among these elites.

  She stands in her heels like she was born in them.

  “Calm down,” she says, still not looking my way. It's like she's talking to me but doesn't want anyone else to realize it, her words soft under her breath. “There are lots of things going on that you don't understand. But I'll give you a tip. Don't lose your cool in the middle of these people. The second you give them an excuse, they'll strip your skin from your bones until you're nothing.”

  “Kara!” I reach for her. She moves too quickly, like she did earlier, not letting me make contact. Her rejection has me swaying, ready to collapse. I'm not capable of being angry; I'm too confused, too destroyed by her casual distaste to muster up another word as she walks away from me. I stare at her elegant, naked back until she disappears into the black suits and too white smiles.

  Suddenly, I'm suffocated by all of these fake people. I need air! I can't breathe! I book it for the exit. I have to lift my dress, but I still stumble, stepping on the hem—I hear the threads tearing. The noise drives me further.

  Miles gapes at me as I rush by. I wonder if he'll radio a warning, but I don't care. Right now I want to vanish into thin air. I settle for bursting through the front doors, dodging a few new guests as they enter. All of them gawk at me, and I know I must be quite a sight.

  Outside, the evening is blotted by storm clouds. The rain hasn't let up since it began the other day. I'm gasping, bending over at the waist under the roof edge. Rain dribbles a foot away. I could reach out and touch it. The yard is muddy, everything so cold. But it still feels more welcoming here, near the storm, than it does in the house at my back.

  A strong hand captures my shoulder. It's Dominic. “Are you all right?”

  I shake him off, spinning to face him. “Of course I'm not all right, how can I be? That's my sister, but she isn't acting like it. Goddammit, is it something in the water in this place? First you, now her. How is it possible for people to change so much?”

  “Everyone changes.”

  “Not everyone,” I argue desperately. “Not me. Six years of limbo, that's what you're looking at. I want the same things. I have the same goals! I used to know what she wanted, too. Now...”

  He slips his hand over mine, able to cover it so that just the tips of my nails show in his huge hand. “Give her time, I'm sure she's been through a lot of things, like all of us have.”

  “But why is she here?” I squint at him, trying to see into his head. “You really didn't know she was coming tonight? Your mom, your dad, they didn't say anything about this?”

  “No.” He says it too fast. It makes me think he's hiding something.

  “I'm so tired of feeling like everyone is part of some big trick, and when I look away, they're all laughing behind their hands at me.”

  He sets his hands on my bare shoulders. My goose bumps rise, but my core tugs me towards him. “Let's go back inside,” he says.

  I start to say no. Then I see the half-open painted glass doors. Light extends from the crack, stopping just before our feet. Like the event is motioning for us to go back inside.

  I'd just yelled at Dominic about my goals, how they were still the same. But here I am, ready to throw all my effort in planning this party down the drain. Taking his sleeve, I pull him inside. “Do you know how to dance?”

  He chuckles, shrugging lightly. “There were a few balls at school. I know a couple steps.”

  I pull him all the way back inside the house. Miles sees us coming; he's talking into his walkie-talkie, but he stops, staring at us like we're ghosts. He definitely thought I was trying to escape. Now he looks frustrated, and I smile at the idea of him raising an alarm needlessly.

  I take Dominic towards the middle of the ballroom, where the floor is so mirrored I feel like I'm standing on top of a clone of myself. “It's good you can dance,” I say, “because I don't have any clue how. You lead, I'll follow, and we'll show these people that they made the right choice by coming tonight.”

  He sweeps me into his arms, obeying my wish. I've seen him move before—that time in the hallway, when he cornered me against the wall. I'm aware of his agility, his powerful speed. I think I'm prepared for what he's capable of, until he grips one of my hands, putting it on his chest.

  His fingers swing down to my lower back, leveraging me so that I follow his movements on the dance floor. The music is gentle; stringed instruments twinkling through the expensive speakers arranged around the room. The Bradleys could've afforded a live band, but it was nice to have one less thing to arrange.

  As we dance, I know people are staring at us. I don't focus on them, though. I'm too caught up in the liquid heat in Dominic's eyes. His grip is firm, but welcome. He makes me feel like I'm the only person in the room. There's a constant half smile playing over his lips, and it makes them tempting. I know they'd be soft if I kiss them.

  We twirl and, though I warned him I'm no dancer, he prevents me from mi
ssing a step. He could lift me off the ground if he wanted to, but he does his best to create a pace that I can follow, to hold me up when my ankles twist the wrong way on my heels, to make every stumble that I have look like it's part of our dance.

  My heart is racing. I can taste it in my mouth. It's filling me up. I'm one big pounding heart being hugged by his muscular arms. All I can see is his handsome face, the dark blanket of beard over his solid jaw. When I inhale, my stomach presses into the rock wall of muscle that is his torso. The buttons on his vest dig through my dress and into my skin. It's such a short moment, but I know I'll be thinking about it later tonight, maybe the next few nights.

  A few other couples have joined us; they dance on my peripheral. But like everyone else, they don't matter to me. I told Dominic I wanted to do this so that people would be glad they'd come. Dancing people are happy, happy people are more likely to do what you want. I learned that in one of the Business 101 books in the library.

  I hope several happy guests approach the Bradleys, wanting to bring their business to their banks. That will calm Annie down, according to Silas, and keep her from taking her rage out on me.

  My long-term goal is to save my own skin.

  But my short-term goal is

  to embrace the distraction that Dominic brings when he touches me.

  It's working. I'm lightheaded with lust. I so badly want to kiss him, but I worry with all the attention that it might be a bad idea. I don't know what his parents would think about us kissing. They might not want us dancing together, I think, suddenly uneasy. Could my impulsiveness mess things up? What if Annie gets so angry at the sight of us together that she lashes out, no matter how the party goes?

  As we slow down, I search the room, looking for her face. But I don't see Annie, I see someone else: Kara. She's watching me from the sidelines. The glass in her hand is empty. Whatever she grabbed, she drank it already. I imagine her sucking it down the way that I had to make myself feel better.