No burns.
No wounds.
No soot.
It was as though I had been deposited into a nuclear fallout site just after the bomb had been dropped. But there was no bomb. Instead, I stood at the epicenter of the carnage, alone. But I hadn’t been, had I?
Not even close
My memories came to me in a rush, causing instant panic: a touch. A kiss. A love they couldn’t deny. A love that preceded the rage I’d unleashed, causing the very devastation I stood upon.
I had done this.
I had killed them.
Killed them all…
Chapter 2
I woke up the next morning feeling like a Mack truck was parked on my forehead. Apparently I’d had way more to drink than I remembered.
“Fucking vodka,” I groaned, throwing back the covers. I dragged myself from my bed only to trip on the pile of clothes I’d left beside it the night before. Too groggy to catch myself, I crashed to the floor in a nearly naked heap.
“Maybe you should clean up your shit,” Nico yelled from somewhere in the apartment, having heard the ruckus.
“Maybe you should kiss my ass,” I retorted, huffing to myself as I disentangled myself from my jeans. I stared at them like the traitors they were. “Floor-sniping assholes.”
Just as I tossed them across the room, an unpleasant pounding on my door started.
“Get dressed,” Nico barked from the hallway. “Dad’s on the phone. Wants to talk to you.”
I sighed heavily.
“Fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“And Phira?”
“Yes?”
“He’s pissed.”
Fucking awesome.
“I get it, I get it. I’ll be right out.”
I jumped to my feet, my vision swirling for a second, then scrambled to find clothes. It should have been easier to do since they were all over my floor, but I needed something quasi-clean. On the off chance that my father showed up in person, I wanted to at least look like I had my shit together.
Not that he wouldn’t have seen right through my attempt.
My father was many things, but a fool was hardly one. Lethal? Check. Overbearing? Big time. Ruthless? When necessary, yes. But it was more complicated when it came to me. Torn was the best word I could ever come up with to describe him in all matters Sapphira-related. He loved me and I knew it. He would have done anything to not have to treat me the way he did. I could sense it. Sometimes I wondered if knowing that made it all worse for both of us because it changed nothing. He kept me at a distance—shut me out of PC matters—all in the name of keeping me safe. But all it ever did was make me bitter and angry and hostile, which made my struggle to keep whatever dark power that lived inside of me at bay even more difficult.
Needless to say, our interactions were strained at best.
I threw open my bedroom door to find Nico hovering right there, his cell phone in hand. His expression was tight, as though he was holding back something he wanted to say. But that was going to have to wait. I needed to focus my shit if I wanted to hold it together while I spoke to our father.
“Hello,” I said, doing my best to sound cordial—and sober.
“I received a rather interesting phone call from Jay this morning,” he started, his casual tone belying his anger.
“About that—”
“Do not attempt to insult me, Sapphira,” he growled, cutting me off. “If you wish to behave the way you do, you will not do it in your own backyard. Understand?”
“Vain is hardly in my backyard, Dad,” I countered, thinking it a logical argument since I lived in Portsmouth, New Hampshire and Vain was in Boston, Mass.
The guttural noise he made through the phone told me he found my observation less than impressive.
“I have been very tolerant of your…indiscretions, Sapphira, but I will not tolerate you rubbing them in my face or in the face of the PC.”
“Fine. I get it. No more sex at the club.”
He sighed heavily at my response, and I could practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the headache I was causing him. I guess I wasn’t the only one suffering in silence.
“Phira,” he said, softening his tone. This was the part of our conversations that always hurt the most. I could handle him being mad at me—yelling at me or telling me I was a disappointment. But what I couldn’t handle was the hurt in his voice. That nearly undid me every time.
And me coming apart just wasn’t an option.
“Dad, I hear you. I’ll stay away from Vain, okay?”
Another heavy sigh.
“See that you do.”
An awkward pause.
“Do you need something else?” I asked, humming under my breath right after. The pace of my heart was reaching a fever pitch. I needed to calm myself in a hurry. And waiting for his reply sure wasn’t helping.
“No,” he said, regaining his business tone. “Please put Nico back on the phone. I have a matter to discuss with him.”
“Okay…talk to you later.” I immediately handed the phone over to my brother. Doing my best to avoid his pointed stare, I brushed past him into the living room, grabbing my cell and headphones off the kitchen counter along the way. “You,” I barked at TS, who was lounging on the couch, eating breakfast. “We're going for a run.”
Without skipping a beat, he placed his plate down on the coffee table and stood.
“I need to change,” he said, heading toward his room.
“Nope. Now,” I replied, humming louder to try and calm the swell of emotions within me. Seeing my determination, he changed direction and walked past me to the front door, grabbing his sneakers from the mat in the entryway. “Later boys.”
I swung the door open and raced down the stairs, the repetitive clang of the metal underfoot soothing my inner turmoil, if only slightly.
“Phira,” TS called after me, hurrying to catch up. “What did your father say?”
“What do you think he said?” I asked, punching through the double doors to the foyer. As we made our way through the second set of glass doors, I was met with silence from my chaperone. In fairness, my question had been fairly rhetorical. He knew I'd pushed my dad too far by fucking around at Vain. So he damn well knew that our conversation hadn’t been a pleasant one.
“You have to understand his position,” TS started, but I shut him down quickly, sprinting down the street toward the outskirts of town. The pounding of my feet on the pavement helped drown him out. As I ran, I managed to slide my headphones on and turn up my music as loud as possible. That was what I needed: the numbing effect of the heavy beats on my darkness was miraculous. Without it, I didn’t know how I’d have survived.
Moments later, TS was at my side, driving the pace. As much as I detested his appointed position, he seemed to be the only one that had some modicum of understanding about my needs. Not so much the sex—that seemed to just irritate him—but he never questioned my midnight runs, the singing, the piano, or my incessant humming. Quite frankly, that humming was so much a part of my day that I rarely even realized I was doing it; kind of like people who fidget and don’t know they’re fidgeting.
We ran for miles until the buildings got smaller, then finally we were surrounded by nothing but trees. Running on an empty stomach while hung over wasn’t really the best idea ever, which became evident when I stopped and dry heaved next to a huge oak tree. TS had the good form not to say anything as I dragged my sleeve across my face to wipe away the sweat induced by both our exercise and my momentary illness. Instead, he stared at me so intently that it made me uncomfortable—like he was looking right into me. I instinctively stepped backward.
It was easy to forget that TS was deadly. That particular moment was a healthy reminder.
“Feeling better?” he asked when I pulled my headphones off. He was leaning against a birch tree across from me; its white bark contrasted his dark olive skin, which had only become richer in the su
mmer sun.
“Yes and no,” I replied, sliding down the tree to the ground. I rested my head back against its rough bark and closed my eyes, listening to the pounding of my heart as it slowed. The sound lulled me, making me forget for a moment that I wasn't alone. I opened my eyes to find TS staring down at me, assessing me. “Something you want to say?” I asked, my tone a touch too acerbic even to my own ears. He folded his arms across his chest and pressed back against the tree he leaned on. It groaned in response.
I was being a bitch and I knew it. But it was just so hard to muster up more sugarcoated responses sometimes. Even after running myself to the point of physical exhaustion, the darkness still raged within me, demanding my full attention and focus—draining me even further. Sometimes being pleasant was just too much to ask for.
But that day, I tried.
“You never ask me why I go for these runs,” I said, clenching my jaw so that the words would come out without a sarcastic edge.
“Because it doesn’t matter,” he replied as though that answer was plain. “My job is not to question why. My job is to be by your side twenty-four seven.”
His answer did nothing to improve my mood. I buried my head in my hands and pulled on my raven curls.
“Doesn’t that bother you?” I spat, my eyes shooting up to meet his gaze. “Doesn’t it bother you that you have no say in what you do? No control?”
He shook his head.
“I chose to be in the service of your father for a reason. I will serve him as he sees fit. But do not mistake that for a lack of control, Sapphira. I am not one of you. I am not PC. I can leave at any time I choose.”
Well that’s interesting…
“So you don’t really have to be here?”
“As I said, I can leave at any time, though it would mean severing ties with the PC.”
“And you don’t want to do that, do you?” I asked, putting the pieces of the puzzle together. He shook his head no. “So you would rather put up with this crap detail than turn your back on my father?”
“I would rather maintain my position with your father than leave, that is correct.”
“Wow,” I muttered under my breath. “I can’t imagine what he's got on you that would make you stay and put up with me.”
A spark of anger flashed in his eyes before it disappeared entirely, leaving a rather confused and irritated expression in its wake. Before he could say anything, I put my headphones back on and turned the music up all the way, then took off down the wooded path.
My mind couldn’t make sense of what he’d said, probably because there was no reason in his words. That left me to wonder what in God’s name had happened in his past that had made him turn to my father—what deal with the devil he had made that kept him tethered to me rather than free to do as he saw fit. Yes, he claimed he could leave at any time, but that only furthered my suspicion. Why stay in a shit job if you don’t have to? Who does that? The answer: nobody.
I soon felt him at my side, his formidable presence looming as always. But as his elbow brushed up against mine while we ran, I didn’t feel irritation as I normally did. Only curiosity. Who was this man, really? What debt did he owe my father?
And how would I ever rid myself of him?
Chapter 3
It didn’t take long to reach our apartment building, and the quick return seemed to leave me wanting. I was tired but not satisfied. The call with my father had me even more riled up than I’d realized.
“Change of plan,” I said, leaning against the brick façade next to the door. “I’m not ready to face Nico yet.”
“Are we making a stop at the Performing Arts building then?”
“Looks that way.” I pushed off the wall and started jogging toward the campus on the edge of town. It was a small local school, but it boasted a Fine Arts program that was one of the best in New England. After the incident, I'd spent an inordinate amount of time there. If I hadn’t found sanity in music, I don’t know what would have become of me.
Surely Little Church wouldn’t have been the only devastation left in my wake.
We soon arrived at the Center for Performing Arts and entered the music wing, which was fully equipped with a hall of small practice rooms. During the daytime hours, it was accessible to anyone. Nighttime trips there had proven more difficult at first, but thanks to a little help from one of the PC brothers, I had a keycard that gained me entrance whenever I wanted it.
Or needed it, as was most often the case.
My favorite room was all the way down the hall on the left. The only one with a piano. I closed the soundproof door behind me, the loud click resonating beautifully off the walls of the tiny room. The claustrophobic nature of it should have made me want to run screaming, but instead I found it oddly comforting.
It beat the hell out of a padded room.
The piano bench scraped across the old tile floor that clearly hadn’t been replaced for decades when I pulled it out. I felt more at ease as soon as I sat down upon it, placing my right foot on the pedal. The second my fingers brushed the keys, I felt the darkness withdraw. Music was my best weapon against it.
And I wielded it well.
Without sheet music before me, I pounded out a melody from memory, the one that I always started with. For whatever reason, it soothed me in a way that nothing should have. When I played it, I felt as close to normal as I ever would. It was the light that slew the inky abyss within me. I belted out the words to the haunting tune, letting them pour out of me as though they purged that which I loathed so much. That of which I could never fully rid myself. Because no matter how hard I played and sang, the darkness never fully left me.
It was my burden to forever bear.
My penance for what I’d done.
TS stood guard outside while I released the pressure within me. As many times as we’d gone there, he never asked me why. Why I stayed there for hours and hours, singing until my voice was hoarse and my fingertips raw. As much as I hated at times to admit it, he was smart and observant. He could see the difference in me immediately afterward, even though I did all I could to keep it from him. I didn’t want him to see the softer side of me for the few minutes it remained. The only side anyone ever saw before the incident. I didn’t want him getting too comfortable with that person.
She wouldn’t be returning for good.
As far as I could tell, she’d died alongside the rest of Little Church.
Whenever I played, it was as though my heart shed the armor I’d built around it. I saw things in a way I couldn’t when it was in place—especially where TS was concerned. I didn’t really want to be rid of him. He was as much a victim of the incident as the rest of us. Until then, he hadn’t known me—had never met me. But after, he was thrust into an unenviable position. My sympathy for him when I played was great.
In another time, under different circumstances, I wondered if he and I would have been friends. Perhaps more. The lie that I hated him unraveled every time I locked myself in that oppressive practice room, just me, the piano, and the truth. But the second I left there—the moment I stepped out—the lies rolled back in with the darkness like a storm, obliterating the truth and the light that had only just begun to once again shine on my soul.
It was like going from the highest high to the depths of withdrawal in a matter of minutes. And it was in those few minutes that TS saw who I really was—who I had once been. The look of hope in his eyes was impossible to bear, so I did something to crush it every time.
Every single time.
That particular day proved no different. When I couldn’t force another note past my vocal cords, I unlocked the door and stepped out. TS turned to assess me as he always did, his hazel eyes scanning over me, hoping to see something in me that he hadn’t when we'd come. So I flipped him off as I walked past. It was best for both of us if I maintained my surly nature, even when I had to force it. Once the darkness returned, so would it.
I saw no reason to prolong the
inevitable.
“You could do me the courtesy of dropping the pretense, Phira.” He quickly caught up to me, taking his place on my left. “I find it insulting.”
“The bird is supposed to be insulting, Ajax. That’s the point.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
I clenched my teeth, grinding them while I braced myself for the return of the dissonance that inhabited me.
“Best not to get used to something that no longer exists, wouldn’t you say?”
“And yet it exists when you play, so it cannot be truly gone. I can feel it, Phira. I imagine every supernatural for miles can. There is a purity that emanates from you unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.”
“Wow, no wonder you don’t complain about having to stand out here for hours. You get your own little high out of it.”
“It’s not a high, Phira.”
“Buzz, then.”
“No. Not that either.”
“You know what?” I said, grabbing him by the arm to stop him. I stared up at him, anger flushing my cheeks. It was in these few minutes that I could afford to let my anger out. Perhaps it was that anger that called the darkness back. Either way, my time to vent was limited, so I chose my words quickly. “I don’t give a fuck what you want to call it. It’s gone. It lasts about as long as it takes us to walk down this hallway and out of the building. So what good is it, other than a way to keep me stable enough not to blow up another fucking town?”
“Keep your voice down,” he said, stepping closer to me. “You need to calm yourself.”
“You have no idea what it’s like for me,” I said under my breath.
His expression softened as he looked down at me.
“I would like to.”
“Then you’re fucking crazy. Nobody should want to know what it’s like to be me.”
I turned and stormed toward the double doors of the Performing Arts building, knowing that he would soon be at my side again to escort me home. By the time I felt the cold metal of the handle against my skin, I was already humming to myself in an attempt to contain that which had already returned. I didn’t bother to look back and see the disappointment on his face.
Live Wire (Blue-Eyed Bomb #1) Page 2
