Текст книги "Sweet Temptation"

Автор книги: Wendy Higgins

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

“Are you okay?” she asks me.

Actually, no. I don’t think a moment of pleasure with the man she loves will render her impure, especially if she remains a virgin, but I understand her apprehension. A lot is at stake. I can’t imagine the pressure she must feel.

I hold her face and run my thumb over her cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” she says. “I love you. I want all that with you. Maybe someday?”

I shut my eyes against her hopeful words. I dare not believe there is a someday. There is here and now, and we’re promised nothing more. Especially with the prophecy hanging over us.

She stretches up and kisses me. “I think I need chocolate.”

This gets a laugh from me. Only Anna.

“Will you make me some brownies?”

“Me?” She must’ve misspoken.

“It’s my turn to watch you cook.”

I can’t help but grin. “I assume you actually want to be able to eat these brownies?” But Anna only laughs.

She takes me by the hand, leading me down the hall toward the kitchen. Her defusing tactic has worked, taking my mind off the disappointment of the moment.

And one thing’s for certain—after tonight I’ll never look at brownies the same way again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Saving Z

“This is our last night, but it’s late and I’m trying not to sleep

’Cause I know when I wake I will have to slip away.”

—“Daylight” by Maroon 5

Tonight was the most extraordinary night of my life, but also the most difficult, psychically. I can’t explain the monster that lives inside me, or the battle I wage against it.

I remember when Father called me a caveman to Anna the night he met her, and he laughed, but not because he was taking the piss. He laughed because he knows what I feel, how constant my longings are, and it’s funny to him. Amusing that I fight for self-control every waking moment, that at any second I could turn into a raging Lust Hulk, never satisfied.

Only not green. Lucky me.

There were times tonight when my fraying willpower was nearly shredded by innocent touches, and it kept me on edge. I know it was beyond stupid to chase her to the airport and beg her to come home with me. The smart move, the safe one, would have been to let her go back to Georgia. But as I hold her in my arms, in my bed, listening to the sound of her soft breathing, I can’t bring myself to regret our one night together.

We’d both finally fallen asleep a bit ago, but I woke during the night, filled with familiar paranoia. It’s worse with her at my side. Even though I know the Dukes and whisperers are in Vegas tonight, I can’t stomach the thought of Anna being in danger. All because of my selfish desire to have her.

She is complex, my lovely Anna. All gentleness. A bleeding heart for injustice. A brilliant capacity for forgiveness. But despite her gentleness, I’ve seen how her hands ball into tiny fists when she’s ticked off. I’ve witnessed the fire in her eyes when she’s lost to the hunger of her demon side. I understand that hunger. That need to lose oneself completely to pure physical sensation with no regard to consequences. That urge to say fuck it all.

The only difference is that she wants to lose herself in drugs and I want to lose myself in skin.

But obsession is obsession. To each his own.

Anna mews next to me like a baby kitten and snuggles closer, her knee rubbing my thigh. And, oh, bugger me . . . her hand lands on my lower stomach. Just a few inches south, and I would be a happy man.

I look over at the Sword of Righteousness hilt lying on the bedside table. It’s mocking me, I swear. I know it keeps her safe, but I kind of hate that thing. I feel like it knows what I’m thinking, all the things I’d like to do to its sweet Anna.

Things I daresay she’s not ready for.

The hilt doesn’t seem to give a shite that I love her. It only sees that I’m a greedy bastard who wants every bit of Anna for myself. I want to savor each moment she looks at me and sees past the lust in my eyes—sees the boy I once was, and the man who now desperately needs her.

I close my eyes and try to rest, but her hand is quite distracting. I lift it to my chest instead. In her sleep she prods her nails into my skin and I think it’s the sexiest and most adorable thing I’ve ever experienced. Then again, I’d thought the same thing when she was cooking earlier. And when my mouth was on her thigh, her hands pulling at my hair. And again when she licked brownie batter. Let’s backtrack to the bit about her thigh . . .

Don’t think about that, mate.

Don’t think about the scent of warm pears that surrounded you like cognac.

Don’t think about the silk of her skin against your tongue, how close you were to that place of hers where nobody else has been.

Don’t think about the sounds of her moans, how you were just about to blow her ever-loving mind, or how you couldn’t wait to catch her when her knees buckled as her whole body trembled with pleasure.

Definitely do not think of that.

I shove the heel of my hand against my eye and will away the images.

Damned hilt.

No, I’m not perfect when I’m with Anna. I still experience thoughts about every filthy, sexy thing imaginable. That’s everyday life for me. But she makes me wonder what it would be like to make love. She makes me want to take my time with every millimeter of her body in the most maddening way until she’s begging for more.

I let out a quiet sigh.

She makes me want more from life. Things I’m not bloody allowed to want. Things I can never give her. I conceded tonight to be her boyfriend. Okay, to be honest, it was my idea because it’s the one thing I can give her—my heart and my loyalty. I asked if we could be together, and the way she lit up about attaching that label to our relationship made me both joyful and sad, because she deserves more.

I took her to band practice with me tonight, which was awesome, aside from that awkward moment when Anna Malone got jealous and stormed out. Otherwise, it felt amazing to be out with Anna, sharing my life with her. But she deserves a boyfriend who can openly claim her on a daily basis, not just when the demons are away. And that is why fury will always live inside me. Anna might be too good, too measured, to be angry about our circumstances, but I’m not.

I crack open an eye and glare at the hilt for good measure. Then I hold my girl closer, glad we took this chance to be together. I won’t think about tomorrow yet.

When I finally let myself relax again, sleep almost immediately pulls me under.

There is pure terror in Anna’s eyes when her father rings at the arse-crack of dawn. I don’t know if she’s more afraid that Belial’s sending me on a mission with Kope or that he’s sending me on a mission at all. One of our Neph allies, the daughter of Duke Sonellion, has been thrown in prison for lewd conduct. It’s not looking good for Zania. In the conservative Middle Eastern town where she’s being held, she’s likely to be publicly beaten and executed, or sold into slavery. Her father refuses to save her since she’s given in to her alcohol addiction and seems to be of no further use to his cause.

I want to wipe the fear from Anna’s eyes, but I can’t make promises. I can’t promise I won’t punch Kope when I see him. Nor can I promise we’ll be safe in Syria. I won’t lie to Anna, and she’s no fool. Getting Zania out of prison won’t be easy.

I want to tell her how much it means to me that Belial has asked me to go, that he trusts me with this, but I’m not sure I can put it into words without sounding like a complete idiot.

Perhaps I should be afraid, but I’m not. I face the possibility of death every day. Life has been a perilous walk under Father’s keen eye, his whisperers always watching. But this journey—this mission—it’s dangerous in a way that’s worthy of death. It’s the first time I’ve ever been called to help others, rather than hurt them. A chance to die in a way that would bring honor is worth it. Her father’s belief in me has filled me with so much pride it’s embarrassing.

When Kope shows, the sight of him makes me so hot with anger I want to pummel him to a bloody pulp. And if I did, he’d probably just stand there and not fight back, infuriating do-gooder that he is. He brings out feelings of inadequacy in me that I don’t want to acknowledge. He was chosen to be at Anna’s side as she traveled the world. He was the one facing danger in order to find allies for when it’s time to fulfill the prophecy. He was her protector and teammate. Not me. And I hate him for it.

I hate him for all the years he’s denied the urge to dive into the bed of every woman who makes eyes at him. I hate him for not beating the shite out of every man who stirs his wrath. Why can’t he fuck up, just once?

As Kopano stands before me in the living room, all suave and put together, Anna’s the only thing keeping him in one piece. Her, and the reminder that her father wants Kopano to lead this mission into Syria. Frankly, I don’t want to get on Belial’s bad side.

A makeup artist shows, hired by Belial, to turn Kope and me into passable Syrians. She’s even brought traditional Middle Eastern clothing. I shake off my anger and let the lady have a go at me.

Turns out I’m still sexy with a big-arse beard and brown eyes instead of blue.

Flying is relaxing—whisperers stay low to earth and don’t bother with the friendly skies. I know I should be nervous about what’s to come in Syria. Or annoyed by the looks other passengers keep giving me, thanks to my Middle Eastern clothing. I wonder if Kope is getting the same treatment where he sits in the back. I want to yell at all of them, “I’m not a bloody terrorist, so piss off with the crazy stares.” Wankers. Instead I shake it off, close my eyes, and rest.

Anna’s parting words at the airport fill my head: It was always you for me. Only you. And with that lovely thought floating through my mind, I sleep better than I have in ages.

As it turns out, Kope is a good man to have at your side in the Middle East. His Arabic is flawless. I know only a few phrases, so I keep my mouth shut and let Kope do the talking. We travel through Damascus to pick up our weapons from Belial’s human contact, and then stop near a busy mosque to search the area.

My eyes scan the scene, searching for the other Neph we’re to meet here. A bloke in a maroon head wrapping stands out with his boxy body type and the roundness of his face, though his skin’s been given a bronze dusting and he’s wearing a brown beard like me. The son of Duke Mammon, from Australia. I know him as the doorman for the summits.

“There,” I say to Kopano under my breath. “Near the corner.” The man looks over when I speak. I stretch my hearing and open it around him. “Is that you, Flynn?” I ask.

The man gives a single nod. “’At’s me, mate.” He rubs a hand over his mouth to hide the fact he’s talking, and in an Aussie accent. “I’ll follow you out and keep my distance. I’ve scouted the area already, and there’s a hill nearby where I can watch from afar. Maybe thirty minutes outside the city. I’ll give a yell if anything looks suspicious. There’s three guards outside the compound, and it sounds like at least two inside. I don’t think they’re treating their prisoner nicely, if you know what I mean.”

Ah, shite.

Kopano goes rigid. “We must go,” he says. “Now.”

The two of us head for the car while Flynn climbs aboard a small scooter/moped contraption.

We navigate away from the busy area and head toward a smaller town on the outskirts of the city. It feels like it takes longer than thirty minutes on the dry, bumpy road. The city lights and sounds and scents of spices are long gone. The landscape is more barren, though beautiful in its own way. Far ahead of us, Flynn takes a dirt path that leads toward low hills. It’s now dusk, and I feel the stares of suspicious eyes peeking out of squat shanties.

I keep a strand of my hearing in a flimsy line behind me, concentrated around Flynn, who’s found a spot on higher ground, covered with trees, for his lookout. I can see the rise of his hill clearly as we take a potholed side street to a small, darkened building. A wire fence surrounds the compound, guarded by three men with semiautomatic guns slung across their chests. They all stand a bit taller at the sight of our car. We pull aside and park.

We’d decided before arriving that I would listen for warnings from Flynn while Kope focused on the mission Belial planned for us.

I don’t scare easily, especially where humans are concerned, but these men with their weapons and dark gray auras appear stark raving mad. Not the sort of combination that puts a bloke at ease. I treat them like the Dukes, not making eye contact but keeping my shoulders squared as we step out, so as not to show weakness. I’m ever aware of the daggers at my ankle and waist and will not hesitate to use them.

Kopano stands tall, briefcase in hand, and walks forward without an ounce of trepidation. He could be a prince of Africa with the air of importance he’s giving off. I’m surprised when he barks out a phrase in Arabic as he approaches them on quick feet, sounding bored and angry. Gone is his gentle spirit. I think I recognize the word girl.

The guards exchange glances and frowns. We stop in front of them. Before any of the gits can respond, Kope is barking again as if they’re wasting his time. The three of them jump a bit, clearly frazzled by this seemingly powerful man pretending to hail from Egypt. Kope lifts the briefcase, snaps it open to reveal piles of foreign bills, then slams it shut and says something else in that badass deep tone.

And I can’t help myself. I’m impressed. Maybe he took acting classes at Harvard. Whatever it is, he’s bloody brilliant.

Finally one of the guards speaks. Kope responds, sounding annoyed, but then stands back and lifts his arms. He never lets go of the briefcase. They pat him down, taking a handgun from his waist. I reluctantly lift my arms as one approaches me, and I allow him to confiscate my knives. I feel naked as the weapons are stripped from my body—and not the good kind of naked. I take note when he puts the daggers in his left pocket.

We’re in. Excellent.

They lock the gate behind us and rush into the building with guns in hand, strapped over their shoulders. Didn’t anyone ever tell these minions not to run about with their fingers on the triggers? Unnerving. I’m ready to get Zania and get the hell out of here.

One of the guards shouts something to a man who stands as we round a dark corner. The new man looks us over, his eyes a little wild, then gives a hard nod toward a doorway. Kope marches past him and I follow.

Bloody hell . . .

My stomach sours, just as it does when one of Marissa’s new girls is being trained into obedience. But Marissa doesn’t allow the men to beat her girls to this extent. Zania is little more than a brown pile of bones on a dirt floor. Naked. And no, her nakedness does not rouse my lust. Not a bit.

One of the guards nudges her with his boot and yells something. Kope waves him off with a harsh swipe and squats beside her. He speaks to her in a rough tone and she curls tighter. At least it’s a sign of life. Kope repeats the phrase, slower and more quietly this time, and I think I understand enough of the context to put it together.

“You belong to me now.”

Kopano takes her wrist and turns it over. He feels her thin bicep, checking her condition. Then he turns his head and gives a curt nod to the bloke standing in the doorway. The man comes forward, sets his gun down with a clatter, and pops open the briefcase, counting. His eyes are bright with greed. He shouts something at one of the other men, who runs off and comes back with a black cotton dress. The idiot starts trying to dress Zania, shoving the opening over her head and yelling at her when she won’t straighten her arms for him.

Kopano quickly waves the man away and lifts Z into a sitting position, frowning. He murmurs gruffly as he coaxes her arms through. She tries to scoot away, but he follows and ignores her groaning protests until she’s completely dressed.

All the while I’m silently chanting for everyone to hurry so we can get the fuck out of this hellhole. In the loose pocket of my cotton bottoms I feel my satellite phone vibrate. I take a quick peek and silently curse. It’s from Flynn.

Think I have a tail but they haven’t come n sight. Also getting strange looks from 2 locals.

I give Kope the we-need-to-hurry eye and he nods imperceptibly.

Before the guy in charge is finished fondling the cash, Kopano scoops Zania into his arms. She tries to struggle, but he grips her tighter and murmurs in Arabic for her to be still.

The man on the floor lifts his gaze from the money to give Kopano an evil grin of satisfaction. Kope glowers and says something about our weapons. Another man comes in with Kope’s gun and my knives. I quickly take them and follow Kope as he exits, passing the men on the way out. They’re huddled around the cash, grinning like they’ve won the lottery. One man drags himself away to escort us.

I’ve almost forgotten about Flynn until distant sounds ring out inside my bubble of extended hearing. Arabic words, spoken in a questioning tone. The scooter starting up. Footsteps running against dirt. Yells and grunts. Sounds of fighting.

Shite! My palms start to sweat. I want to get out there and help Flynn, but I can’t with this machine-gun maniac at our heels. Suddenly the fighting quiets and I hear the scooter zoom away in the opposite direction. Maybe Flynn’s escaped.

We get out of the compound and into the car, where Kope lays Zania in the backseat. As soon as we’re on the road I sign to Kopano that Flynn’s been discovered. We’re trying to decide if we should go to him as Zania begins to moan.

“Drink,” she whispers in Arabic. Her voice is scratchy.

I unscrew the cap off a bottle of water and lean back, fitting it into her hand as she lies there. She takes one look at it through her swollen, purpled eyes and throws the damn thing back at me. Water goes everywhere before I grab it.

Right. Not the type of drink she’s after.

It’s clear we can’t go traipsing through the unknown hills searching for Flynn when we’ve got Zania to deal with. Kope and I agree that Flynn likely got away and will meet us later. We hope.

I look at Z’s thin arms where she’s curled on the backseat. She’s emaciated. I pull a protein bar from my bag and open it.

“I need you to eat this.” I gently nudge her forearm.

At my touch, she balls tighter and screams in heavily accented English, “Don’t touch me!”

“Zania, I want to help you. Please. You need to eat.”

“Leave me the hell alone!”

I hold out the food again. “I won’t touch you again, I swear. But you need food—” She smacks the protein bar from my hand and it falls to the dirty car floor. I sigh and look to Kope, who’s cringing at my failed efforts. Then I remember the pictures I took with Anna just before I left, for this very purpose.

I pull out my phone and hold out the screen for her to see. “Look, Z. Do you remember Anna? Here we are together. I am her ally, just like you. Just like Kope.” She glances at it and eyes me suspiciously.

Kope picks up on this and begins talking to her in Arabic as he drives. I imagine he’s telling her she’s safe now. Reminding her who he is, and explaining who I am. I hear him say Anna’s name.

She seems almost calm, until her whole body begins to convulse.

I curse under my breath. “I think she’s having withdrawals or something.”

Kope’s eyebrows knit together and he drives faster. I’ve no clue what to do. She dry heaves over the side of the seat, but there’s nothing in her stomach to purge. I watch helplessly.

“The hotel is near,” Kope says. “Two minutes.”

We get back to the seedy hotel, and Kope tells her she must walk on her own so we don’t draw much attention, even though it’s dark and not well lit. Her slow gait is painful to watch. Thankfully the small walk from the car to the side door doesn’t earn any unwanted attention. We use our hearing to hide around a corner until our hall is clear, then we get her to the room.

The daughter of Sonellion is wrecked. She walks with a limp from her injuries, but she won’t let us close enough to see what needs fixing. I run her a hot bath, but she sits on the floor of the bathroom shaking uncontrollably, begging for a drink.

“Maybe we should give her one—” I begin, but Kope cuts me off.

“No.”

I wish Anna was here. Zania groans and begins a chattering murmur that rakes my ears. God, she’s suffering.

“Just one fucking drink,” I whisper to Kope, but he is adamant.

“In the end it will only make her want more. She has to make it through this.”

Zania snarls at him in Arabic.

I squat next to her. “Please, Z. We need to get you out of here before your father returns. You need to eat something so you can be stronger, so you can heal.”

She looks at me, really looks at me, for the first time. “One drink,” she says softly. She’s so pathetic. I want to give in because I’m weak and I keep wondering if one will really hurt. Perhaps it would calm her. But I can feel Kopano’s eyes glaring down at us. What would Anna do? I attempt to channel her positive energy before I speak again.

“I know it feels like that’s what you need, but it’s not. We want to help you.” I’m proud of myself for sounding so gentle and reasonable. I open my mouth to continue and she wallops me straight in the eye.

Bloody fucking hell, that stings.

I move away from the Neph girl, who doesn’t appear as if she can lift an arm, much less throw a decent punch. It seems where there’s a will, there’s a way, because I’m fairly certain she’s given me a black eye. Not the first time I’ve been hit by a girl, but it’s the first time I didn’t deserve it.

Still, I can’t bring myself to be mad. Until Kope chuckles.

“Shut up,” I say, standing. “You give it a go, lover boy.”

He frowns at me as I stalk past him and check out my eye in the mirror. Yep. It’s darkening.

I expect Kope to try a gentle approach, but once again he shocks me. He speaks to her with stern, dominant authority.

“It’s time to bathe, Zania. We will leave the room and you will bathe yourself. Our flight to the U.S. is in less than five hours.”

She wraps her arms around her stomach and cries, “You should have let me die!”

“You were not going to die,” he growls. “Your fate was far worse than death.”

“Just leave me here!”

“Bathe. Now. Or I will put you in the bath and clean you myself!”

She eyes him with malice. He takes a hard step forward and she scuttles back.

“Don’t touch me! I will wash myself.”

“When it’s time to leave,” he says, “you will be presentable. We cannot raise suspicion.”

He barges past me and I follow, closing the door. It’s not until he sits on the bed, gripping the edge with his eyes shut, that his strong façade cracks and he begins to tremble.

I want to tell him he’s done well, but I can’t bring myself. Instead I sit on the other side of the bed in silence. We both relax a bit when we hear Zania step into the water. Then she begins to cry a mournful sound, her teeth chattering as she shakes, and it guts me.

I hate the Dukes. I loathe them with every fiber of my being.

I allow myself to imagine Anna, fierce and lovely, stabbing each of them with the flaming sword as all of us Neph hold them down, until their souls are extinguished forever.

And then another thought smacks me and I’m struck with sudden anxiety.

Where is Flynn?

I whip out my phone and ring him, but there’s no answer. Next I text Anna’s father with the code he told us to use. Belial texts right back.

Get her?

Yes, I respond, but F is missing.

My heart pounds, waiting for his response.

Leave with or without him.

Damn, that’s hard-core, but I suppose I get it. Better to have one missing than two. At this point, with so few allies, we’re playing a numbers game.

Kope looks over, so I show him the texts and he nods. He’s tense, and I understand. We won’t relax until we’re on a plane, far away from here.

I wonder if it’s too early to call Anna. I try to imagine what sort of shenanigans Blake got her into last night. You’ve never partied until you’ve partied with the son of Envy.

I dial her number and lie back, grinning at the sound of her husky, hungover, half-asleep voice when she answers.

“Hello?”

I sigh and focus on her voice. I can’t wait to get home to her.

The rest of the trip is a blur. After Zania bathes and dresses she refuses to speak to us again. Kope miraculously manages to get her to eat three bites of warm flatbread from his fingers.

I don’t need to be a child of Duke Astaroth to see there’s a bond between those two. I let him take care of Z for the remainder of the trip, only getting involved when absolutely necessary. He knows how to deal with her in the way that she needs, and I don’t care for another black eye.

Flynn shows up at the Damascus airport, completely ragged, just before our flight. He’s got a rip in his shirt, and the corner of his beard has started to peel off. I point him straight to the loo to fix himself, glad he’s okay.

When we land in Amsterdam later that day we all change out of our Arab getups into Western wear. Scanning for whisperers and seeing none, we clap Flynn on the back and he goes his separate way, off to do some traveling around Europe before returning to Australia.

Zania looks frail in her loose jeans, as if she can’t manage to stand straight, but it’s clear what a beautiful woman she’ll be when she’s well. Her arms are crossed and she taps her foot furiously as she stares into the tax-free store, her gaze locked on the bottles of liquor. Kopano steps between her and the glass, and she narrows her eyes, which are no longer swollen. They’re now big and dark brown and full of fire. Kopano seems to be drawn to those eyes, though he’s clearly not at ease with her dire need for alcohol.

They stare hard at each other, connected, as if they might break into a round of intense sex right against the duty-free shop. That’d be a show. I bite my tongue against the urge to laugh and tell them to get a room. Saint Kopano would die of humiliation if I said that.

I’m glad when our flight is called. One step closer to seeing Anna again.

During our flight, an attendant sees Zania hunched over, hugging herself, shaking and groaning. Kope tries to play it off as motion sickness, but the flight attendant still seems worried. It certainly looks like an emergency to anyone with eyes.

Kope even tries to rub her back to put on a good show, but Zania yanks away with a yelp. Yeah, these two are going to get this plane grounded if they’re not careful. It’s time for me to work my charm.

I smile up at the frowning attendant and beckon her nearer. She’s probably late twenties. European. She swipes her eyes over me, and a great deal of her worried aura lightens, suddenly forgotten. She leans down and I sit up taller to get closer as I whisper.

“Between us,” I say, “I think my mate’s lady is up the duff, if you know what I mean.”

Her eyes widen and she pats her stomach with question.

I nod. Grin. “They haven’t announced it yet, but I’m fairly certain. She’s not been herself for a bit, but it’s nothing to worry about, luv. She’ll be fine.”

I wink for good measure. Then wet my lips. Her aura pops red, and my body reacts without permission.

No, I remind myself, feeling guilty.

“Well, all right then,” the flight attendant says, brushing a hand down my shoulder and arm. My body tightens and I’m holding my breath. “If you need anything, let me know.” She dips closer. “Anything at all.”

Go away, go away, go away, and for the love of all things holy don’t touch me again.

I give her a nod and she finally turns to go up the aisle. A quick glance to the side finds Kope and Zania both glaring at me. I suppose they didn’t care for the pregnancy bit, but oh well. They should be grateful. I exhale and close my eyes.

At some point Zania nods off, still bent over, and her head ends up on Kope’s thigh. Hahahaha, the bloke is frozen as stone, trying not to be affected. I take advantage of the moment of peace and move to the empty row behind us. I lean my head against the window and soon fall asleep.

I’m woken sometime later from a vivid dream where I’m obliterating Anna’s innocence. It’s quite a nice dream, but I’d rather not be having it in public. The sounds of Zania’s crying and Kope’s gentle admonishments usher me back to reality with an unwelcome jolt. The kind flight attendant has covered me in a blanket while I slept. I take the blue bundle and cram it over my misbehaving lap, thinking of things that are not soft and warm. Things that do not moan and arch and bend.

It doesn’t help.

I press my fingers over my forehead as hard as I can. My knee bounces faster. I inhale a filling breath and pull out my mobile, opening the picture of me with Anna. I stare at it until the pilot tells the flight attendants to prepare for landing. Then, with a heavy heart, I delete the picture.

I can’t wait to land. I want to see Anna embrace Zania—for her to fill that broken girl with the same positive energy she fills me with—energy that makes one believe they can fight both the demons inside themselves and the ones outside as well. Energy that makes one believe they can win.