Bab 34: Her Dad’s a Bastard

I woke to the door pressing into my side. A shadowed figure slipped inside my room and gathered me into his arms. My hands fisted and my back arched - I’d kill whoever dared touch me.

But it was only James.

“Shh,” he soothed. And his hands were strong and gentle. Comforting.

So I let him pick me up, my head resting against his chest as he carried me to my bed.

He laid me down and stretched out beside me, pulling my afghan over the both of us. I fell asleep that way - cradled in James’ arms while he stroked my hair.

I stand on the precipice between worlds; balancing on a thin strip of light between Asgard and Helheimer. Someone holds my hand, the touch warm and familiar. But my body leans toward the darkness - to the cold emptiness I know and crave. I move into the shadows, my arm stretched behind me, only the tip of my fingers touching the warm hand of Heaven.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

And I step into the cold embrace of Hell.

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