Bound By Shame (Mangled Masterpieces #2)

Chapter 1

One

ANDREA

Diffused late afternoon sunshine streaks across the muted rose carpet, dust spiraling like microscopic fairies twirling to unheard music as my fingers idly weave my hair into a braid.

I’ve been thinking about cutting it. Not just a trim either. I want it chopped. Maybe dyed too. Something cool and edgy— something drastic. Something different.

Because I don’t feel like myself anymore.

I’ve become a passenger in this body, wearing a costume of the Andrea I used to be. The obedient seventeen-year-old daughter. The confident cheerleader. The responsible older sister. The supportive friend.

Wide brown eyes blink at me in the window's reflection, tears collecting on dark lower lashes.

Part of me misses her.

The rest of me resents her.

Her ignorance, her bright optimism, her painfully naive existence.

Did you really think praying would work?

That God would actually listen?

Heat prickles across my skin.

All summer, I've cried on my knees at my bedside, pleading with Him to have mercy on my best friend, Remy. I’ve never felt more helpless than the night Win left.

The night he shattered. Ever since, I’ve been utterly useless, standing on the other side of an invisible barrier, unable to reach him through the mental illness consuming his brain.

I've known for months that something was off with him, but I made excuses.

Why?

Because I was too busy being her.

My hair tie snaps.

The staring contest with my reflection breaks. A white line appears on my finger. Swells. Turns red.

Dropping the unbound rope of hair, I lean fully against the window, curling my toes into the velvet cushion.

A delicate knock.

“Drea?”

Blowing out a sigh, my eyelids fall shut at my little sister’s timid voice.

Shuffling.

“Daddy is on his way home now.”

Fuck.

My forehead rocks against the glass, leaving a smear.

I’ll need to wipe it before Mama notices.

She’s probably frantically preparing dinner to serve promptly to his majesty.

And here I was thinking I wouldn’t have to put on an award-winning performance as Andrea the Perfect Daughter for at least another hour.

God, why do you hate me?

Guilt pours through my veins like scalding, liquid metal.

I’m sorry. Forgive me. I’m just so… tired.

I want to ask when this test will end. When the promise of peace will find me. When I’m able to take a full breath again.

Have I ever though?

“Drea.”

Reluctantly, I pry my eyes open. “Yeah, I heard you.” Twisting on the seat, I drop my legs and stare at Lilly.

She’s a porcelain angel— two years younger than me, delicate, with a pale complexion, honey hair and bow lips always curved in an anxious frown, bleeding innocence and purity.

She shifts from one socked foot to the other. “We need to set the table.”

“Why is he coming home early?”

Her gaze flicks to the window. “I thought you were watching.”

Watching? What the fuck is she talking about? My brow lifts. She doesn’t elaborate, but her eyes dart to the window again. Huffing, I turn to see what has her all twitchy.

And freeze.

Lilly’s presence hovers at my shoulder, her fingers steepled on the cushion as she leans forward, both of us transfixed by the scene in the driveway of the house next door. Or more specifically, the U-Haul and multiple vehicles encroaching on the narrow neighborhood street.

“Did the Sutherlands sell?” I whisper. The old snowbirds’ health issues might’ve kept them up north for a while, but there wasn't any mention of them passing at church. Surely, their son, who lives in Cape Cannon and attends Mass regularly, would’ve said if—

“They’re renting it out,” Lilly murmurs.

I’m about to drill her for more when a figure emerges from the depths of the moving truck.

T-shirt and dark hair soaked in sweat. Muscled arms flex under the weight of a large cardboard box stuffed to the brim. He pauses. Shifts the box. Glances up.

Lilly and I duck, scrambling to the floor. We exchange a loaded look.

“Daddy found out today.” She wets her lips. Hesitates. “I heard him on the phone with Mom. He sounded… annoyed that the Sutherlands didn’t mention it.”

Of course he would be. Pastor William Sinclair has to know everything going on in this town. He basically runs it. I almost say a prayer on behalf of the family moving in, but my sister goes on.

“He’s going to introduce himself.”

My eyes close, head falling back against the seat cushion.

“Shit.”