3. - – Sienna
CHAPTER THREE
-
SIENNA
“That’s how it started.” It feels like I've handed over a piece of myself I can't get back, like I’m saying something too simple for what it actually was.
The room comes back into focus slowly. The quiet hum of the air vent.
The faint ticking of the clock on the wall.
The weight of her gaze still fixed on me.
I shift in my seat, pressing my tongue against the inside of my cheek.
As if he is not engraved into my very being; into the grain of my bones- the DNA me and my twin shared, intertwined with the man we both loved.
A friend and the greatest love I would be forced to lose.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
My chest still feels tight, like I never really left that room.
Like if I close my eyes hard enough, I’ll still see him standing there…
same place, same expression, like he never moved- never fucking died.
I clear my throat, blinking a little faster now attempting to hold back the tears.
“It wasn’t anything big,” I add, but my voice comes out quieter.
“No grand moment or… whatever people expect.” A humorless breath slips out.
“We just started talking.” I shrug, like that explains everything.
It doesn’t- we both know that. She watches me carefully, not writing anything down this time. Not interrupting. Just… waiting.
I hate that. I shift again uncomfortable in my own skin- in this conversation; in fucking being alive while they are dead. My knee is bouncing slightly before I press down on it to stop. “It wasn’t supposed to turn into anything,” I say after a moment.
“I think that’s the part people don’t get.” My jaw tightens slightly. “It was just… easy.” The word sits there between us. Too simple. Too loaded. I drag my tongue across my teeth again, looking anywhere but at her once more.
“He understood things without me having to explain them,” I add.
“And I didn’t have to pretend I was okay around him.
He lost my brother too.” That part feels more honest than I want it to.
My fingers curl slightly against my palm before my nails begin digging into my skin.
“Most people spent months treating me like I was made of glass,” I admit quietly.
“Like if they looked at me too hard, I'd shatter.” A humorless laugh escapes me. “And maybe they were right.”
I trace invisible patterns against my jeans.
“But Kieran never looked at me like that.” The memory settles heavily in my chest. “He didn't expect me to be okay.
He didn't expect me to be strong. He didn't try to fix me.” My throat tightens.
“He just sat in it with me.” The silence stretches between us.
“Some days we'd talk about Jax for hours.
Other days we'd pretend cancer didn't exist and argue over stupid things or send each other ridiculous TikToks in the middle of the night.” A small smile threatens to appear before disappearing just as quickly.
“He made life feel normal again.” The confession hurts more than I expect.
“Not perfect. Not better.” I shake my head. “Just... normal.”
For the first time since Jax died, I wasn't measuring every second by what I'd lost. I wasn't counting the empty chairs.
I wasn't reaching for my phone every five minutes before remembering my brother wouldn't answer.
I was just… living. My voice softens. “And for a while, I actually thought maybe I was going to be okay.”
The words linger between us. Dangerous. Hopeful. Stupid.
“What changed?” Her voice is soft, but it lands heavier than anything she’s said so far.
I don’t answer right away; I stare at the floor.
I already know the answer. I just don’t want to say it out loud.
A slow breath pulls into my lungs, catching halfway before I force it out.
“He got sick.” The words come out flat. Controlled.
Like if I say them without feeling, they won’t drag everything else up with them.
But that’s not true. I shake my head slightly, correcting myself. “No…” I swallow. “He was already sick.”
The room falls silent. “I just didn’t know.
” And maybe that's the cruelest part. Because if I had known…
I don't know if I would have walked away.
That's the truth. I should have. Any sane person would have.
“I watched cancer take my brother.” My voice cracks around the words.
“I watched him fight for every extra day he could get. I watched him sit through treatments that made him sick. I watched him lose weight. Lose strength. Lose pieces of himself.”
I force down the ache building in my chest. “I knew exactly what cancer looked like.” The memories come faster now.
Hospital hallways. Machines. Doctors with carefully practiced sympathy.
Hope that always seemed to come with an expiration date.
“And somehow…” I let out a breath that doesn’t feel like enough.
“I still let myself fall for him anyway.” Silence stretches between us.
Heavy. Unavoidable. “And then,” I add, my voice dropping just slightly, “he started pulling away.”