Chapter Six #2
The vein in his neck ticks as he swallows. “Not sure. What does it feel like when you use your powers?”
“I don’t exactly use them.”
It just happens.
“If you don’t learn to control your emotions, it’ll consume you. Telepathy doesn’t respond to panic.”
“How?” I blanch. “You don’t control your anger. I’ve felt it.”
“Mine is different. You react to emotions, and I direct them. There’s a difference.”
“Wow. If only I’d learned about my powers before yesterday, I’d be a master like you.”
“Mastery is possible. It takes time and effort.”
“Everything happened too fast. Before I could make sense of it, the voices piled on top of each other and emotions crashed in until I couldn’t tell which were mine. There was no time to stop it.”
“You panicked,” he says bluntly. “Next time, find your footing before the noise swallows you. If you don’t, the power will keep using you instead of the other way around.”
“How do you function on that much rage?”
The question hangs there, heavier than I expected.
“Like I said, I’ve been through some shit.”
“Anger like that isn’t a tool. It’s a parasite,” I counter. “It’ll hollow you out until you’re just a cage for it to live in.”
I’ve seen what’s left after it’s taken everything.
“Anger is the only reason I’m still breathing.”
“Can you help me learn to control my abilities?” I ask.
I don’t want to experience that again.
He scratches along his jaw. “We’ll have to strengthen your mind. That kind of training will hurt. It’s not easy.”
“I’ll manage.”
“We’ll start tomorrow. You look like you’re about to collapse. Ready to go back to reality?”
He flashes a small grin, a dimple deepening in his left cheek. My breath hitches, snagging in my throat. I should look away.
He can tear through a mind like paper, but I can’t move. My gaze is glued to that faint indentation in his cheek. A traitorous heat spreads from my chest to my jawline, prickling my skin.
It’s a dangerous pull.
“I’m ready.”
If I could, I’d tether my soul to this spot and never leave. The constant, gnawing void in the pit of my gut has numbed. The specter living inside me—the lonely girl who spent her life ducking from her father’s reach—can breathe again.
A sharp, wintry gust rushes through my palm, and the artificial sky is gone. I blink, my eyes stinging as the gym lights replace the soft forest glow. I wait for the familiar panic, but it doesn’t come.
“The voices are still gone.”
“From what I’ve gathered, your power breaks free when you’re vulnerable.”
Vulnerable.
Weak.
A flush climbs my neck, and I avert my gaze.
“That’s not what I meant. I’m not calling you weak. Your control is tied to your emotions.”
“You’re reading my thoughts again. Can you teach me how to block you out?”
“I’ll show you how to turn your thoughts on and off. Once that skill is mastered, we’ll move on to telekinesis and mind manipulation.”
I furrow my brow. “Mind manipulation?”
“Telepaths can alter other people’s thoughts after they’ve mastered telepathy.”
That’s crossing a line.
“Not when you’re fighting for your life. I use it on the Aether Hunters when I have to, but they’re equally skilled. They’re trained manipulators. If you don’t learn how to control your powers, they’ll twist your mind and exploit your weaknesses.”
I know what it’s like to be a playground for someone else’s cruelty.
“I have a lot to learn.”
“You already know how to use telekinesis, even without formal training. Give yourself time.”
Easy, Kylo. Your humanity is showing.
“Thank you,” I mutter, though it feels inadequate for what he just did for me.
“Don’t thank me yet.” His posture snaps back into the rigid lines of an instructor. “I’m going to push you until you break. You’ll hate me for it.”
“I won’t hate you.”
He breathed for me when I couldn’t. I can’t bring myself to hate a man who shared the forest inside his head with me.
“You say that now.”
He turns on his heel, putting distance between us.
The second he’s gone, my thoughts swarm like a hive kicked open—buzzing, angry, relentless.
Why now?
Twenty years of nothing, and suddenly my body turns against me.
And now I’m expected to take whatever this power is—whatever tore through me—and turn it into a weapon against the same man who already took everything from me?
Mom’s face forces its way in. The way her eyes went wide as the blade cut across her throat.
The Aether Hunters carved her death into me.
I don’t want their war.
I don’t want to become another thing forged from fear and blood and loss.
I want the memories to stop dragging me back.
“Your father will be home soon.” Mom shoves two lunch boxes—one red, one blue—into our arms. “Go to La Cove. Don’t come back until I find you.”
We don’t ask why.
We know the drill.
When the front door lock clicks and Joaquin is on the other side, Leo and I become invisible.
“Mom,” Leo says, his feet rooted to the kitchen tile. “I’m not leaving you alone with him.”
“Don’t worry about me, sweetie. Draven is with him.”
Leo looks at her in disbelief. “Draven has never done a damn thing but watch.”
“Watch your language,” she scolds.
“I’m not leaving you alone,” Leo repeats.
“He’ll be here any second, Leo. Please. Go,” she persists.
This isn’t like the old days, when Leo would hide his face in my shoulder after Joaquin’s temper flared. Now he stands a head taller, his back a solid wall between me and the man who raised us.
He doesn’t look for my hand anymore; he moves in front of me, a silent, stubborn shield that refuses to let me help.
The front door slams against the wall, the crack of wood echoing through the house. Mom flinches, her face draining of color.
“Leo, take Lia and leave. Now.”
Leo’s fingers lock around my wrist, dragging me toward the back door. I dig my heels into the floor and scramble to Mom’s side. I wrap my arms around her waist.
Joaquin enters, his gaze dropping to where I’m shielding Mom’s body with my own. “What’s going on in here?”
“Nothing.” Mom’s voice is shaky. “The twins are getting ready for a picnic. Isn’t that right, Leo?”
Leo’s knuckles turn white, his hands bunched tight at his sides. “Yes. Let’s go, Lia.”
My eyes track the dark bruise peeking out from under Mom’s collar, the one she tried to powder over this morning.
“I want to hang out with Mom today.”
Joaquin takes a step closer, the smell of expensive cigars and ash trailing him. “Your mother and I need to catch up on some business.”
“Can I come with you?”
His nostrils flare. “No. Listen to your mother or so help me, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” I step between her and him. “Leave another bruise?”
“Lia,” Leo warns.
Joaquin backhands me across the face, sending me flying. My back slams into the wall with enough force to rattle the picture frames, sending one crashing to the floor as I drop to my knees.
Joaquin storms toward me.
Leo is faster. He slides in front of me. “Stay away from her!”
“Enough!” Mom cries. “Joaquin, don’t you dare lay another finger on my daughter.”
“Am I late to the party?” Draven asks from behind us.
“She was getting mouthy.” Joaquin turns away. “I think that’s enough drama for one day.”
Leo lifts my chin to examine the red mark on my cheek. “Are you bleeding anywhere?”
“Just a couple cuts on my knees from the shattered picture frame. I’m okay.”
“Here.” He lifts me up. “Let’s clean you up.”
“Lia.” Mom chokes out. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
My stomach bottoms out. “I wanted to help. I hate that he hurts you.”
“Listen next time I tell you to hide. Do you understand me?”
No, I don’t. How could I?
I pass the frames lining the forest-green walls. There we are at the lake, Joaquin’s hand resting on Mom’s shoulder, firmly enough to leave a bruise. There we are at Christmas, wearing matching sweaters and identical, forced smiles.
As Leo opens the first-aid kit and the smell of antiseptic fills the bathroom, the truth leaks through the cracks.
Behind closed doors, we live in a prison disguised as a home.
Leo hoists me onto the counter. His movements are practiced, too practiced, as he unscrews the peroxide. The hiss of the bubbles against the cut in the corner of my eye is the only sound in the room.
“Ouch, Leo. That stings.”
His eyes shimmer with tears as he dabs the peroxide over my skin. His hands don’t shake.
That’s what scares me.
He’s only seventeen, but he moves with the focus of someone who’s seen too much blood.
“I wasn’t supposed to let him touch you.”
“You can’t stop him.”
“He has no boundaries.” His voice drops, his eyes darting to the closed door. “I’m afraid he’ll take it too far one day. A man with nothing inside has no reason to stop.” He presses the cotton ball a little firmer. “Please. When Mom says hide, you disappear. Promise me.”
I catch his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. The light in his eyes has been replaced by a gray vigilance.
“I promise,” I say, reaching out to cover his hand with mine. “But only if you stop putting yourself between him and us.”
The kitchen erupts. Furniture crashes and scrapes across the floor, followed by porcelain exploding against the backsplash. Joaquin’s voice isn’t words anymore—it’s an earth-shaking roar.
Leo rummages beneath the sink and pulls out two worn music players, their screens scratched from years of being shoved behind the bleach. He slides the cushioned headphones over my ears.
The shouting and breaking fade, replaced by the familiar guitar riffs. As the first notes of my favorite song drown out the sound of glass shattering, I realize how many times we’ve lived this exact minute.