Volume 2: That Which Is Brought To Light.

🌿💀🌿

I’ve woken up to pain before, a regular occurrence in my life, but this is excruciating.

Every single muscle in my body is screaming in agony as if I ran three marathons. The pain in my head is worse than any I’ve ever felt. Every thought feels muddy yet sharp, foggy yet acidic. Like someone took my brain out, put it in a blender, and poured it back into my head.

I can’t bear to open my eyes, I don't think my brain can handle any more information.

There’s a horrible pain in the center of my chest as if I was hit with a battering ram. And behind that is a worse pain still; my heart aches, it beats like it’s broken.

Each involuntary pulse sends a trembling pain throughout my torso. It’s like I miss someone or something.

Or maybe I just survived a heart attack.

‘Do heart attacks make your entire body throb in pain?’

The only part of me that isn’t hurting are my lips. They’re tingling, tiny fireworks go off all over them.

I cautiously bring a hand up to touch. There’s nothing on them, nothing that I feel anyway. But the tingling sensation persists.

‘Did I kiss someone?’

The instant the thought crosses my mind, a tear rolls from my eye. The instant after that a surge of pain spikes in my head. Feels like barbed wire scraping against the inside of my skull. I can’t help but recoil at the pain.

I have to get up, I have to find out where the hell I am, and what happened to me.

My eyelids hurt to open, and I’m blinded by the…morning light? Coming through my window? I look around quickly.

“I’m home.”

This is my floor I’m lying on.

‘How did I get here?’

“Oh God, please tell me I didn’t black out again,” I beg no one. “Please, I don’t want this to keep happening.”

‘At least I’m somewhere safe.’

I look down to inspect myself. I definitely wasn’t wearing these clothes before. It’s hard to tell from all the pain I’m in, but my hands and shoulders hurt in a way that comes from shooting guns all night. The smell of gunpowder rises from my hands. Along with something else, it smells like decaying flesh and a flowery scent. Lavender, maybe?

‘What the fuck was I doing?’

There’s a cut on my pants, there’s dried blood underneath, but no open wound. I tug at my shirt to look at my chest to see a large bruise. It’s bigger than a fist, almost a perfect circle. I can’t think of anything that could cause this damage. Unless I got hit by one of those swinging log trap things.

‘That’d be something.’

“How did I get home?” I ask the air. “What’s the last thing I did?”

That horrible pain surges in my head again. I curl up at the sensation. Holding my head, I feel a bruise on my temple.

Through the pain, I can only remember doing a job for the DeadNettles. It was easy, I still have to collect my payment. I think. Did I miss it?

Before anything else, I have to get up. It’s not without some difficulty that I manage to get my arms and legs under me.

‘I’ve never been this sore before.’

I stand up, unsteady. Maybe my phone can give me some answers. I take it out and to my surprise, it’s not my phone. It looks like one of Tamara’s. The passcode I usually use doesn’t work. I try it again and fail. If this is a Bay Leaf phone, a third failure and the phone will self-destruct, destroying any info I could get from it.

That’s when I notice the date. It can’t be right. It’s not the next day, it’s the next month.

A horrible dread pools in the pit of my stomach. There’s no way this can be the real date. Maybe this phone is displaying wrong info, which happens sometimes with all these encryptions. I convince myself that’s correct.

A series of knocks come from my front door, but whoever it is might as well use a jackhammer on my forehead.

“I’ll be right there!” I answer, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. Then I notice the gun on the floor. It’s a Thistle .22, not a gun I’d usually use. Years of training have me inspect it quickly. It hasn’t been modified the way Bay Leaves typically do. It’s missing one bullet. Seems old too. I tuck it in the back of my pants and trudge over to the door.

Looking through the peephole, I spy my neighbor standing on the other side. I slightly open the door for her.

“Hi!” she says, her cheeriness immediately annoys me. “I just wanted to return these to you before I forgot again.” She offers a set of orange plastic food containers, my containers. I open the door more to accept them.

‘When did I give these to her?’

The pain in my head surges again. I drop the plastic to hold my head. In my recoiling, I stumble back a bit.

“Oh, what’s wrong? Migraines? I get those too. Hold on, I have something for those.” She goes back to her own apartment. I want to protest, but it’s taking everything I got to stand up.

My neighbor returns a moment later with a couple of pills and a bottle of water in her hands. She guides me to my couch and offers her medicine.

I probably shouldn’t accept it. Taking unknown pills from what is basically a stranger is a recipe for disaster. But she, and everyone else in this building, have had background checks done by Digit. There’s nothing to suggest that she’d poison a neighbor.

And I desperately want the pain in my head to stop.

I take the pills and the water. She helps herself to closing the shades in the room.

“Here we go, just lay down and feel better.” She gently pushes me down. She’s either noseblind or the most polite person in the world. Because I can smell me, and I don’t smell great.

‘Why am I letting her take care of me?’

She looks around for a moment, looking for something that she doesn’t find. She shrugs and picks up the containers, puts it on my counter, and leaves my apartment.

“Take care of yourself,” she says, gently closing the door.

Now that I’m lying down, I don't want to get back up. Though I can’t remember what, I probably have important shit to do. At the very least, I need to shower.

I’ll get to it later, after a quick nap. The pain in my body dulls from the medicine, but my head is still in so many forms of pain. It shouldn’t be possible that my head feels like concrete yet not there at all.

I pointlessly try to relax for a few minutes before the strange phone in my pocket starts to ring. I think I’d prefer it if a rocket launched right next to me.

I answer the damn device as fast as I can to stop the ringing.

“What?” I ask the caller, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice.

“Damn, Holly, wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” Larkspur’s voice comes through.

“Not exactly,” I answer, looking at the spot where I woke up minutes ago.

“Listen, Tamara said she has something to announce, and she wants all of us there. You still have the car?”

‘The car?’ Thinking about that makes my head hurt again.

“I’ll be honest with you, Larkspur. I feel like shit in a blender right now. I’m not driving anywhere.”

“You hungover? Hazel’s not looking after you?” They ask.

“Who?”

The pain in my head gets so much worse in an instant. It’s as if someone drove a white-hot metal spike through my skull. I see spots dance before my eyes.

Every ounce of my willpower comes together to keep me from screaming out in agony.

“Aight that quick huh? Withdrawn,” Larkspur amends. I want to ask what they meant but the pain is drawing tears from me. I wipe them away as they continue, “I’ll come pick you up then. From her tone, Tamara sounds pretty serious.”

I don’t want to get up, but I won’t find answers on the couch.

“Okay,” I reply.

“I’ll be there in 20.” With that Larkspur hangs up. I stare at the phone in my hand. It could answer some questions I have, but I have no way of getting into it.

Doesn’t matter, I’ll get my answers from Tamara. She’s set my head on straight before, she can do it again.

With Larkspur on the way I really do have to shower, I can’t go around smelling like the dead. Or whatever I’m reeking of.

My clothes stick to me as if I’ve been sweating in them all night, which is possible. After I peel them off, I stand in the shower, hoping the water will somehow take the fatigue out of my body.

It doesn’t.

As I wash, I discover another bruise on my torso. It’s consistent with other bruises I’ve gotten from bullets stopped by vests and treated jackets. It hurts like it’s still fresh. I must’ve gotten it last night. That bruise, at the very least, is explained. I still have no clue what caused this bruise on my chest.

No matter how closely I look at where the gash was on my pants, I don’t see evidence of a cut. It’s possible that whatever cut it just missed my skin but I find that unlikely.

My self-inspection doesn’t uncover any new injuries. I wash thoroughly until I don’t stink anymore and find some fresh clothes. There are more clothes in my hamper than I remember, which results in another headache for me. I ignore the clothes in my drawers I don’t recognize and get dressed quickly. Black jeans and an orange t-shirt.

I finish drying my hair when Larkspur calls.

“I’m outside,” they declare. I heave a big sigh. The soreness in my body will go away. The bruises will fade in a week or so. But this pain in my head, it feels different, like an open wound on my brain. Each thought threatens to open it further.

At least if it was a brain hemorrhage I’d be dead already. But I know the signs of one and this isn’t that. I don’t know what this is, but I don’t think it’ll go away easily.

‘I shouldn’t keep Larkspur waiting.’ I put on some boots and head to the street where Larkspur waits in a blue convertible. It’s a slick vehicle that should be driven by a trust fund idiot, or a divorced man going through a midlife crisis.

“Little conspicuous, don’t you think?”

“Wasn’t planning on being stealthy in this. Get your ass in the car.”

I hop in the passenger seat and Larkspur briefly looks around as if expecting someone else. They then shrug and start driving.

“Where’d you get the whip?” I ask. No way Tamara wants this car a part of her fleet.

“Guy who owned it had an unfortunate accident in his home,” they explain. “Real shame, broken neck.” Larkspur is the best at making a death look accidental.

“Hmmm,” I respond. Larkspur helped me steal the TV I have in my apartment, but a fancy car seems a bit too much. My head is still pounding. I rest it in the palm of my hand as I lean on the windowsill. I hope the breeze from moving will ease the pain.

When we stop at a red light Larkspur turns to look me over.

“I know you said you weren’t feeling well, but you look like elephant shit,” they remark. I simply show my middle finger.

“My head is killing me.”

“You drink too much last night?”

I rub my temple that has a bruise on it.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. Maybe I did get really drunk and get into a gunfight. Doesn’t sound like something I’d do, but it’s certainly an explanation.

“There are some painkillers in the glove compartment if that helps. Dude was probably addicted to them.”

I shouldn’t mix medicine like that. I don’t want to be throwing up later.

I shake my head in response.

Larkspur gently taps my shoulder before driving again.

“Hope you feel better then.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Thanks,” I idly say.

The drive to Bay Leaves HQ doesn’t make my headache go away. I still climb the stairs, ignoring the soreness of my legs.

As we walk in, I notice things are busier than usual. Most of the time we’re only here to pick up certain things, get modifications done, or shoot the shit while doing all three. I’m seeing Bay Leaves I haven’t seen in quite some time. It’s all of us. Whatever Tamara has to say must be serious.

Larkspur peels off to talk to someone and I work my way into the crowd. I receive and give some greetings, and friendly jabs. I notice Tamara, she’s been looking at me for some time. With a simple cock of her head, she signals she wants me to follow her to her office.

The dread in my stomach grows a little larger.

By the time I reach her office, she’s on a phone call. She’s speaking Greek with the person on the other end. Their conversation is happening fast and I only know a little Greek. I catch the words “killed” and “two” of something. I think she said bullets. Most of my knowledge of other languages revolves around violence and death.

Tamara ends the call with a phrase. If I had to guess it’s somewhere along the lines of “keep me posted.”

Tamara looks around for a second like someone else should be in the room. Then her eyes focus on me. She looks me up and down, making a quick assessment.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asks.

It’s a rhetorical question as she’s about to list what’s wrong with me.

“You look tired, exhausted actually.” She gets closer. I keep looking forward as she circles and examines me. Her hand reaches up to move my hair out of the way. She’s quite a bit shorter than me, so she has a better angle to see the bruise I was hiding. She lets my hair go back and walks to her desk again.

“Exhaustion and bruises can be explained,” she says. “‘Occupational hazards’, I think you call them. But you have that look in your eyes like you’re trying to catch up with the rest of us. So what’s wrong, Hollyhock?”

She leans on her desk, waiting for an answer.

Tamara taught me how to lie well, and how to detect lies. There’s no point in not telling her the truth.

Doesn’t mean there isn’t shame though.

“I…think I blacked out again,” I admit, hanging my head a bit.

“Don’t lower your head,” she notes. “You’re not a child being scolded by your mother.”

I shrug off the barb and raise my head.

“Where did you wake up?”

“My place,” I answer. Tamara quickly squints when she hears that.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I did a job for the DeadNettles, taking out a small drug den that popped up on Peach Ave..”

Tamara’s eyes go wide for a second. There is a rare look of concern on her face. The life she has lived makes it hard for things to surprise her. Still, she’s shocked by what I just said.

“That’s…the last thing you remember?” She confirms.

“Yeah,” I answer. I want to think on it harder but my head still hurts, and I don’t want her to see that.

Tamara, for a moment, is speechless. Her mouth is open, but no words come out. She knits her eyebrows and decides to tell me,

“Hollyhock, that was over two weeks ago.”

I feel like I’m in a free fall.

As though the world itself has been suddenly and violently pulled from under my feet.

The dread pooling in my stomach has taken over my body.

Cold sweat is running down my neck.

Each breath I take wants to turn into a gut-wrenching scream.

I didn’t even notice I’m kneeling on the floor, my legs gave out on me.

“Two weeks? I blacked out for two weeks?!” It’s stupid to ask, she just told me so. But Tamara solemnly nods.

“It seems so.”

I want to curl up and die. Two weeks. For two weeks I was on autopilot, doing God knows what. I’ve blacked out for hours, a day at most before. But two weeks?

My arms are the only thing holding me up and they feel like jelly.

“Get up,” Tamara says. With just two words I’m back on solid ground. I don’t want to get up, so she extends a hand to help. “We don’t stop until the job’s done or we’re dead. You got any life left in you?”

That phrase, I’ve always hated it. She’d always say it if I fell during training. If I didn’t get back up, she’d have me run laps around the HQ. What I hate most about it is that it works.

I take hold of her hand and get up to my feet.

“Now look, I’ll fill you in on what I know. We’ll see if that triggers anything, alright?”

“Okay,” I respond.

She lets go of my hand and walks over to her desk.

“You did that job for the DeadNettles and they double-crossed you when you came for the payment. They wanted you dead and you did what you were trained to do. Any of that ring a bell?”

I shake my head.

“No, I just remember doing the job, not getting paid for it. Or not paid for it, I guess? Why’d they try to kill me?”

“They were hiring us a lot lately but now it seems they were just trying to find you. Something’s changed with them; from them trying to kill you, to getting into the organs game.”

“What?!” I ask. Tamara frowns briefly but returns to a neutral expression.

“About a week ago, you discovered that the DeadNettles are getting into the black market organ scheme. They’ve been…what’s the word?” She searches for a way to say it “setting people up to be arrested so that the bastards in blue can then let them be taken away without anyone noticing. Grim, even for this city. And somewhat beyond their means,” Tamara notes.

“So what have I been doing?”

“I told you to lay low. An impossible ask, it seems, for you. But, you seemed mostly fine.”

“Mostly fine? What does that mean?”

“You were talking and walking around like normal. When you blackout, you shut down. But these past two weeks, you talked to people and were present when they talked to you. That’s why I- we…none of us thought anything was wrong,” Tamara elaborates. “There was an incident that was worrying. But it’s been taken care of,” she then adds.

“An incident?”

“I’m going to give it to you straight, you blacked out, killed Fye Kuss and twelve other people. I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what set you off but Koki’O brought you back here.”

“…I killed thirteen people during a blackout? And you’re just now mentioning this?”

“You’ve killed during your blackouts before, Hollyhock. No one the world is worse without,” she dismisses. “I was going to have Fye Kuss killed anyway, you were just…proactive.”

“You’re saying that as if killing thirteen people in a fugue state is perfectly normal,” I point out. “And that me blacking out and then blacking out again is something I shouldn’t worry about.”

“What do you want me to say, Hollyhock? That I think you’re crazy? That you’re insane and I’m going to have you put down? Is that what you want? The fact is, you did what you did. There’s not a damn thing you can do about it. Fye Kuss was a big information broker but he was also a creep, you killed him, end of story. It’s not important.”

“And what is more important than my mental wellbeing?”

“Dealing with the living. The fact remains that the DeadNettles tried to kill you,” she reminds me.

“Okay. So after the job they tried to kill me, but,” I gesture to myself “they didn’t finish the job. What happened after?”

“You came back here, a little worse for wear, but you made sure none of them walked away. You killed a courier for me, kidnapped and killed another DeadNettle, that’s how you found out about the organ running scheme, the business with Fye, helped Larkspur with something, and that’s all I care to know about. You were doing some unusual things in your spare time, but I can’t say I know too much about it.

I pace around a bit.

“Like what?”

“You were going to different places all over town, I don’t have the first idea why. You had some agenda you kept to yourself.

“Did I meet somebody?”

“No.”

“Then what the fuck was I doing?”

“I can’t say.”

“So you have no idea why I woke up sore, smelling like gunpowder?”

“Up until a few days ago, I’ve been trying to gently find out why the DeadNettles tried to kill you.” Tamara picks up her brass knuckles and flexes her fingers over them. “Then I decided I don’t give a shit.” She inspects the mechanism that shoots the blades hidden inside.

“I can’t magically get your memory back, but how does revenge sound?”

I don’t remember being attacked by the DeadNettles. I did think it was odd they were hiring us a lot recently, and Tamara has no reason to fabricate a reason to attack them. But is it still revenge if I can’t remember the act? Then again, if they find out I’m alive they’ll just try it again. It’s always better to act than react.

“Revenge sounds good,” I answer.

“Trust me, it feels even sweeter.”

In her life, I wonder how many times Tamara has gotten vengeance? She doesn’t seem the type to let sleeping dogs lie. And whatever life she had before must’ve made her some enemies.

“Come, it’s time for the big reveal.” She walks over to the door and holds it open.

“Reveal for what?”

“The war plan.”

We go back to the other Bay Leaves, it takes less than ten seconds to get everyone focused on Tamara.

Our leader puts her hands behind her back.

“As you all know, the DeadNettles have been bold lately. Too bold. Whatever they’re planning doesn’t matter because they decided to attack one of ours.”

All eyes land on me for a moment. The weight of so many assassins’ gazes would make most uncomfortable. Not me though.

“To attack one of us is to attack all of us. To try and kill one of us, is to try and kill one of us. And what do we do when someone tries to kill us?!” Tamara asks.

“KILL ‘EM BACK!” We all shout back.

“YOU’RE GODDAMN FUCKING RIGHT!” Tamara preaches. “The streets of Oleander City are going to run red with the DeadNettles blood! A strong message of what happens if you fuck with us!”

Koki’O stands up, her energy the polar opposite of Tamara’s. Her usual warmth is completely gone.

“We’re doing the ‘Harvest’ strategy,” she announces.

I’ve been a part of the Harvest strategy before. Like most Bay Leaves plans, it’s extremely aggressive and straightforward. It involves knocking over several small time operations at once and waiting for them to congregate after. They will gather together to discuss their next steps, unaware that’s exactly what we want. Get them all in one place, then do what we do best. A key part of it requires an insider, who’ll leave an opening for us. I have to assume that Tamara and Koki’O already have their mole.

“We have the blueprints for the DeadNettles HQ, we expect all of you to know each nook and cranny before we strike the final blow,” Koki’O says while holding up a folded manilla envelope. My head hurts a bit looking at it. “I’ll send out copies later. For now, I’ll assign you all to groups of three and give you targets.”

“No lone wolf shit, stick together and be ready to strike when we give the say-so. We clear?” Tamara asks.

“Clear,” we all say back.

“Finish up whatever you have going on or put it on hold. Dismissed,” Tamara ends the gathering. Everyone goes back to whatever it is they were doing. Though the new plan is on my behalf, I don’t feel like hanging around the HQ.

I head out and get halfway down the stairs before I realize that Larkspur drove me here. These stone steps aren’t exactly made for sitting, but I’ve spent many hours idling on them.

The sun has come out in full force, trying to bake my already fried brain. I really can’t remember anything from the past two weeks. Any hope that I was getting better has been annihilated.

“You gonna sit there and mope all day?” Larkspur asks from behind me. I turn to see them and Kadupul walking down to meet me. “C’mon let’s go.”

“I’m starving,” Kadupul declares. “What’re we gonna eat?”

I know what this is; Tamara asked them both to keep an eye on me. She wants to make sure if I blackout again there’s damage control, or someone to put me down. Can’t say I blame her. It’s what I’d do. At least she picked the right people for it, I joined the Bay Leaves at the same time as these two. We’re friendly with each other.

I’ll go along with the babysitting for now.

“How about that Mexican place on Oak Blvd?” Larkspur suggests. I stand up and head down the stairs with them both. They flank me like bodyguards.

“That the one with the banging enchiladas?” Kadupul asks. “Thought it closed down?”

“Shit, you might be right,” Larkspur says. I look Kadupul over, I haven’t seen her in a while.

She’s exquisitely beautiful, she looks like she should play femme fatales in movies; instead she’s in the shadows here with the rest of us.

A lean and sleek face, long shiny black hair, and autumn leaf brown skin. A pair of honey brown eyes are her most dangerous weapon. I’m not one known to miss a shot, but Kadupul has freakish accuracy.

She can put a bullet between someone’s eyes while they’re in the backseat of a moving car from a mile away; which would sound like an exaggeration if I hadn’t seen her do it. She takes “impossible shot” as a challenge. She doesn’t work out as much as me, not needed much for her skill set, but she’s not exactly a twig.

She takes a spliff out from her pocket and lights it, taking a long pull. There are large diagonal scars that take a gap out of her lips and some of her right nostril. She’s had the scars for as long as I’ve known her. When I asked her what she got it from she said it was from barbed wire. I’ve seen barbed wire scars before, they aren’t that straight or deep. But if that’s what she says they are, then that’s what they are.

“What’re you looking at?” She asks, exhaling a cloud of smoke and sighing with relief. A pungent and unfamiliar scent fills the air, it’s a different blend from what she usually smokes.

“Nothing,” I answer, “I haven’t seen you in a while, forgot how pretty you are.”

“We saw each other like four days ago,” she replies. The look in her eyes tells me that Larkspur is staring daggers at her over my shoulder. “Oh sorry, Tamara told us you blacked out again.” True to her nature she’s a straight shooter.

Larkspur groans in disappointment. My head hurts for a moment. The-casual-friends-hanging-out angle lasted for about a minute.

“Anyway, you’re not too bad yourself, hot stuff,” she adds with a smile.

These are empty flirtations we trade with each other. They’ve never gone past somewhat saucy compliments. It’s weird; Kadupul is attractive, but I don’t think I want to have sex with her. The very idea is kinda weird to me. Whether she senses that from me and feels similarly I can’t say.

“Guess I’m chopped liver over here,” Larkspur comments.

“Of course you look good, Lark,” I offer. Their hair has grown out from a Caesar since I last saw them, which certainly supports the whole ‘blacked out for two weeks’ thing. They have a scar on their jawline, got it from a knife. A kinda feline face looks at me with what I can only guess is concern before looking away.

Kadupul passes me the spliff,

“Wanna hit?” She blows smoke from the space of her scars. The offer is tempting, might ease the pain in my head. But I decline, Larkspur takes it from me and pulls.

“Nah, my head is fucked up as it is. ‘Sides, last time I smoked with you we ended up breaking into that donut place to eat those cinnamon donuts you love.”

Kadupul lets out a laugh that sounds like a lawnmower starting up.

“I forgot about that, those things taste better when they’re stale.”

“Disagree,” Larkspur says, blowing the smoke away from me. “What is this shit? It burns.” They pass it back to Kadupul. She laughs again.

“I don’t even know, it’s new.”

Larkspur groans as we get into the convertible. Kadupul gets in the back and lies across the seats, putting her feet up on the windowsill.

“We didn’t pick a place to eat,” I remind them both.

“What do you wanna eat?” Larkspur asks. I don’t have an appetite right now, but I should eat something.

“Chinese,” I pick at random. “Some wontons should be good.”

“Could go for some lo mein,” Kadupul says from the backseat. She offers the spliff to Larkspur.

“I’m good, and don’t get any ash on the leather.”

“Yeah yeah.”

The rest of the day goes by in a blur, or maybe I’m just not paying attention. My head still hurts even after getting something to eat. Larkspur and Kadupul come back to my place. I zone out as I watch whatever it is that they want. Larkspur puts on a sci-fi show about a bounty hunter or something. After that we watch some isekai anime at Kadupul’s insistence. Then a vampire movie but I can’t concentrate on it.

The hours seem to fly by, it’s late before I know it. Their assignment from Tamara probably involves an overnight observation. Which would explain why they haven’t left yet.

“You guys can fight over who gets the bed,” I say. “But lemme get a pillow for the couch.”

“What’s wrong? Too scared to sleep with your fellow Bay Leaves?” Kapudul proposes.

“Phrasing,” I counter.

“We’re not letting you sleep on the couch in your place, Hollyhock,” Larkspur states as a matter of fact.

“We can share the bed, just like when we were younger,” Kadupul recalls. After a job years ago, the three of us laid low in a motel and at her suggestion shared the only bed.

It reminds me of what an anomaly she is in the Bay Leaves. Most of us are orphans with no family to speak of. But not only are her parents alive, she knows and has a relationship with them. They live somewhere in India, and they’re career criminals too. I’ve been led to believe that she has siblings too.

Her casually suggesting we all sleep in the same bed, definitely really reinforces the siblings theory.

Larkspur doesn’t have any objections. Then again they might still be stoned from earlier. I’d rather sleep in my bed as well.

I relent.

Larkspur takes the spot next to the wall, they always sleep putting their hands behind their head. Kapudul lies next to the edge, she crosses her arms across her chest and puts a leg on top of the other. How she can sleep like that is beyond that. Leaving me in the middle. I can’t curl up like I usually do. But the warmth of their bodies is…a welcome comfort in my bed.

My pillow smells strange. There’s the smell of my shampoo and something else; it’s flowery and there’s an even stranger scent. Like rain after a heatwave. Tears come to my eyes for some reason.

I wipe them away and will myself to sleep.

I usually don’t dream, but I’m definitely in one right now.

There’s a silhouette of a person; a woman, I think, with really long hair. She’s setting a fire around us but it’s not hot.

Her blank face stares at me.

I don’t say anything to her, she doesn’t say anything to me.

Ch 21. End