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“Drive safe, my little Reya,” she says as she tightens her arms around my stomach.

A wincing sound escapes past my lips without me realizing and she drops her arms worryingly.

“Are you hurt?” Edna asks in a serious voice.

“I needed those seven minutes,” I whisper, softly. Her arms tighten around me a bit longer and then I continue, “I’m okay, I promise and kiss Milo for me.”

I rush to my car, buckle up Blue to the passenger seat and take a long breath. My phone beeps and I fish it out of my pocket before flipping up the screen and glancing at the display.

Library.

I ignore it as I make my way around the car, slipping into the seat before twisting the key and firing up the engine.

The need to avoid him consumes my thoughts.

He can’t know about the real me.

He should never know about her.

51

Mireya

Past

Play - Bloodstream by Alyssa Grace

Father always wins

The old building stinks, but it’s the only place I can hide with Ethan.

There’s nothing left here, not the benches, the windows are all broken, and half of the ceiling lets the light in.

I’m sitting on the stairs next to the door and hear his footsteps. I don’t even look up to know it’s him. Judging by the loudness of how he walks, he’s probably pissed.

“You know there’s another way to ask someone to come and see you, Rey?”

I smile and tilt my head, seeing what I asked for hanging in between his hands. “Hi to you too.”

He stops in front of me, his gaze falling down to the small bag he brought. “I have it.”

I shrug as he sighs and sits next to me. The bag is quickly in my hand and for a few seconds we don’t talk. It’s almost peaceful, looking at nothing, smoke disappearing between us.

In a second, his gaze changes. “Why do you always do that?”

Here we go…

I close my eyes, letting the thoughts drown in the substance and reply, “What?” As if I didn’t see the way he looked at the scars, the new ones, fresh and stupid.

His voice is harder when he speaks again, “The fucking scars, Reya. I can see them, I’m not stupid.”

A small chuckle leaves my mouth. “Pass me the joint and I’ll tell you.”

He hands it to me and shakes his head, “Oh do tell.”

My jaw tightens for a second, and I hate how serious he sounds. Because he doesn’t want to know, he wants to judge me for being like this.

I look down at the new scars I thought I hid better, then look at the empty entry in front of me. “Because… Because it hurts less to bleed by my hands than by any other person’s touch.”