The Photograph
: Chapter Thirteen

Aelin

The shrilling sound of my new cell—the other one was covered in blood— wakes me up, and I growl. It’s barely 8:00 in the morning.Who would be that rude?

Fumbling around my bedside table, I groan as I catch the noisy culprit. “Hello?”

“Angel?”

Tears pool behind my eyes at the sound of her voice, and I sit up against my pillows.

“Oh, my Cara. How are you? I—”

“Aelin what’s wrong? I have tons of messages from the hospital. Were you in an accident? How bad is it? Angel…”

When my sister’s voice breaks, I press my cell to my ear. “I’m okay, my Cara. Please… Don’t cry. I’m fine. Dr Nareen did the surgery and I’m fine.”

Her breath catches. “Dr Nareen? Your doctor Nareen?”

Before I can answer, Cara says, “That kind of surgery. Oh, angel… What happened? Are you—”

I wince a little. “I’ll tell you everything when you come home. There’s no need to rush here.”

“I’m booked on the next plane. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

I shuffle against my pillows. “Isn’t it the promo tour when you put your name out there?”That was the plan.“I’m fine, I promise, I’ll—”

“Angel, if you were me would you stay?”

Haven’t I disrupted your life enough?

“No. no, I wouldn’t but—”

“I’ve officially graduated yesterday. Angel, I’m coming home tomorrow.”

Please, don’t let my stupidity spoil this for you.

Her voice softens. “Aelin, stop. I know exactly what you’re thinking. So, stop it. I love you and I need to be with you, so I’m coming home.”

The truth is I need her here. I need her again. “I won’t be able to pick you up, but—”

“Go rest, angel, I’ll text you my flight details. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

After a scalding shower, I move carefully through my day, cleaning and organizing Cara’s return. I have to wait a little longer before being able to carry heavy items, so I cover the boxes with colorful throws and close the door of the library-living room. I want to call Emma, but the day gets away from me until it’s 11:00 PM, and I crash in bed.

I wake up, blink the haze out of my head, and hold my breath. Someone’s in the house. I check the time, it’s 4:00 AM then I remember and grin. Cara’s flight landed an hour or so ago.She’s home. My Cara’s home.I jump off my new bed and wince at the pinch in my lower belly. I rub the discomfort away, grab my bathrobe and tiptoe to the kitchen where Cara, her back to me, seems to be lost in the fridge. My heart beating fast, I curl my fingers, itching to grab her. I edge closer and stop two steps behind her.

“My Cara, you’re home.”

She unbends slowly and my chest tightens at her trembling sigh.

I pad closer. “I’m not broken, you can look.”

She spins around and my heart twitches at the fear in her eyes. “Angel.”

Within seconds, we’re in each other’s arms crying. She pulls back while her frowning gaze sweeps over me.

“Oh, shit. Am I hurting you?”

Shaking my head, I mumble something and wrap my arms around her. Tight. When I’m completely sure she’s here with me, I lean back, kiss her wet cheeks, and touch my forehead to hers. “Sit down, you’ve been traveling for a day, let me take care of you.”

As my beautifully tanned sister settles on the other side of the counter, I grab ingredients from the fridge, and I can feel her eyes burning in my back.

“I love your hair, angel.” Cara whispers behind me.

I turn and smile at her, then frown when I can’t read her expression. “What?”

There’re shadows under her eyes as she leans on the island with her jaw resting in her palms. “You’re … different.”

I am. In so many ways.Most of them good, although I’m not sure that Cara will see it that way. I return to my sandwich making. I prepare a chicken, goat cheese, and tomato sandwich I smother in raspberry mayonnaise for me, and mustard and barbecue sauce for Cara, then I pour us some mimosas.

Cara, the ever-protective motherly-older-sibling glances at the drinks. “Should you be drinking?”

I slide a plate before her and settle on the stool next to hers. “We’re celebrating and I’m not on the hard stuff anymore. Eat, then we’ll talk.”

Her eyes narrow but her lips stretch. “You’ve become very bossy.”

When she shuts her eyes and hums around the mouthful of the sandwich, I smile and bite into mine.

While we eat, Cara’s animated face so similar to mine glows with her unique inner light and I giggle while she takes me through her travels. I love these cocooning moments between us when there’s just us, being us.

This is home.

Cara did this.

When I came to live with her, I was scared. Scared of being called a liar again, so I said very little. For several months, I would go to my therapist after school, come back home, do my homework, have dinner, and after drawing or reading, I’d be off to bed.

Cara was working a lot and often late, so I took notes on how to reheat the meals she prepared—she’s not a big fan of microwaves, only good at destroying savors, she says—when she wasn’t home and I made sure to stay safe, so she wouldn’t have to worry about me.

One afternoon, I was drawing on the rickety table Cara had bought with a matching bench better suited on a patio we didn’t have but fitted our small living room-kitchen perfectly. The bench was set against the wall facing the window through which the sun would bathe the little area in the early evenings. That day, a Wednesday, I was so focused on the coloring of the stormy sky, I didn’t hear her approach, but I straightened as soon as she was close and put my picture stuff away.

After setting a plate of yummy smelling pasta with two forks in the center of the table before sitting across from me, she asked, “Are you angry with me, Angel?”

I shook my head but didn’t dare look in her eyes.

She ignored the only chair we owned and came around to sit next to me. “Can I hug you?” she whispered. When I nodded, she wrapped her arm around me and didn’t let go until I relaxed a little.

As she curled her fingers under my chin, she smiled soft. “You know I love you even when you’re mad at me, right? I’ll always love you.”

She was sending me away. My heartbeat went wild, and I clutched her hand between mine. “Please, don’t send me back. I’ll be good, I swear I’ll always be good—”

When Cara cupped my face and drilled her blue-green eyes into mine, I held my breath while my heart beat out of my chest.

“Angel, listen to me.” I opened my eyes wide. “There’s nothing. Nothing you could do or say that would make me want to be apart from you. Nothing in this entire universe. You understand? I’ll never send you away.”

I stared at her face for a long time, and she waited and waited until I felt something turn to liquid in my chest. “You swear?”

“I swear.”

I said nothing for a long time then whispered, “Why did you leave? Did … Dad hurt you too?”

Her breath hitched and she touched her forehead on mine.

“No. He didn’t, he never… I’m so sorry, angel. I wouldn’t have left if I had known, and I’ll never forgive myself for leaving you behind with them.”

After that, we talked for hours, and we promised each other to always speak the truth about how we felt. To always tell of every pain however small because it often hides a gaping wound. She also taught me how to rejoice in our happy moments.

That day, she became my Cara.

And here she is, my Cara in our bigger kitchen as we finish our sandwiches. We tidy up the kitchen with an efficiency borne out of habit. Then Cara leans her back on the sink as I close the fridge. After a deep breath, I take her hand, kiss the back of her fingers before leading her to her bedroom.

She frowns “What’s wrong with your bedroom?”

The bed still doesn’t feel like it’s mine and it’s full of boxes.I shrug. “I’m still getting used to my new bed.” When she frowns, I squeeze her hand. “The old one was soaked with blood.”

Once inside the spacious room, we climb onto her bed where we sit crossed legged next to each other with our backs against the upholstered bed head.

I link my fingers to hers and tell her about my visit to Leslieville. When I tell her about my relationship with Gabe, she leans back.

“Angel, isn’t he a bit … old for you?”

No, but he’s a butthole.“You mean too experienced?”

My sister sighs. “Angel…”

I clear my throat. “Let me start from the beginning.”

When she nods, I huddle close and tell her as many details I can.

“Gabe’s Mitch’s brother—” Her face pales and her eyes fill up with tears that tighten my chest. “After you broke up, Mitch had an accident. It was pretty bad, and he needed several surgeries—” God, I hate seeing my sister hurt, but I continue. “Gabe found a picture of my eighteenth birthday Mitch had with him and concluded I was the one dating him and broke his heart … and he wanted to get revenge for his brother.”

I wipe her tears and cup her face. “I’m sorry—”

She leans back and I gasp at the frightening anger in her gaze. “So, you nearly died, and you’re being blackmailed into leaving because those assholes couldn’t take no for an answer?”

I tighten my hands around her scowling face.

“It’s all right, my Cara.” I whisper. “I promise, I’m okay, and with the surgery, Dr. Nareen says I will be able to have children naturally, so everything else is—”

She jumps off the bed and I kneel on the mattress as her curly hair whips around as she paces.

“Cara—”

Her eyes flash with rage as she sits beside me. “Nothing. Nothing’s fucking okay about this, Angel.”

Oh God. It’s never good when Cara drops the F bomb. But before I say anything, she kisses my head, holds me tight, and I loop my arms around her. She slants back. “I’m exhausted and you need rest, let’s go to bed and we’ll talk tomorrow.” Cara’s gaze hooks into mine. “Are you all right?”

I nod with a smile. “I promise.”

“Do you need your pillow?” she asks around a yawn.

I shake my head and we lie down, forehead to forehead.

My Cara’s home.