Page 125 of Broken & Bound

I forgot to shut the bathroom door. When I looked up from the sink, both Kinsley and Tori were standing in the doorway. Kinsley’s eyes narrowed on the shower. She whispered in Tori’s ear, and Tori nodded. I crossed my arms and stared them down.

When that didn’t work, I signed, “Go away.”

What were these two up to? I half expected them to tackle me to the floor and drag my sorry ass into the shower. Instead, Kinsley just sauntered over to the shower and turned it on.

Tori made herself busy by grabbing several wash-cloths and a couple of towels. Then she reached around and unzipped her dress. I frowned.

“What are you doing?” I repeated the sign.

“I forgot to put deodorant on this morning. Silly really, but I was in such a hurry to see you. I have a meeting with Declan’s teacher this afternoon. Can’t risk embarrassing him, you know.”

I narrowed my eyes as Kinsley snickered behind her hand. Clearly, this wasn’t planned. And that made it all the more suspicious.

Tori spoke again. “I’m just going to hop in real quick. You don’t mind, do you? We’re sisters, after all.”

Kinsley gasped dramatically. I whipped my head around just in time to see her lift her arm and sniff.

“You are not going to believe this. But I forgot my deodorant, too. Maybe I should shower, as well.”

Tori looked like whatever this impromptu moment was, it had taken a sharp left turn. It was Kinsley, though, so it tracked. Understanding dawned. I crossed my arms over my chest, stubbornly refusing to move or acknowledge that I smelled.

The idea of showering—of doing anything so painfully ordinary—felt like a betrayal.

Normal people showered. People with futures showered. I wasn’t normal any more. And I certainly had no reason to shower. My future plans for the day involved disappearing beneath the cocoon of blankets and sleep.

Steam drifted from the shower. Neither of them spoke. Kinsley simply shrugged and began to undress. I stared at the pair of them as though they’d both completely lost their minds.

Silence settled over us again. Then Tori spoke without looking at me.

“You could shower with us.”

Shaking my head, I signed ‘no’ dramatically, then added, “Why are you doing this?”

Tori’s hands moved this time. Her mouth was firmly pressed in a sad frown. “I’m standing with you.”

“No,” I signed. “You’re trying to fix me.”

“No, sweet sister. I’m standing with you.”

Tori’s hands settled once more, and she reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She looked down at her own hands for a moment before meeting my eyes again.

“Do you ever think about how messed up it was?”

I frowned.

“Winter and I spent months learning sign language because they said some of our fans might require it.”

A hollow laugh escaped her. The realization of what she was doing was a quiet one. Tori was honoring one of the trauma bonds she had with Winter. I learned to sign after the rescue.

Communicating in that manner gave me back a measure of control at a time when I needed it most. Without acknowledging what was happening aloud, she’d invited me into that sacred place.

Trauma bonds. We all had little things like that. Times when we were paired up with one other season, isolated from the others. And in every moment, they forbid us the comfort of one another.

Her fingers moved more slowly now, and she added her voice to the mix so Kinsley could join us. Tori’s voice drifted over me in that rhythmic way that was both predictable and comforting.

I didn’t want to look at her. I didn’t want to see the longing for Winter in her eyes. I forced my chin down, letting my gaze drop to the floor. The frayed, fuzzy bath mat rested near my feet.

“How twisted right? Winter and I finally had a way to talk. But fear kept us from even attempting it. I still think about that sometimes.”