Page 9 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
It was like I never existed.
Not until I had barely just turned eighteen, and she was there to take away the only person that has ever truly mattered to me.
Shaking the dark thoughts away, I ruffle Mina’s hair. “Hey, kiddo.”
She groans. “I’m twelve, not six.”
“And you’ll still be a kiddo when you’re thirteen times that age.”
Without a second of hesitation, she says, “You’ll probably be dead when I’m seventy-eight, and you’ll definitely be dead if I ever reach one hundred and fifty-six.”
Despite the morbidity of her words, I’m grinning. I take any opportunity to test her mathematical prowess. Mina may not be good at all subjects, but she’s a math whiz when it comes to mental math. Fostering that ability of hers is the only silver lining of this forsaken place.
“Seriously, though, how are you doing?”
She rolls her eyes, her pretty green eyes vibrant beneath a thick canopy of lashes. “I’m fine. Why do you always ask me that?”
“Because I’m your sister, and I worry.” I eye her tiny body and narrow my eyes. “Have you gotten skinnier? Are you eating? Are they feeding you here? Do you have enough food? Are they giving you what you need? Do you fe—”
She holds up a hand at me and laughs, throwing her head back in a beautiful movement. “Minka! Stop! Jeez! I’m fine. I promise.”
I sigh. “I worry about you.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“I worry about you.”
“You already said that.”
“Well, I do, okay?” I take a seat on the plastic chair beside her wheelchair, and the cheap material squeaks beneath my weight. “What do you want to do right now?”
She grins and, in that uber mature way of hers, remarks, “You mean, now that you’re done wasting our time asking me if I’m fine?”
“You’re such a punk.”
“I was fine last week when you asked me, too.”
“You suck.”
“And I was fine when you asked me the week before that.”
“My love is wasted on you.”
“And the week before that.”
“I will lock the wheels on your wheelchair.”
That shuts her up.
She widens her eyes, and then we’re laughing, tears trapped in our eyes and hope bourgeoning in my soul.
In moments like this, I forget that I’m not a good person. That I’ve pissed off and pushed away everyone who’s ever talked to me.
In moments like this, I feel like I can move on from who I am, from the person I never wanted to be.
