He repositioned the lid on the box, and placed his palm over it, lip quivering.
“Sebastian…”
He shook his head and moved to readjust the floorboard when I saw the shadow of something else.
“Baby, I think you missed something.”
His brows furrowed, but he reached inside anyway. After a second or two, he sat up straight and lifted his palm.
Two plastic canisters lay against his skin. “Is that… film?”
Sebastian bit his lip, nodding as he stared down at the objects in his hand.
“Those aren’t yours?”
He glanced once at the balcony doors, eyes wet.
“Foster?” I guessed. “That’s film from Foster’s camera?”
Sebastian nodded. His head cocked once, and the wrinkles in his forehead deepened before his mouth formed an O. His eyes flew open, and he made a noise in his throat as he stared up at me.
Hell.
He’d found what his father was looking for…
CHAPTERTEN
SEBASTIAN
It was hard to forget your past when it was written all over your body…
In bruises…
In scars…
In tear-stained cheeks…
My childhood was a map of wounds, laid out across my skin. Some years were faded markers—others were more prominent. I felt a little like I was stained with the ink of my father’s soul. The words on his tongue were tattoos on my heart. His deadly disposition was trapped beneath my skin, and I worried I’d never be free of it.
For most of my life, I’d thought freedom meant I needed to disappear. Turns out, all I really needed was to be found.
I wrapped my palms around Roman’s bathroom sink, chin low but eyes lifted. My hair was overgrown, sweeping my eyelids. There were ugly, gaunt-like splotches beneath my eyes that made me look a little more monster than human. My lips were devoid of color, and I felt them cracking as I opened and closed my mouth.
My chest did something funny beneath the shirt I wore, and my knuckles tightened on the rounded edges of his sink. Nostrils burning, I felt a familiar surge of emotion crash against my lungs, and I inhaled a sharp breath as tears crested the bottoms of my eyes.
The image the mirror projected was one I often avoided. Day after day, it was weakness that stared back at me, and it made me feel sorry for myself.
It made me angry.
Today—now—I only saw strength, and instead of walking away from my reflection, I wanted to step inside of it and give the broken boy I saw a hug.
I sniffed once, using the heel of my palm to dab at any wayward tears slipping down my cheeks. When I straightened, I felt my shoulders tighten and though I wasn’t actually a bird; I wore wings, anyway.
Finally, I had a safe place to spread them.
My lungs expanded with my inhale, nostrils flexing as I released the breath. Stepping away from the sink, I brushed my hair out of my eyes and reached for the door handle. It was quiet when it unlatched, and I slipped out into the hallway. My toes curled against the soft fibers of the carpet, and I took a moment to take in my surroundings.
Daddy lived in a quiet house, built from stone and filled with plants. It was surrounded by trees and plains of plush grass, concealed from others but protected by life. His driveway was gravel, and the crunch I heard as his tires rolled down it was my new favorite sound.