Page 35 of All the Things We Buried

I knew what was expected of me. I dropped to my knees on the white pillow. He lit a candle beside me.

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” I whispered. “Please bring sleep back to my eyes.”

But obedience wasn’t enough here. Not in this house. Not under his God.

So I held out my hands. I closed my eyes and lifted them, palms up.

And he pressed the glowing tip of his cigar against the skin of my right hand.

“You will be forgiven in pain,” he said.

I screamed. Tears came fast, rolling down my cheeks. Dorian wasn’t there to stop it. Not this time. And when I opened my eyes through the haze of pain, I saw the statue watching me.

Blood leaked from the corners of her eyes.

In this house, tears weren’t made of water. They were made of blood.

And pain wasn’t just pain. It left scars that scarred the soul.

ELEVEN

LENORE

17 YEARS OLD

He had started seeing Sophie. I heard them at night.

She’s eighteen now. And I’m still the one he will never look at twice.

And it hurts. It hurts to see them together. Hurts that, out of all people, he chose her. And out of all the people I could have chosen, out of every person I ever wanted, there was only one. It had to behim.

And he chose tohurt me.

The worst part is I know he’s doing it on purpose. He thinks if I see him with someone else, maybe I’ll let go. Maybe I’ll stop feeling whatever this is. This crush. This sickness.

But it’s too late.

Because once someone gets under your skin, once they slip inside your chest and curl around your heart, it’s already done. There’s no pulling them out. No undoing it. He lives in me now. Like something hungry. A parasite feeding on every emotion I have left. I exist just to keep him alive. And he doesn’t care that it’s killing me. He doesn’t care that every second I breathe for him hurts more than the last.

Around midnight, I heard her giggle. That soft, syrupy sound that crawled under my skin. I heard her whispering to him, telling him how much she liked him. Telling him things she pretended to hate in front of me. She always acted like he annoyed her, like she couldn’t stand him, but it was all an act. A show just for me. So I wouldn’t know.

But I did.

And that’s the worst kind of pain, having to pretend you’re blind just to see how fake people really are.

But I wasn’t blind. I saw everything. I heard everything.

And I still chose to stay invisible.

Unnoticed. Silent. Alone.

I sat at the end of the staircase, clutching the doll with blonde hair. I found it when we first moved in. Something about it always calmed me down. It reminded me of a girl I used to dream about. A quiet girl with glassy blue eyes.

I looked at the doll. Her eyes were blue.

I blinked. They moved.

I froze. My breath hitched.