Page 25 of Hale

I clench my jaw. “You still have to eat.”

She shrugs and it pisses me off.

“Rylie, you still have to eat.”

Her nostrils flare and she gives me a small shove. “Lower your voice. Aunt Becky will be in here forcing food down my throat and God knows what other kind of medicine.”

“Come here,” I grumble, opening my arms.

She steps into my hug and her body relaxes. In her towel, it’s easier to notice how bony she is. It fucking worries me to death.

“I’m going to dry my hair and then go to bed,” she murmurs.

Disappointment floods through me. Where’s the girl from last night? The one who chatted about bands and music?

I pull away and grip her cold biceps. “If you need me, you know where I’ll be.”

She doesn’t answer but pulls away. I let out a heavy sigh and leave her be. After a quick shower downstairs in the basement, I pull on some basketball shorts and flick off the lights. I lie down on the couch and stare up at the ceiling in the darkness. The basement has no windows, which is nice when you want to sleep in but right now, I feel trapped. Closed in. Hopeless.

“I can’t sleep,” a soft voice whispers.

“Me neither.”

I don’t have to tell her to come because she’s already crawling on top of me, seeking my comfort. I drag the blanket over us and stroke her still warm now dry hair. I’m hyperaware that I’m only wearing a pair of shorts. Whatever she’s wearing feels thin. A pair of sleep shorts and a tank top maybe. Through her clothes, her bony ribs dig into me as she situates herself. My heart aches.

“Is this normal?” she asks, her voice barely audible.

“What?”

Her palm slides up my bare chest and her fingers flit along my jaw. Then, her thumb rubs across my bottom lip.

“I don’t know,” I lie. It’s far from normal. I’m pretty sure if Amy or Aunt Becky saw the way we’ve been cuddling at night, they might have something to say about it.

But why?

We’re not doing anything wrong.

Right?

“Normal is overrated,” she murmurs, her hot breath tickling my chest.

I run my fingertips down her spine over her shirt and then settle my palm on her lower back. Her breathing evens out and soon she’s drooling on my chest as she sleeps. I slide my fingers up and down her back. I’m not sure if I’m soothing her or if it’s soothing me to do this. Either way, I like it. I feel calm for the first time since I’ve been back home for break.

She’s my sister.

We lost our parents.

This may not be normal to most people, but it’s normal for us.

I wake up sweating. Tangled up with another person. I’m smashing her into the cushions with my weight. I fumble in the darkness, seeking her hip to move her from the crack of the couch. Instead of finding hip, I find bare skin over her ribs. It’s shocking they’re so defined. I rub my fingers along each one, dipping into the grooves between them until my thumb brushes along something fleshy and soft. It takes a second to realize I just touched my sister’s breast. By accident and the underside, but I still touched it.

Fuck.

“I’m just not hungry,” she murmurs the moment I slide my thumb back down over her ribs.

I freeze, wondering if she’ll call me a sicko for touching her. I should apologize, but shame has my lips remaining glued shut. I turn toward her face and my nose brushes against her cheek.

“I wish you’d try and eat,” I say finally.