Page 66 of Sadistic

Tonight feels like both.

"Want some?"

"Is that even a question?" Dalla's already getting glasses down—the nice ones we bought at Target when we first moved in, pretending we were real adults. "Pour heavy. It's been a day."

We settle on our secondhand couch, the one we found on Facebook Marketplace and spent an entire weekend deep cleaning.

It's ugly as sin—some weird brown-green color that doesn't match anything—but it's comfortable and it's ours.

The left cushion sags where I always sit, the right has a mysterious stain we've covered with a throw pillow.

It's home.

"How was your rotation?" I ask, tucking my feet under me.

"Exhausting. Watched a surgery for six hours straight. My feet are basically stumps at this point." She takes a large sip of wine, closing her eyes. "The attending was a complete ass too. Kept quizzing me on shit we haven't even covered yet, then acting disappointed when I didn't know."

"Dick."

"Complete dick. How was class?"

"Contracts was mind-numbing. Professor Henderson is still obsessed with the mailbox rule. I swear he gets off on it." I pause, wine glass halfway to my lips. "Got an email about that internship at the DA's office."

"The competitive one? Rev, that's amazing!"

"Yeah, well." I stare into my wine, watching the light refract through the pale liquid. "Not sure it matters now."

The elephant in the room sits between us, days away and getting closer.

My wedding.

My arranged marriage.

My life is changing before my eyes.

"About that," Dalla says, reading my mind like she always does. "Dad called me today."

"He called me too. I didn't answer."

"I did." She grimaces. "He wanted to know if we're okay. If you're okay."

"What did you tell him?"

"That he should have thought about that before selling you off like cattle."

"Dal—"

"What? It's true." She refills her glass, movements sharp with anger. "Twenty years, Rev. They had twenty fucking years to figure out another way, and they just... didn't. And now he wants to know if we're okay?"

I watch my sister's hands shake slightly as she pours.

She's angrier than I am, maybe because she doesn't have to marry anyone.

She just has to watch me do it.

"Mom's not doing well, by the way. Dad says she's fine, but I could hear her crying in the background."

My chest tightens. "Is she taking her meds?"