Page 63 of The Chaos She Brings

We park under a bridge and walk towards the river. It’s late now, there’s no one around, though that doesn’t shake the prickly feeling in the back of my neck.

I gasp as I’m jolted out of my thoughts to find Tess crouched in front of me, her face a mask of worry.

“Kai?” she nudges my shoulder gently, as if she’s scared I’m going to break.

And I do.

I break.

Sobs wrack my body.

Tess wraps her arms around without hesitation and I grasp onto her like a lifeline. My arms coming around her back and holding her so tightly it must hurt. But she doesn’t complain. She just holds me tighter, smooths a hand over my hair like I’m a child.

I don’t know how long she holds me, but when I finally pull back I feel a million times calmer. And it’s all because of her. Her presence. Her scent. Justher.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispers, still staying close even though I’ve pulled back. She shifts so she’s next to me, both of us with our backs to the wall.

I almost say no. That’s my default. I never talk about my childhood.

But something makes me say, “Yes.”

She doesn’t speak. She just waits for me to gather my thoughts and places a hand on my knee, squeezing it gently, like she’s trying to let me know that she’s here.

"My mum was abusive," I begin, searching for the right words. "Not always. I think she was fine for the first five years of my life. But then she started drinking, and it began with shouting. Justshouting, at first.

"Then one night, she threw a plate at my dad’s head. Then another. And another. He called the police. They did nothing.

"It got worse after that. She started taking it out on me. Hitting. Punching. She put cigarettes out on my skin.”

Tess sucks in a breath beside me. I pull my shirt over my head, revealing the burn marks, nearly hidden beneath the circuit board tattoo I got at eighteen—an ode to my love of computers and binary logic, a world that made sense. Unlike mine.

Tess traces the scars with her fingers, and I let out a shaky breath.

"My dad tried to protect me, but he wasn’t a brute. Just a lanky man taking the same beatings I was. She threatened to kill us if he ever left, so he stayed."

I hug my legs to my chest, feeling raw, exposed. I’ve never talked about this before, but somehow, the words keep coming. A weight lifting, even as it presses down on me.

"My dad killed her. I helped him get rid of the body."

Tess’s eyes go wide, but I don’t stop.

"He said we’d tell people she left. But when I woke up the next morning… he was gone.

"I hadn’t panicked until then. Before that, I’d been numb. Maybe a little sad she was dead, but mostly relieved. But being alone? That’s when I had my first panic attack. I thought I was dying.

"After that, I shut down. Nate’s the only person I ever really let in—until Carina and Enzo wormed their dumbasses into my life. I don’t know how to let people in, because when I do, they leave. I can’t handle change, because my whole childhood was spent not knowing which version of my mum I’d get each day. I hate mess because she would beat me black and blue for leaving a plate out on the side. I hate blood because I watched my kitchen covered in her blood as my dad hacked her body to pieces."

Tess rests her head on my shoulder, and we sit in silence until she finally asks, “Then why do you clean crime scenes? If you hate blood?”

I huff a laugh. "Carina asked me that once. I didn’t really answer her.

She lifts her head, eyes finding mine. "Will you tell me?"

I hold her gaze, then nod. "Because that first time, Nate needed me, and I knew what to do. He’s my best friend, and even though I struggled with the memories, I found that the cleaning actually made me feel in control of it. Now, I do it because I believe in his cause. He eradicates the worst people—the ones worse than my mother. I like that I can be a part of that. Even if I can’t get involved in the killing side."

“Does Nate know that you hate it?”

“Hate is a strong word. I hate the blood, but sometimes the cleaning makes me feel better. I like cleaning, it’s therapeutic. Do I wish he’d be less messy? Yeah. But Nate needs artistry the same way I need control.”