The Fated Dance: Bound to the Shadow Dancer by Leeann Whitaker Read Free Book Online Page A

off,’ he’d say to me.
    I slide my head up the door to study the damage I’ve wreaked upon my new car, then I glance down at my shredded hands. I nod and heave myself up to my feet before my watery blood pools further on the shattered glass. I scoop up some hand-towel from Henry’s workbench, and wrap it around my wounds. I can fix the car, but my hands won’t be so easy to hide. Should I care what others think? No. The whole point of needing her and refusing treatment again, is because I don’t want pity, more pain, fuss, or false hope. I just want to live and die the way I choose. I guess for someone as screwed up as myself, that’s impossible.  
     
     

No Choice
     
    Well, that car has to be one of the lushest things I’ve ever sat in. Sure beats Dad’s old clapped-out Volvo. The journey however, well, how do you describe silence. He was very courteous when we did pull over. Didn’t attempt to touch me, or talk me around. Simply smiled and said goodbye. So I did the polite thing, and offered him a brief wave as I watched the car disappear from sight. It was the last time I’d see Grayson Crane. I’m not disappointed for me, more for him. However, now I need to put that whole weird encounter behind me, and get back to the real world.
    I turn my key in the lock and I push, but for some reason it’s been dead-bolted from the inside. I swear, if she’s up to no good in there, I’ll kill her .
    I pound my fist on the door yelling. She knows the rules. No one is allowed through this door without my say so.
    “Flick, open the damn door,” I yell through the letterbox.
    A light comes through the net hung over the glass panel. Flick unlocks the door and pops her head out as though she’s just got out of bed. She can’t pull the wool over my eyes. Does she actually think I was born yesterday? Not once has she ever put the dead-bolt on the door. She doesn’t even care about security. It’s my job to check the house every night. Boring routine tasks like that don’t interest her.
    I push by her and go in search of any little perverts hiding out. Out of breath, I thunder into the kitchen, and immediately spot that the backdoor is unlocked. Whoever she’s had in here has long gone now.
    I scowl at her and sniff, picking up a strong worrying odor. I’ve smelt it before, and I know what it is straightaway. And she’s been doing it in our house. She’s invited god knows who in here, and has been smoking pot. I grit my teeth and glare.
    “Who’s been here Flick,” I yell. “That little shit, Jimmy?”
    She rolls her dopey eyes at me and turns to walk away. I race after her and grab her arm. She clumsily spins to me, all mellow with dilated pupils.
    “Don’t you dare walk away from me!” I squeeze her wrist. “You’re going to explain just what the hell you think you’re doing. Firstly, inviting that scum-ball in here, and secondly smoking that crap,” I shout. “Are you out of your damn mind?”
    She pushes my arm away. “Jen… screw you.” She staggers to the bannister rail.
    Again I race over and take her arm. “You ungrateful bitch,” I yell. “I work my ass off for you.”
    She sniggers, “That’s true.”
    “What are you trying to do to me?” I fight to keep the tears inside and remain firm. “What would Dad say?”
    She offers me a sarcastic grin, “Dad’s not here is he?” She yanks her arm back and climbs the stairs.
    I really don’t know how much more of this I can take .
    I make my way into the kitchen and notice the cupboard door where I keep my money is ajar. I shut my eyes and open, praying it’s still in there. Rising up on my toes, I reach high to retrieve my tin. The lid is loose, and right now my heart is pounding with unease. I quickly pull off the lid and look inside, to find it completely empty, apart from a one dollar bill.
    I slam down the tin, arch over the worktop, and gasp for air as my tears begin to fall liberally. That money was the only thing that was