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

going to pull us out of this shitty mess.
    With my heart rate skyrocketing and my breathing repressed, I swoop up the tin in a hot fluster and march to the stairs.
    I fling open her bedroom door. She’s sitting on her purple quilt with her earphones in and eyes closed. I storm across to her and rip the wire from her head. With a jolt she bounces upright. I show her the tin and angrily pull out the one dollar bill.
    “Is this going to keep a roof over our heads?” I bark. “Is this going to feed us and keep us warm?” I toss the note in her face, fighting for breath.
    “Jen… I haven’t touched that money.” Suddenly she’s competent in pleading her innocence. “Jen.” She swings her legs from the bed as I pace the width of her room.
    “And I should believe you… why?”
    “Jen… I swear I didn’t touch it,” she appeals.
    “Well, we both know who did then don’t we?” I scream at her.
    “Jen,” she chokes. “I…I.”
    “Oh Flick, do you know what,” I snap. “Save it… I’m done with the lies. And I’m done with your need to make out I’m the bad one for keeping this shit together,” I shout. “I’m done trying.” I charge out onto the landing and slam her door.
                                                    ***
    I’ve been awake all night, tossing and turning on my squeaky bed before the window. I purposely left the curtains open, knowing I wouldn’t sleep. I needed something to take my mind off this hell I’m in, and the night sky was my main focus. I’ve watched the hazy clouds floating fast across the stars, and the crescent moon move from one end of my window to the other. And now, the pink and orange hue of the morning sunrise flooding throughout my room.
    I make my way into our tiny damp bathroom, and grab the wrench which acts has a makeshift lever in the shower. A twist too far and the pipes in the entire house judder loudly. And not far enough, and the water is freezing. I’m kind of an expert at it now, and I hit the sweet spot the first time.
    After spending a lengthy amount of time under the trickling water, I emerge from the bathroom, wrapping a towel around my head. Flick comes out of her room and her eyes drop immediately.
    “Morning,” she whispers.
    I go directly into my bedroom. I cannot speak to her. She’s pushed things too far this time, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive her for this.
    I get dressed into my blue ripped jeans and cream vest. Today is my day off. Though, I might call Phil; I need as much work as possible now.
    I make my way downstairs to find the lounge has been cleaned and tidied. The beer bottles that were on the coffee table have all gone, and the scatter cushions on the green sofa have been arranged. I smirk, noticing that even the dust coated television has received polished. The place smells fresh and floral. I close my eyes and sigh. I think my darling Sister is trying to sweeten me up. But it’s not going to work.
    As I push open the door to the kitchen, I hear sizzling and inhale the smell of pancakes and bacon. Flick stands before the rusty stove in her pajamas, shaking a pan over the hob. God, I’m surprised she hasn’t blown the place up. She never cooks. I can’t recall ever seeing her near that hob.
    She lingers with her back to me as I pull a carton of fresh orange out from the fridge, then pour myself a glass.
    “I’ve made breakfast,” she says cautiously, placing a burnt pancake on a plate.
    I blow out as she holds the plate in my face. I’m not going to take it. We are way beyond peace offerings now.
    I slope right by her, staying silent. If I open my mouth all hell will break loose, and I’m really in no mood to be having a slanging match with her. So, I sit down at the table. But as soon as my butt hits the red plastic chair, the plate is plonked in front of me again. I slide it away and take another sip of my juice. She shoves her effort at breakfast