Three

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Isla's reflection pops into the vanity mirror just as I'm done covering my back and sides of my waist with pain-relief patches. Even the long warm bath I've taken couldn't cheat the pain today.

"Ara, can I sleep with you?" she asks, her one hand holding my bathroom door half-open while wedging her pinkie chunk, a fat stuffed doll she adores so much, to her stomach using the other hand.

I lower the bottom of my loose white top down from my chest, my gaze skating subtly at the bullet scar that's still perched to its finest glory at the right side of my stomach. There was an option for plastic surgery, but I chose to keep it as it is for whatever reason.

"Of course, you can. Go ahead and wait for me in bed; I'll be done soon," I tell Isla once I'm attentive enough, even though my troubled mind remains on the soreness of my muscles and many other refractory memories.

Isla complies with a happy grin, locking the door behind her once she's out.

We sleep together a lot lately as we have no one but each other in such a house with too much space. I had to hire security for that matter, for it felt like we were not safe enough ever since Jake and Sally left, and loneliness has frosted the walls to unbearable cold that crawls every night from the shuffling palm trees.

Isla scoots over to my side before I punch the remote to undo the lights. Half moon sends a gray-blue hue through the thin drapes of the double windows, but most parts of the room remain shadowed and gloomy and almost as defunct as I'd be feeling if ever Isla wasn't in my bed right now.

I hold her tightly, and it's the only way I'd go to deep sleep unless I succumb to dread and self-pity and so much anger that ends up in tears burning my pillow. There are times I'd think of him and just smile, but for the most part, I'd despair and fall into the spleen, unsure if I'll ever get over it.

And seldom, perhaps once or twice since my return from NYC, I fell into my nympho moments and jerked off imagining him. When it comes to Adrian Castle I suffer a mess: hating him, condemning him, yet missing him every passing day, with only one hope holding me in place.

The hope of meeting him again and making him regret ever letting me go.

"Ara, you're not angry at me anymore, are you?" Isla's voice breaks my usual contemplation as she stirs in my one arm that's enclosed around her tiny form while another lies beneath her.

"Mad? I was, but not anymore." I lower my gaze to meet her eyes, although my head remains locked against the soft pillow. "But next time... if someone bothers you, Isla, just let the teacher know. Or let me know, at least, okay?"

"Even if they beat me?" she asks simply, but her words speak volumes since I know what she means. "You told me to be tough. You said if I just take it and cry they'll never stop."

I blink back the tears burning in my eyes. Yes, I did tell her that. I don't think it was wise, but it was more practical in my honest opinion as I personally learned it the hard way. If you're weak they step on you.

It's the freak Darwinism!

I always wished Isla would walk on a different path from mine. Less complicated. Less turbulent. But who am I to decide if I can't be around to protect her all the time? She needs to stand up for herself.

"I don't cry anymore," Isla continues, "but I don't want Audrey to make fun of me again. Can I move schools? I hate that school, Ara."

A small smile breaks on my face and gently I use the one hand lying beneath her to reach for her soft curls. My body shifts a bit so I'm laying straight, facing the white ceiling that looks a bit blue now.

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