silent

62

• AMALIA •

Later that night, when I'm tucked under my sleeping fathers heavy arm, I realise that I haven't watered my plants since I've been back. Not that I would've anyway, since I haven't walked since I was in Xander's room and my dad won't let me do a single thing for myself.

I shuffle away from him—and Petal, who takes my spot, snuggling into my fathers warmth—and climb off the bed, onto shaky legs.

I check back to make sure my father's still sleeping. I don't want him to wake up, find me standing and tell me off. He won't let me out of his sight for even just a few moments then.

I tiptoe out of my bedroom, down the hallway and sit down at the top step, scooting down the stairs until I get to the very last. I stand up again, walking to the kitchen with socked feet. I push the back door open, walking out into the dark night. I'm afraid for a moment, but then the motion sensor light flickers on, illuminating the garden.

I hastily walk over to my greenhouse, leaving the door open and grabbing my spray bottle straight away. I begin to go around, frowning when I realise that I won't be able to make flower bundles for my aunts vow renewal anymore.

Suddenly, like a dam being opened, past words flood into my brain.

     You're just an attention seeking little bitch.

     I clench my eyes shut, and when I move I accidentally shove one of my plant pots off the work table. I inhale a surprised gasp as I glance down, looking at the smashed ceramic mixed with dirt and a flower.

     I realise then that a small part of me likes the destruction—and I suddenly have the urge to knock over every single plant in this greenhouse.

     I pick another small pot up and throw it. But then I look at the two broken things, and my eyes swell with tears. What have I done?

     I drop down onto my knees immediately, beginning to pick all of the broken pieces of my flower pots up. I think I get a cut on my hand, but it's okay. As long as it's all clean—

     "Amalia?"

     I turn around, eyes wide. Cole stands in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed. "What're you doing?" He asks.

     "I—I didn't mean to—"

     He walks over to me and peers his eyes. It takes me a moment to realise that he's looking down at my hand, which—when I follow his gaze—I realise is dripping with blood.

     "Oops."

     "Jesus Christ, Amalia." He says softly. "Come on, let's go get dad."

     "N-no, I have to clean it u-up." I say, continuing to scoop the ceramic up. But then he pulls my hands back, pinning them to my side as he lifts me up. "Stop!"

"Amalia, you're bleeding." He says quietly.

"I'm—I'm fine. I promise." I mumble as he he sets me down on the grass. I go to walk back to the greenhouse, but he pulls me back with ease.

"Come on, let's go inside." He says, the picture of calm. I shake my head, pulling my hand away from his when he takes it.