Bad Decisions

I'm a Winged Insect, You're a Funeral Pyre

Sebastian just needed to breathe.

It had all been him. It put him in a weird place. Somewhere between the realization that she hadn't woke up on that dreary April morning and decided she cared nothing for him, and the reality that he would have been just as stupid. It didn't help that when he opened his eyes, he was back in that damn cellar.

Had Anne known the whole time?

That was his third thought about the time he shoved the door to the cellar back open. It hadn't even been an option to him, and yet Anne had never missed an opportunity to ask how Ella seemed. To question if he'd spoken to her.

"Seb, just wait," Ella called after him. "Just let me explain."

He didn't stop. He already understood, there was no need for her to explain.

Sebastian was not the best at regulating his emotions. That was the second time he'd had a major realization in that cellar, and for the moment it left everything spinning out of his grasp.

It had been his fault.

It had been her fault.

"I didn't mean—"

His fault that Ella had broken. His fault that she crumpled into herself; his fault that her pride had been stripped away. If it were possible, he'd strangle his past self. Sebastian had never been one to go quietly, though, and it didn't take a Seer to know he'd lashed out at anyone he could.

When he stormed through the front door, he didn't hold it open.

"Sebastian, please—"

Her fault that the vow terms were horrifically vague. She could have died for no reason, and left him with no one to blame but himself. She'd gambled with her own life. He wasn't sure if he was more angry that she'd gone through with it, or that he hadn't seen clearer in moment. If he could make it to his room, he would be fine. A drink would have been fantastic and the backslide didn't exactly makes matters better.

He held onto the anger. It was a mist to conceal the pillar at the center of the problem: that it scared him. That it gave him hope and hope was dangerous.

He caught Anne's eye when he glanced at the kitchen table. He knew his sister better than anyone, and that smug tug at the corner of her mouth was years in the making. They would argue later, it seemed, since Ella was still stomping after him. He didn't miss how Anne's gaze flickered to the blonde pointedly.

Fine.

"Will you stop being such a stubborn damn troll and speak to me?" Ella shouted.

Irate. Of course, she was. She'd dangled herself off a cliff to ensure his safety—for what? For him to press his shoes into her fingers until she fell from the ledge? All he'd done for two years was add insult to injury, even if she didn't want to admit she knew what he'd done.

Thinking about it only pissed him off further.

He spun on his heel and leaned down to her eye level. She had her brows knitted together and her chin raised like she always did in an argument, but the glare hadn't touched her eyes yet. "What do you have to say, Malfoy?"

He didn't deserve to say her name. He'd broken her.

Her chin fell a fraction, but he didn't miss it. "I didn't mean it; I wasn't actually going to let Anne—"

"I know that. You're a horrible fucking liar."

"I was trying to keep you safe."

"I didn't ask for that." He didn't want it. She knew that. She wouldn't have gone to such lengths to hide it from him otherwise. Sebastian didn't need saving.