KESTER.
She was still standing there. She f*****g stood like she could f*****g fix me.
The fear in her eyes faded too fast, dissolving into something worse. Something sickly.
Concern.
What was she? Kasmine? My mother? Some f*****g saint who thought she could put me back together, piece by piece, like it was her duty?
"Kester," She whispered, ignoring the blood dripping out of her face. She wasn't healing just yet. How would she heal when the pieces of glass were still in her flesh, and all she cared about was me?
She should have been backing away, pressing her hands to her wounds, pulling the shards out—something, anything.
But no. She stood there.
She wouldn't move. Wouldn't cry. Wouldn't flinch.
I wanted her to flinch.
I wanted her to stop looking at me like that… Like she coul
