Morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, painting golden streaks across Sierra’s bedroom floor. But instead of warmth, it only brought discomfort, as though the light were exposing her sins.
Her wrists still bore faint red marks from the rope. She traced them absently with trembling fingers, each brush making her stomach twist tighter. It wasn’t just her skin that was marked it was her soul.
What have I done?
Her mother was only a few feet away that night. A breath, a heartbeat, a creak on the stairs from discovering everything. Sierra couldn’t decide if the fear made her want to vomit or if it only added to the fire Damien lit in her veins.
She tried to push the thoughts away as she got dressed, as she brushed her hair, as she walked down the hall. But when she stepped into the
