Between Starcrossed Promises

Prologue

(CW: Murder, Homophobia, Homophobic Slurs.)

THIRTEEN YEARS EARLIER....

Claire

I dig my nails into my thighs while sitting on one of the steps of our staircase, watching the scene in front of me.

Quiet. I need to be quiet. I have to be. Daddy told me not to make a sound.

He frantically runs through our living room, cursing and saying bad words I am not allowed to use. Words Mom always said needed to be paid for with a dollar for my college fund. She is right in front of me at the end of the stairs, but I know she won't be saying anything about it now.

She is just lying there, cherry red blood coating her pretty face. I feel overwhelmed. I want my Mommy and Daddy to hold me and tell me that everything is okay. I don't want this. I don't want to have seen them fight. I don't want Daddy to have hit Mom with the ashtray.

Please let me wake up. Please let this just be a nightmare.

I can't breathe. I want to cry. It's too much.

Sitting there, I watch my dad run up the stairs and come down with a bunch of books. One, he drops right into the red puddle in front of me; the blood splashes due to its weight. Some of it hits me in the face.

I don't react. I don't even dare to move. Digging my nails deeper into my skin, I try to focus on the pain, try to tell myself to stop shaking.

I don't know how long I sit there, but by the time I hear sirens becoming louder, Mommy's face has lost all of its colors. Her blue eyes don't sparkle anymore. She looks so scared. Just as scared as I.

There is yelling, loud and angry. Then there are lots of people walking into our house. I don't dare look at them. I just look at my mom. I need to be as quiet and calm as she is. Daddy told me to be good.

Only when the people in white stop taking pictures of Mommy and me and instead lay her in a weird plastic sleeping bag, a man kneels down beside me and captures my attention.

I look at him. He smiles a smile that doesn't meet his almost green eyes. "Hello, Darling," he coos. As he reaches into his pocket, he pulls out a handkerchief and begins carefully dabbing it on my face.

As I don't answer, he hands the now dirty piece of cloth to a woman dressed in white. She puts it into a white plastic bag. "Are you hurt?" the man asks me, and I shake my head.

He nods, both our gazes turning to the front door where Uncle James tries to walk in but is held back by two police officers. He struggles in their grip but stops as he looks at me. As he looks down to the floor, he becomes pale. There is no color in his usually heavily tanned skin.

Uncle James looks extremely upset. Inhaling sharply. I smile at him, waving. I must be polite, just like Mommy and Daddy always told me. I need to be good.

"Beggs, tell them to let me in," Uncle James tells the man beside me loudly.

"You know the protocol, Minola. You're too involved," the man next to me says coldly. "I'll have her brought to a station nearby. After the questioning, you can take her home, should there not be any other family left."

I look back and forth between the two. I don't want to leave. I don't want to go to the police station. I did nothing wrong.

Suddenly my breathing starts to become irregular. There isn't enough air in my lungs. A small whimper leaves my mouth without my control and I become cold. Tears begin piercing my eyes, and no matter how hard I try, I can't stop shaking.