Be With Me

prologue

No one warns you how much blood there will be when you stab someone in the neck. But unless an artery was hit or today is the exception, there is a gory, horror-movie amount of blood seeping out of Stan Roven's neck. It's splattered all over me, my white work uniform, the mattress, the carpet.

My younger sister, Gia, gazes up at me from where she's cowering against the headboard, bruises already forming on her tan skin.

"Siena," she gasps, wiping at the splash of blood on her face with a shaky hand. "He . . . I . . ."

"It's okay," I shush her, approaching the slumped body on the bed. He's lying facedown on the mattress Gia and I share, his neck hanging over the edge, causing the blood to drip onto the carpet.

Gia wraps her arms around her legs, hugging them to herself and trying to hold together the torn edges of her shirt. There's barely any blood on her. "Is he . . . ?"

"Dead," I confirm. Living in this sleazy building on the wrong side of Los Angeles means we always tried to be careful, especially with the number of strangers regularly traipsing through our apartment, so we kept a large kitchen knife in the bedside drawer for emergencies, though we never really thought we'd have to use it. Now that same knife is sticking out of Stan's neck.

Gia shudders, her tiny body seeming even smaller than usual. "He just . . . burst in here from the party. I tried fighting him off, I swear."

"It's all right, Gia. Everything's going to be fine." I think I'm in shock. I don't feel scared or panicked or petrified. I feel numb. Numb mixed with hatred for Stan Roven and what he was trying to do to Gia—a fifteen-year-old girl barely a quarter his size—before I walked in. Outside the walls of our measly ten-by-ten bedroom, Aunt Julie's party rages on. It's a wonder none of our neighbors ever call the cops on us, but they're probably here too, probably just as high as our aunt.

"What do we do?" Gia whispers, still staring at Stan's pale face like he might start swinging at her.

"Stan?" Aunt Julie's voice is right outside our bedroom door. "Where did you go?"

Gia's panicked eyes meet mine, and I know I have to keep Aunt Julie away from this room, at least long enough to give me time to think.

I grab a cardigan that's escaped the gore and put it on over my shirt, wrapping the ends tight against myself before slipping into the hallway.

"Siena!" Aunt Julie exclaims, a baggie of cocaine dropping to the floor. "You scared me. Have you seen Stan?"

Yes. He's dead on my bed with a knife sticking out of his throat.

At my blank look, she sighs with impatience. "Did he leave? Did you insult him? You know he was about to give me my big break! The one I've been waiting for forever!" She plucks the baggie she dropped from the floor and gives it a little shake as if to make sure it's all still there. "I'll finally be famous for something other than being Florence Bowen's sister . . . what's that on your chin?"

I furiously wipe what I'm sure is blood away. "Nothing," I say, wrapping the cardigan tighter around me. I just need to get her out of here. I'm not sure what I'll do next, but dealing with Gia is my first priority, and I'll figure out the rest later.

Her bloodshot eyes go from my face to the white carpet on the floor. "What's that?" she asks, pointing at the deep-red liquid seeping from under the door.

"Nothing!" I exclaim quickly, but she pushes past me into the room before I can stop her, and gasps at the sight.

Gia freezes where she is trying to sop up the blood on the carpet, and Aunt Julie's face turns white. She stumbles until her back hits the wall, and she grasps at it as if trying to stay upright.

"No," she says, shaking her head rapidly. "What—this can't be real." She blinks rapidly, trying to clear off whatever drug-induced fog is wrapped around her brain.

Gia jumps up and I scramble to her side, wrapping my arm around her and pulling her close.

Gia's voice trembles as she speaks. "Aunt Julie . . . he was—"

"Save it." Aunt Julie holds up her hand. She refuses to look at the body sprawled on the bed. "As your mother's sister, I thought I had seen it all, but this . . . Florence never did anything like this."

Tears form in Gia's eyes, and she clings to me harder.

"But . . . Siena was . . ." Gia can barely get the words out as tears stream down her face. "It was . . ."

"Self-defense," I finish for her.

Aunt Julie holds her arms out toward us, like she's preparing for us to pounce at her. Keeping her back against the wall, she slides toward the door. "I'm calling the police," she says, sniffling and rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. "I did your mother a favor when she dumped you here so she could flounce around LA doing God knows what, but this is too much. I can't do it anymore. I don't care if you're able to track Florence down for long enough to convince her to take you back or not, but you're not welcome here anymore."

My heart drops. She's kicking us out? She's the only family we have left since Mom dumped us here five years ago. I'll deal with the consequences regarding Stan, but Gia has nowhere to go.

"Aunt Julie, please—"

She cuts me off. "No, Siena." She stands in the hallway now, still refusing to turn her back to us. Behind her, the party continues, everyone too drunk or high to care about what happened to Stan or their host. Aunt Julie points at me as she retreats. "You may have your father's last name, but you're your mother's daughter through and through, even worse than her." And then she's gone.

Gia bursts into tears and crushes my rib cage with her grip. "I'm scared," she blubbers. "I can't—I can't lose you. I can't survive in—"

"Hey, it's okay," I shush her, tucking her hair behind her ear. My voice is strong and confident despite the frantic beating of my heart. "We're going to be okay. I'm going to take care of you, just like I always do, okay?"

She nods and shivers between quiet sobs, releasing her grip just long enough for me to slide a sweater over her torn shirt.

I don't know how long we stand there, with me whispering reassurances in Gia's ear as she clings to me. Long enough for Aunt Julie to clear the apartment of people and drugs. Long enough for her to call the cops. Long enough for them to arrest me for killing Stan Roven.