Sins of Aiden

7

CHAPTER 7

LUCAS BROWN

The front door shuts with a soft thud behind me. The solitude welcomes me with comfort and I let my backpack fall against the frigid marble kitchen island.

It lits an echo scattering the kitchen walls.

My back muscles ache, pulling my hand to my shoulder to knead the heavy weight away from keeping this god-forsaken fucking thing on my shoulder all day long.

I heave a tired sigh and run my finger through my unbounded hair. My once braided hair falls in waves over my eyes when I drag my hand down my face.

God, such a long fucking day.

Nothing better at the moment than to stuff my face with yesterday's leftovers—strictly forbidden to eat by me but never stopped me before—and sling myself over the couch to fall asleep and awaken by the bright stinging dawn, realizing a whole day has gone by.

But first.

"Is there a reason why Thomas Ford has become a missing kid for these past couple of days?"

I can sense his iron grip on the cigarette package, ticking like a clock against the paper wall, even before I see him. His mood rolls off the walls like a dragon's fire. There is no doubt in my mind that he's pissed as hell right now.

With the lit of a glowing center, a fog rises to the open window. It unfolds at a steady peaceful pace, not much like who's holding it. Aiden radiates a haze of blaring fury through every pore—it suffocates each wall to crumbs—but when that stick enters between his fingers, a steady shield covers him. Protects him from his crackling fuel of glowing flames.

But knowing him for so long—even that is false.

The only reason I know he's heard me is when I hear the clicking stop and the crackling might of his steel grip around the package continues.

That facade is as nearly burnt up, falling like ashes from a forest fire.

He scoffs, "Why don't you ask yourself that question, Lucas? You seem to know everything nowadays."

The clicking resumes. His gaze does not move an inch away from the bleak forest resuming peacefully and untouched outside the window. A vague luster of smoke rises through the air as Aiden guides the cigarette to his lips, inhaling with a profound drag that's no doubt caused by my presence.

I hum, opening my bag. "So I won't be expecting any change when it comes to his face when I see him?"

There's stillness around us. The only sound making at the moment are my fiddling with the contents from my bag and Aiden's charring haze of containing himself not to put his hands on me. I can't help but a slight smile tug on my lips. 

Finally, he answers, "depends how you describe change."

I nod in agreement. "I guess I'll just have to see for myself tomorrow."

That is, if he can still walk.

The topic of Thomas Ford, though, brings me no ease. His way of disappearing on the same day he bothered that girl in the canteen transmits wary reflections my way. I have no doubt that Aiden has something to do with it, I just can't figure out how.

He doesn't bother continuing the conversation. Not like he had much choice in the beginning. I simply have to figure out a different path to know the answer.

I find his rigid form by the window. Aiden thinks he is sending a message that he despises talking to me, but I know the fool's lying sending his nose longer than Pinocchio's himself.