thunderstruck | book #2 | discontinued

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Remy sighed as she placed her bag on the kitchen counter, slumping in exhaustion with only her arms ensuring she remained upright at all. Her panic attack—she could find no other word for it—had drained her of any energy she'd had after the interrogation at the police station, so much so that she had barely made it home without curling up in a ball somewhere hidden.

It seemed she could not rest quite yet, though. Her mother's voice arose from behind her, terse and strained.

"Leo, take Vincent out for an ice cream, please."

It was clear that she wanted to talk to Remy. Getting rid of the others were simply her way of doing it. She had done the same thing millions of times before, when Remy came home too late, or sometimes, not at all, and Bianca felt it necessary to lecture her. She only wished now she would be scolded for the same thing, and not whatever it was she was going to say instead.

"Are you joking? It's freezing," Leo complained. He was stood at the fridge, the door wide open as he searched for something to eat. His appetite had not changed, then, since Remy had been away. That did not surprise her.

"And I wanted to play with Rem," Vincent added. Remy had not known he was standing behind her, not until his hands snaked around her hips and he hung on to her for dear life. Remy wanted to bend down to him, tell him they could play later, whatever game he wanted, but she was too tired, and too much dreading what was to come. Instead, she clung to the edge of the counter, the rough wood digging into her palms, and closed her eyes.

"You can play later." It was clear Bianca was tired, too, from the way she sighed and spoke as though she barely had the energy to do so. "I need to speak to Remy first, alright? Leo?"

Leo glared at Remy for a moment, but she barely noticed, keeping her eyes down. It was clear that he had taken over Remy's babysitting duties since she had left, and for that she felt guilty. He was in his last year of school, after all. It couldn't have been easy for him, but Remy had done it.  

"Fine," he said finally.

There was a shuffling. Remy imagined him pulling on his own coat, then zipping up Vincent's, all the while scowling at her back. Her neck tingled with the image of being watched. Then, the door slammed and she turned around. She wished she hadn't.

Her mother was standing with her arms crossed over her chest, a blank expression on her face. Bianca only looked blank when she was trying not to look as angry as she felt, and Remy's stomach twisted with this knowledge.

"Where's Mia?" Remy questioned as nonchalantly as she could, though her voice was cracked. She was dehydrated, and probably starving, but she barely thought about food or water anymore.

"Out with friends. She'll be home later."

Remy nodded, unable to meet her mother's eyes. "Well, what is it? What have I done now?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were with a boy?"

This jolted Remy upwards. She looked at her mother finally, gulping as her defences rose within her. "How do you know about that?"

"Constable Rowley told me. She said you seemed very upset about it."

Remy raised an eyebrow, bitterness seeping into her veins as though it was a real, physical substance that she could feel, taste, even. There was also a feeling of betrayal, though she couldn't quite understand why. The police owed her no loyalty, no promise to keep her secrets.

"Oh, did she?" she retorted finally, gulping. "And here I was thinking that police confidentiality was still very much a thing. The system really has changed since I left."