Chapter 29
Aurora’s POV
As soon as we step inside, I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The house is eerily quiet, but for once, that silence brings me comfort instead of fear. There’s no sound of heavy boots stomping against the floor, no slurred curses or the rattling of beer bottles being thrown against the wall ite isa’t here. That means he’s either passed out drunk in some alley of holed up in a smoky gambling den, chasing the illusion of luck with the last of his winnings.
Good. I don’t have to tiptoe around tonight.
I bolt the door behind me, securing the deadbolt and the chain, then double–check the windows, making sure every single one is locked. I can’t risk him stumbling in at some ungodly hour, demanding money we don’t have or waking up my brother with his usual rage–fueled nonsense.
Once satisfied that we’re as safe as we can be, I head to the kitchen, pulling out the leftovers I managed to bring home from the diner. The pasta is a little dry, but it’s food, and that’s all that matters. I save a portion for the morning–I know we won’t have much else for breakfast–and warm up the rest. As 1 place the plates on the table, my brother plops down in his chair with a tired groan, rubbing at his face.
“Think he’ll be gone all night?” he asks, his voice hopeful but cautious.
I nod, giving him the closest thing to reassurance I can manage. “Probably. If he was coming back early, we would’ve heard him by now.” I push a plate toward him, watching as he digs in, his exhaustion evident in the way he eats–too fast, as if he has to finish before something takes it away from him. I know the feeling.
We eat in silence for a moment, the tension in my shoulders gradually easing, the familiar taste of home–cooked food, even if it’s just reheated, giving me a small sense of normalcy. But then, just as I start to feel even the tiniest bit comfortable, the lights flicker once–twice–before plunging us into darkness.
“Not again,” he said.
I stay still, listening. It could just be a blackout, but my gut tells me otherwise. “Stay put,” I murmur, pushing my chair back carefully. I know where the candles are–I keep them ready for nights like these. Just as I take a step toward the drawer, I hear something outside. A faint noise, barely noticeable over the distant sounds of the city. My stomach twists.
My brother must hear it too because he tenses up. “Aura,” he whispers, barely audible.
“Shh.” I hold up a hand, heart pounding as I strain to listen. The locks are secure. The windows are shut. We should be safe. But when it comes to our father, I’ve learned never to let my guard down.
This wasn’t a power cut. This was me, forgetting to pay the damn bill, I groaned, rubbing my temples as I tried to calculate how long it would be until my next paycheck. Three days. Three long days without electricity.
“Aura?” Riley’s small voice cut through my panic, and I turned to see his shadowy figure standing uncertainly by the doorway. He clutched his stuffed rabbit, the one I had sewn back together twice now, and his big, worried eyes gleamed in the dim moonlight.
“I’m scared,” he whispered, and instantly, my heart clenched.
Forcing a smile, even though my insides felt like they were twisting into knots, I reached for the drawer and fumbled around until my fingers closed around
I would do. I placed the candle carefully on the a candle. I struck a match, the little flame casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. It wasn’t much, but table, watching the way it’s warm glow made Riley’s face soften just a little.
“Well, buddy,” I said, keeping my voice light, “looks like we’re going to have a few candle–lit dinners. Fancy, huh?”
Riley hesitated, clearly unconvinced, his little hands tightening around his stuffed toy. “But… What about the fridge? And the lights?” His lip wobbled, and I swallowed hard, knowing that no amount of sugar coating would change the fact that this was going to be rough.
I kneeled in front of him, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. “It’s just for a few days, love. Just until I get paid. We’ll make it fun, yeah? We can tell stories, play games–like camping inside the house.”
His expression was still uncertain, but after a moment, he gave me a small nod. “Okay,”
he
mumbled.
Relieved but still feeling the weight of my failure settle heavily on my shoulders, I guided him to the table to finish up our dinner.
1/2
Claimed by My Bully Alpha
