A Vault of Sins Read Online Free

simply enlighten readers further as to how fucked up his family life really was.
    My head fills with hundreds of vicious voices wanting to dissect Casey—his manner, his temper, his hate—and he becomes a character in my mind. I find myself questioning whether or not the Casey I know is built upon faux memories that bandage my brain from every screwed-up thing that happened in the Compass Room. Everyone thinks I’m lying—maybe I
am
making stuff up.
    The thought fills me with cold dread, and for a week, I wonder if I’m going insane. Finally, one afternoon, as I’m sitting on my khaki-colored bedspread with my tablet in my hands, tabs of Casey news articles scattered across the screen, he calls me.
    “Incoming call from Casey Hargrove. Accept or decline?” the mechanical voice chimes.
    I stare at the screen of my phone, the text of his name illuminated. I’m not hearing things.
    Fuck caution.
    “Accept.”
    Our lines connect, and I wait to speak, listening to his slow breathing over the speaker.
    “Evalyn?”
    “Yeah,” I stammer. “Yeah, I’m here.”
    “I need to see you.” When I don’t respond right away, he continues. “I know I’m compromising—”
    I cut him off. “Where?”
    ***
    A new high-speed train line was built three years ago, connecting San Antonio to the Chicago track. It’d only take me a few hours to get to him, but he won’t let me. After useless arguing, we decide on the flat middle of the country, halfway between him and me. Missouri, Middle-of-Fucking-Nowhere, population 298.
    The shitty hotel has a cash-up-front option. I didn’t even know places like this still existed. Everyone wants to know your information, or at least who you are and where they can charge damages if you destroy a room. Here, the paint peels off the walls and the carpet smells like cigarettes. Half the letters in the cheap florescent vacancy sign have died, and I’m sure the strung-out guy at the front desk wouldn’t care if we burned the whole place to the ground. He gives me the grimy metal key and I text Casey the room number. Then I sit on an itchy, stained comforter underneath a dim, bare bulb and wait.
    Half an hour later, he knocks. I swing the door open and Casey greets me with a wince, leaning against the frame.
    He’s getting worse, but even pained and out-of-breath, all I see is perfection.
    “I should have come to you.” I pull him inside by the front of his shirt and shut the door.
    “We should work equally as hard to see each other,” he argues.
    “Chicago would have been easy to—”
    “Fuck Chicago.”
    I push him down onto the bed and slide onto his lap. His hands find my neck, but before he can kiss me, I place a finger against his lips. “Wait.” I exhale, my nose brushing his. I need to savor this, the moment of waiting we never have. We were too busy sneaking kisses in the seconds we have alone. Time is a luxury I didn’t acknowledge until recently.
    “Wait,” I repeat.
    His eyelashes flutter against me as he blinks. I count, forcing myself to wait a full minute before our lips meet. His tongue coaxes me open, hands fisting the back of my shirt.
    I unwrap him, fingers fumbling on every button of his coat. He shrugs it off, and my hands roam from his collar to his belt, sliding beneath his shirt to risen scars. Familiar territory.
    “Fuck the media. Fuck everyone. I can’t live like this.” He flips me onto my back and slides on top of me, even though I know he’s hurting. “I can’t keep ignoring you. I can’t keep pretending I don’t give a shit about your life when half the country would kill you if they had the chance.”
    “It’s too dangerous.” The second the sentence leaves my mouth, I know it will never persuade him. Hand cupping the back of my neck, he says, “I’d take a bullet for you.”
    “Don’t you ever say that again,” I threaten.
    He rolls his eyes. “Regardless, we’re fucked anyway, Ev.”
    No,
I want to say.
I’m fucked
. And it’s