Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

Satan’s doorstep.”
There’s hatred in his voice, venom spewing from the tip of his tongue, but
I grew up on the principle of thought that love and hate were just two sides of
the same coin. The only difference was circumstance, and as my eyes volley
between Kal and my mother, one a rabid beast ready to destroy its prey, the
other a hungry predator looking to feast, I realize I can’t quite tell where the
two lie in regards to that coin.
“You slept with my mother?” I ask, my brain still struggling to process.
“Well, there never was much sleeping involved, if you know what I
mean,” Mamá mutters, laughing at her own joke, even though everyone else
on the patio remains eerily still, one comment away from complete
annihilation. “I certainly hope you two are better with contraception than we
were, because I’ll tell you. That man is potent, if you know what I mean.”
She hiccups, confirming to me that she’s at least a little high, although that
certainly doesn’t lessen the sting. “Oops, did I say that twice?”
The implication hangs heavy in the air between the four of us, souring my
stomach, threatening to expel the contents. My throat tightens, the weight of
this revelation wrapping its claws around me until I’m gasping for my next
breath and praying it never comes in the same thought.
“Jesus Christ, you really are a bitch.” Kal rips his napkin from his throat,
throwing it on the table as he pushes to his feet, turning to look at me. “Elena.
Can I please have a moment alone with you?”
“I don’t think she’ll be going anywhere with you again, Kallum.” Mamá
sloshes her wine in his direction, glaring. “You stay away from my little
girl.”
I stare at the centerpiece in the middle of the table, letting my eyes lose
focus in the brightness of the dahlias and lilies. Flowers I would’ve had at my
wedding or funeral, their presence now ironic, since I’ve never been more
convinced that I’m dying.
And yet, that’s what heartbreak feels like; it’s having someone reach into
your chest and tear the organ from your body, except they don’t use any tools
or care to make it a clean extraction. They yank and twist until it pops free,
leaving all the broken muscle and tissue behind, veins spilling with nowhere
else to pump into.
It’s visceral, blinding pain that sparks in the wound and creeps outward,
testing the waters to see how much you can take.
Betrayal slithers like lava down my spine, obliterating everything in its