I’m supposed to go to Atlanta and start a new life, far away from the mistakes that my mom just buried for me.
I shake my head sharply to banish the memories away, but it doesn’t stop the chills from creeping down my spine.
Despite how drugged up I was the day after the accident, I still remember everything that Jenn said to me with startling clarity. I try not to think about it as much as I can, but every now and then, the memory comes roaring to the forefront of my mind, triggered by things I don’t always expect.
I’m not surprised it’s been triggered now. The situations are far too similar, and the memories are increasingly demanding my attention.
Headmaster Aldridge and Mrs. Wilmer left the room several minutes ago, and I’ve been alone, with nothing to distract me from my disturbed thoughts but dead memories and a note and a photo of a girl that looks suspiciously like me—like Jenn.
Or at least, what she must’ve looked like before she started claiming that crack tasted yummy and pills were her favorite flavor of Skittles.
My panic has doubled, and my knee is jogging up and down so hard, it’s vibrating the table. I don’t think I can take the waiting any longer. Hell, it’s driving me crazy. I can feel myself inching closer and closer to a complete and total meltdown, and I’m hanging onto my sanity by the tips of my fingers, but it’s slipping with each moment that passes.
I can’t stop thinking of my mom, and of James. Of Dylan and what could’ve been if everything hadn’t gotten so fucked up. I worry about Saint and Liam, and my past and present mix and churn together until I’m not sure what memories belong where.
Is this what it feels like to go insane? Like legitimately, clinically insane?
It feels like my brain is melting.
At last, the door to the conference room swings opens and two campus police officers walk in. Neither is the guy that brought me here, and that only makes me go a little crazier.
“I didn’t do anything,” I blurt, just like a fucking guilty person would. “Please, I need to call my guardian.”
One of the officers, an older man with a graying beard and mustache, raises his hand as if he’s trying to calm a skittish animal.
“Take it easy, Ms. Ellis. No one is accusing you of anything. We’re just trying to piece together what happened tonight. My name is Officer Fallon, and this is Officer Meyers.” He nods to his grim-faced partner with the strawberry blond hair. “We just have a few questions we want to ask you.”
Bullshit. I’m not an idiot. You don’t isolate someone like they’ve done with me and let them stew in their own anxiety if you aren’t getting ready to drill them until they break. They want me weak and crazy so I’m easier to manipulate.
I can’t give them that satisfaction.
I won’t.
“Ms. Ellis, can you tell us where you were this evening?” Officer Meyers, who appears much younger than Fallon, asks with a furrowed brow.
That question all but confirms my suspicions, and I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue before asking, “Why do you need to know my whereabouts if I’m not being accused of anything?”
Meyers’s brows shoot toward his receding hairline, and Officer Fallon appears slightly taken aback by my response.
“Please, Mallory. We’re just trying to get a full picture of the night, as I’ve said,” Officer Fallon says in a tone that I know is meant to be soothing, but it only manages to piss me off.
Some of my fear melts away as my fury boils hotter.
“I was at the pool,” I grit out, folding my arms over my chest and leveling them both with glares.
“The pool? It’s not open for student use at night,” Office Meyers points out as he takes one of the empty seats across from me. He looks smug and cocky.
I bite the inside of my cheek, then release it. “I snuck in.”
I’ll pick trespassing any day, every day over arson.
“You snuck in?” It’s Fallon again, and this time his tone is not so calming. He’s still standing, leaned against the wall behind his partner with his arms folded over his chest, and I get the sense that he’ll be a tougher one to dodge than his partner. “Were you alone?”
My nostrils flare as I smell the trap that they’re trying to lay for me.
“I was,” I say reluctantly, knowing I have no reliable alibi. Without someone to back me up, they’ve got no reason to believe me. I was by myself, in a part of the campus that’s supposed to be locked up and off limits after hours. In their eyes, I’ve basically got the word GUILTY painted in big red letters across my forehead.
“That is … less than ideal, Ms. Ellis.” I swivel my attention back to Officer Meyers, who looks to be on the verge of laughing at me. “I’m sure you’re well aware of the lack of cameras in the athletic facility.”
I am. Which is why it’s been my safe haven all year.
“Why does it matter if I’m not being accused of anything?” I shoot back. This is tougher than talking to the cops back home. At least they had pity for me because of my druggy mom.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now.” Officer Fallon is still trying to play the peacekeeper, which means Officer Meyers is going to attempt to go in for the kill.
Sure enough, the next words to come out of his mouth are, “Several students came forward claiming to have witnessed you threatening Saint Angelle tonight.”
There it is. The blow I was expecting, but I didn’t anticipate that it would hit me quite so hard.
If they’re asking about what I said to Saint, that can really only mean one thing.
He was in the building when it went up in flames.
He’s dead.
Saint’s dead.
My shoulders curl forward, and a raw noise escapes me as my heart shatters. That’s the only way to describe the horrible pain I feel in my chest as the realization that Saint’s gone sinks in. Shattering. Fuck, why does it hurt so bad? The bastard made me miserable for the majority of our relationship. He nearly destroyed what was left of my life with his stunt at the assembly.
But he also made me feel amazing. Desired and cherished, when we were in bed, talking until morning. Revealing our secrets and dreams. He made me feel protected when he so publicly claimed me at the masked ball. Made me feel like he gave a damn when he intervened during tryouts. He made me feel things I’ve never felt with anyone else in my entire life, not even Dylan.
I can’t say that I loved him. There was too much hate, I think, for us to ever really love each other, but I cared for him. I can admit that to myself now, and God how I wish I could tell him that face-to-face.
How I wish I could also tell him to go to hell.
The room is spinning around me again, and I can’t focus on anything but the agony vibrating through me. I fight to hold it together because I can’t break down now. Not in front of these assholes. This is what they want, after all. Me, broken and weak, so I’m more pliable to their probing questions and demands.
Saint would be furious with me if I let them bully me into submission. He would tell me that only he could break me apart and bend me to his will. Anyone else who tried to do the same would be playing with his toy, and he wasn’t one who liked to share. No matter how many times I told him I wasn’t an object he could own, he would just give me that smirk of his and claim me anyway.