35. Crew
Chapter 35
Crew
M y hands won’t stop shaking.
It’s day seven.
Seven goddamn days since I took anything. My head’s been splitting open since day three, and my skin feels like it doesn’t fit anymore. Like I could unzip myself and still not find any relief.
The cold sweats come in waves, and my stomach hasn’t kept anything down since Tuesday, but I’m still standing.
Barely .
I tell myself I deserve worse. I violated her, did something I swore I’d never do, and used one of her worst fears against her in my pathetic search for answers.
Roman’s trying to convince me to take something to help ease the withdrawals, but he doesn’t get it. He didn’t see the horror in her eyes as she felt the effects of the drugs take hold. Elijah’s as silent as ever, but I see the way he’s been watching me to make sure I don’t die in the process of punishing myself.
I’m in the campus library, curled over a table like it might anchor me to the floor, trying to focus on the buzz of the overhead lights and not the crawling itch under my skin. I’m supposed to be scouting for people I think will want to deal, looking for the ones who need that extra ‘help’ to finish that essay, or just get through the day, but I can’t bring myself to.
My phone buzzes, and I swear my heart almost gives out.
It’s Lottie. South wing. Janitors closet.
You have 15 minutes.
Lottie.
It’s her name that hits me the hardest, not the message. It’s the fact that she’s reaching out at all.
The words are short. Cold. But I don’t care.
I’m already on my feet before I finish reading it.
She wants to talk.
No part of me deserves her forgiveness, but if she’s willing to look me in the face, I’ll take it. Whatever she needs to say, whatever she wants me to feel… I’ll let her burn me to nothing but ash if that’s what she needs.
I barely notice the swear under my shirt as I push open the door to the corridor. The janitor’s closet is tucked between two maintenance doors, a small yellow sign posted on the wall that says ‘ AUTHORIZED STAFF ONLY’, like it means anything to me when she’s going to be on the other side of the door.
The door creaks as I open it.
She’s already inside.
Scarlett… Lottie stands in the middle of the small, cluttered room, back straight, arms folded across her chest. The flickering light above her casts her in half-shadow, and for the first time in my life, I’m not sure if I should step forward or drop to my knees because she looks like an avenging angel.
No more waist-length blonde hair, but now a chestnut brown that reaches just below her shoulders, like she chopped off the old burdens of the past. Her figure is fuller, and her eyes still have the shadows of the past lingering in them.
“Lottie,” I rasp, throat dry. “You wanted to talk.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink, just looks at me with barely concealed disgust.
“You know why you’re here,” she says.
It’s not a question, and I’m not stupid enough to think it is.
“I… I think so,” I answer carefully. “I’ve been clean for a week now. I’m trying?—”
“This isn’t about you trying!” She snaps her voice sharp enough to slice through the fog in my head. “This is about what you did.”
I swallow hard.
“I…”
“Don’t,” she hisses, stepping forward, eyes burning into mine. “Don’t you dare say you didn’t know what you were doing. You did. You drugged me, Crew. You watched me freak out as I lost myself. You took something from me.”
My breath catches in my throat. “I didn’t… I wanted answers. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
There’s a small part of my brain shouting at me to shut up right now, but Lottie’s eyes squint at me like I’m being stupid.
“But you did,” she cuts in again. “You violated me. Just like all the rest of them…”
I want to ask her what she means, but she carries on. “You of all people knew how afraid I was of losing control, of ending up like my parents. And you used that. You think saying you’re clean now makes up for that?” she laughs bitterly. “It’s been a week, Crew. That’s nothing…”
I’m shaking all over now.
Whether it’s from withdrawal or the look on her face, I don’t know.
I want to cry.
I want to scream.
I want to undo everything.
But time doesn’t work like that.
“Lottie… I’m sorry. I know it means nothing, but I am.”
She looks at me for a long, hard second. Then slowly, she steps toward the door.
Then she’s leaving, and my heart thuds against my chest painfully cause I’ve ruined it. I should’ve got on my knees and begged for forgiveness.
The sound of the bolt sliding into place is deafening.
“What… what are you doing?”
“I want revenge. You’re the first.” She says the words calmly… too calm.
I stare at the door, trying to process the words, but everything sounds like static.
“You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” I ask, my voice small.
“Like you three hurt me? No,” she murmurs through the door, her voice like ice. “But I’m going to make you sit there with it. Just you and four walls. You get to feel what it’s like to be powerless. To have someone else control what happens next.”
“Lottie, please,” I say, panic creeping into my voice now. “I can’t be in here. I’m not okay. The withdrawal, it’s…”
“Good,” she says flatly. “Maybe you’ll finally understand a fraction of what you three did to me. How it feels to be helpless, knowing no one’s coming to save you.”
I move toward the door. “You can’t lock me in here. Lottie… please .”
She pauses. “This is what accountability looks like, Crew. You’re going to sit here, and you’re going to think about everything you did to me, what you drove me to do. You used the drugs to numb the pain, you don’t get to judge me for starting over to erase mine…” She sniffles, and I suddenly hate myself a little bit more. “This isn’t even close to what you deserve. But I’m not a monster, and this is just the start. You might want to warn the other two when they finally find you.”
And then she’s gone.
Darkness.
Silence .
I slide to the floor, knees to my chest, heart racing.
I can already feel the panic clawing at my throat, but beneath it, deeper, is something worse.
Guilt.
This is what she felt like.
Every time we locked her in a room. Every time we broke her, just a little bit more to make ourselves feel better.
And for the first time in a long time, I no longer want to run from what I did because she spoke to me.
The dark’s gotten quieter.
Not the silence of the room because that’s still heavy and suffocating, but the kind in my head. The kind that used to shriek every second of the day that she was gone.
The pain lessened the moment I found out she was alive, only to return with a vengeance when she no longer resembled the same girl I once loved, and how different she became just to survive.
I missed it all, and I wasn’t there to support her like I should have.
But the voice in my head is louder now, reminding me that we’re the reason why she had to survive.
It feels like even the worst parts of me are now holding their breath.
She didn’t scream. She didn’t lash out like she should have.
She locked me in.
It’s the first time I’ve felt like I deserve something… but more than that, it gives me hope because she started with me.
She spoke to me. Was honest… even if it cut me apart.
My knees ache. I don’t know how long it’s been.
Maybe an hour? Maybe more.
The air in here smells like bleach and dust, and I can barely stand the way my stomach twists with every inhale. But I stay sitting on the cold floor, hands gripping the edge of my sleeves to ground myself.
I hear them before I see them. Roman’s heavy footsteps and Elijah’s lower voice, arguing just outside the closest door.
The door jiggles once. Then again, harder.
“Crew?”
It’s Roman’s voice.
The lock clicks, and the door cracks open. The light spills into the cramped room, and I wince at the sudden glare, shielding my eyes as two shadows loom in the doorway.
Roman already looks pissed.
Elijah looks more confused than anything.
“Jesus,” Elijah mutters. “You look like death.”
Roman crouches in front of me. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
I don’t answer right away. Just blink at them, my back still pressed to the wall like I’m afraid the floor might vanish if I move. That Lottie luring me here was just a dream.
“Lottie,” I rasp.
“She locked you in here?” Elijah asks, his voice laced with disbelief.
I nod once.
Roman looks between me and the closet like he’s trying to solve a puzzle that doesn’t make sense.
“She locked you in a damn closet,” he steps inside. “You’re sweating through your shirt, and you look like hell. Is this your idea of giving up?”
“I’m not giving up,” I say quietly, “I’m making amends. I’m listening to what she wants. We hurt her, and now she wants revenge. I was first.”
Roman scoffs, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’ve lost it. I can’t believe you let her do it. She’s always been a manipulative little?—”
“ Don’t ,” I cut him off sharply, forcing myself to my feet even though I feel like I might throw up from the movement. “Don’t do that. We’re the ones who wronged her. She was trying to survive.”
He barks a bitter laugh. “Right, because she’s a saint now? She ran off, played dead, changed her name, and turned herself into some high-end stage fantasy. She locks you in a janitor’s closet, and you think it’s some noble quest for her forgiveness?” He shakes his head. “You’re stupid if you think that’s what this is. She’s playing you, just like she tried to do when she played mute, and you were always nearly stupid enough to fall for it. Scarlett Reyes is a snake… I won’t help you if you let her bite you willingly.”
Elijah’s jaw tenses, but he stays quiet, standing just behind Roman like he doesn’t know which side to be on. His eyes flick from me to the walls, and then back to me, like he’s looking for proof that she did this.
That I’m not exaggerating, or the drugs have finally made me lose my mind.
I get it because I look like shit. I feel like shit . My clothes are sticking to my skin, my head is pounding, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t blinked in two minutes.
But I’m staying because this is what she needs.
“I’m not asking for your help,” I tell Roman, letting my head fall back against the wall. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this because this is what she needs. I should have never been the reason she felt powerless.”
Roman straightens, hands on his hips, glaring down at me like I’m a disappointment he can’t bear to watch self-destruct. “You think you’re doing a favor by sitting in the dark like a kicked dog?”
“Nope. I think I’m doing the bare minimum.”
Elijah steps forward. “Crew, you’re barely hanging on. If she wanted to talk, she would have. Not locked you in this closet.”
“She did talk,” I tell them, surprising them both. “She told me she wanted revenge. She wants us to feel what she did. I took something from her, Elijah. Something that I don’t get to just apologize for and walk away clean.” I look between them both. “And she’s not ignoring me anymore. She chose me first. That’s something.”
Roman throws his hands up. “You’re delusional! You’d rather rot in here to get scraps of attention from the girl who played dead without a word for two years?”
I snap my head toward him. “You think this is about attention?”
“You said it yourself,” he fires back. “She’s finally talking to you. You think this means something… that it’s a fucking quest to get her attention and forgiveness but all I can see is some desperate drug addict. Someone desperate enough to accept being punished like a dog because it’s better than being forgotten.”
He takes a deep breath, then looks at me. “I’ve picked up the pieces that she destroyed. I’ve done CPR on you while you OD’d. I have done everything in my power to protect the three of us while making deals with the likes of Pacheco to take my dad down. If you want to choose some whore over me… your brother, then feel free. You think she’s doing this to find peace? No. She’s doing it to twist the knife.”
“I don’t care,” I say, and I mean it. “Let her twist it. At least she’s holding the blade.”
For a moment, Roman doesn’t respond. His mouth opens like he wants to keep arguing, but then he just sneers and steps back out of the closet. “You want to play martyr? Fine. Rot here. Just don’t come crying when she turns on you. If she tries this bullshit with me, I’ll destroy her like I did before.”
He stalks off, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Elijah lingers in the doorway. “Are you going to stay?”
I nod.
He sighs, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a half-empty bottle of water, and sets it inside the closet. “You’re dehydrated. Try not to pass out.”
I give him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks.”
“One more hour then I’m dragging your ass out of here. I’ll be waiting out there.”
Then he pulls the door hallway shut behind him. The light fades and the silence returns.
I stay.
Because maybe this is what she needs to heal…
And maybe, it’s what I need too.