9. Prom Night #3
I force my eyelids shut, struggling to tame my thundering heart with this new thread of hope. But the terror remains, a living thing with its claws embedded deep. The knife's presence feels like a cruel joke. What good is a Hail Mary when fear has practically turned my limbs to stone?
"This is the part where the hero always gets it wrong.
He tries to think like a villain. I'm not trying to get away.
That's your miscalculation…" Something in my brain clicks, and my desire to live, my desire to fight, overtakes my fear.
This man isn't trying to escape and take me hostage.
Whatever chip he has on his shoulder is about to come full circle, but I refuse to be the martyr in his story.
London's eyes catch the movement of my arm as I sink my right hand into the pocket of his letterman in search of the knife that's already saved my life once.
"So what is it? Why are you here? Why her?" London demands, attempting to distract my assailant as he drags me around the front of London's truck into the empty street.
My trembling fingers locate the cold metal of the pocketknife, and a desperate flicker of hope battles against the paralyzing dread. When my captor steps off the curb, his hand slips just enough, and I don't waste my breath on screaming. Instead, I bite down on his thumb—hard.
"Son of a bitch!" he snarls through clenched teeth. "I should have known you wouldn't make shit easy. Fucking brat!" He wrenches my head sideways. "I could snap you like a twig right now."
My thumb slides over the knife, finding the stud that engages the blade. I press it and slide the blade all the way out the same way I've witnessed London do countless times.
"You hurt her, and I'll kill you with my bare hands! I swear it." London charges forward, stopping mere inches from us, once again stealing my attacker's focus. But I won't let London kill for me. Nobody has to die tonight. I just need to escape.
I wrench my arm free, the knife clutched in my white-knuckled fist, as I make the only hit I can in this position and drive the blade deep into his thigh .
"Ahhh!" His blood-curdling scream pierces my eardrum, and his grip on me falters.
I slam my elbow into his stomach. He doubles over, and London lunges forward, shoving me clear as he seizes the knife.
What happens next unfolds in a blur—both agonizingly slow and lightning fast. London extracts the blade from the man's thigh, crimson already soaking his pant leg, and presses the cold steel against his throat.
"You were wrong. I wasn't plotting your next move. I was plotting hers."
"Then you should know you've already lost the?—"
"Laney!" Sydney's unmistakable shriek drowns out his final words as London drags the blade across his neck before dropping the knife and rushing to me.
"Are you okay? Tell me you're okay," London demands, crushing me against his chest where I feel his heart hammering in terrified synchrony with mine.
I nod vehemently, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. "I'm okay. Lon... I was so scared," I choke through a flood of tears.
"I know, baby. I'm so sorry. It's okay?—"
"Call the cops!" someone shouts from the gathering crowd.
"What happened?" Sydney asks, shock evident.
"That man tried to take Laney," London answers as more faces round the building to see what's going on.
"Oh my god. Oh my god. Is he...? He's dead, isn't he?" a girl from my dance squad asks, distress in her voice, and I deliberately turn away.
I can't look at his face. If I see his face, it will haunt me forever.
Sirens wail in the distance as London speaks low, his words for me alone. "It was my knife. I stabbed him, do you understand?"
"No." I shake my head fiercely, tilting back to meet his gaze.
"London, no. I'm not letting you do that.
It was self-defense. I did it… It was my hand…
" My body quakes harder, and I clutch his shirt desperately, seeking an anchor.
"I flicked the blade and..." My w ords disintegrate as terror overwhelms my speech.
"You can't—I won't—please," I beg until his resolve crumbles.
His eyes soften. "Shh, shh, shh." He presses his lips to my forehead. "I love you. I love you so damn much," he murmurs, pulling me flush against his chest once more.
"What the hell happened?" Noah demands. "My dad is on the way with the sheriff now."
"Not a word, Laney. Stay quiet until the cops arrive," Sydney warns. "You don't need anyone using anything against you."
"What are you doing? Don't touch him," Mindy from the dance team hisses with revulsion.
I'm tempted to turn, to witness what everyone else sees—the consequences of my actions—but I resist.
"Someone needs to check for a pulse. He might not be dead," Noah argues.
"Ew, there's no need. That's too much blood," someone counters before tires screech to a halt nearby.
The slam of the police car door makes me jolt in London's arms. "Shh, I have you," he soothes.
"Does he have a pulse?" Sheriff Townsend demands.
"No," Noah confirms.
"Who's responsible for this?" the sheriff asks as ambulance sirens grow louder.
"I am," London states without hesitation.
"No." I push back against his chest. "I am. It...it was self-defense," I stammer. "He attacked me when I was getting into the car," I continue, finally summoning the courage to face the scene. London isn't taking the fall for this.
"Self-defense?" Mayor Donovan cuts through the crowd. "Did he have a weapon?"
"A gun," London insists. "He had a gun in his pocket."
The sheriff kneels beside my attacker's body, and I force my gaze elsewhere.
"Okay, that's enough. Everyone back up," Mayor Donovan commands, dispersing the crowd of prom-goers with sweeping gestures.
"Son, there's no gun," Sheriff Townsend states flatly.
"That's not possible. I felt it. He jammed it into my ribs," I protest. "There's no way."
"You were in shock. Fear has a way of distorting reality," Mayor Donovan dismisses.
Sheriff Townsend crosses the distance between us in three determined strides. "Laney, you mentioned that it was self-defense and that he attacked you. Is that correct?"
"Yes, he attacked me, and then I stabbed him in the thigh to get free." I feel London stiffen against me. I know he doesn't want me to take responsibility, but it's true. I did stab him.
"No, she didn't," London interrupts. "I stabbed him. That's my knife beside his body and his blood on my hands."
The sheriff's gaze flickers between us, uncertain. "It's your word against hers."
"London's telling the truth," Noah interjects, approaching us, and suddenly, I've never despised anyone more.
He's lying. I wait for London to explode, to put him in his place as he's done countless times before when Noah has interfered, but he remains silent.
Their eyes lock, and something unspoken passes between them.
"I saw everything. London stabbed him in the thigh before slitting his throat. "
"Son, I'm going to have to take you with me," Sheriff Townsend pronounces, his tone full of regret and predetermined judgment that chills me to the bone.
"No, you can't take him. If you take him, you have to take me too, because they're lying."
"Laney, Laney, look at me," London says, stepping directly into my path, his hands gripping my shoulders. His eyes capture mine, leaving me nowhere else to look. "It's going to be okay."
"No." I shake my head, my voice cracking. "It's not. They think you killed him."
"I did. "
Two words. Two simple words that shatter everything. Tears well in my eyes, hot and stinging, and I blink frantically, wishing I could erase them along with this moment, wishing I could erase the truth.
"Please don't cry, heartbreaker," he whispers, his thumb brushing my cheek. "You're going to live a full, beautiful life."
"What are you saying?" Rage and despair war inside of me. "You're going to live it with me, London Hale. You said you loved me. That's supposed to be forever." My words come out broken, like the heart inside of me as I struggle through the fear and confusion.
"London," Sheriff Townsend's voice cuts through my spiral, his hand landing heavily on London's shoulder. "I have to ask you to come with me, son. I don't want to use the cuffs, but?—"
London nods, his jaw tight. "I'll come." His eyes never leave mine. "Can I say goodbye?"
"No, this isn't goodbye," I protest, but my words die in my throat as he pulls me against him. His arms envelop me in familiar warmth, and I feel like I might stop breathing at any moment. I can't lose him. I haven't had enough time. We haven't had enough time. Our lives were just beginning.
"I'll love you until they put me in a casket," he murmurs against my hair. "You're the first girl who ever truly saw me, the first one to ever love me. You're my heart and soul. Where you go, I go, but where I'm going"—his voice catches—"you can't follow."
I feel the tremble beneath his bravado, the fear he's trying to hide, and I hold him tighter, my fingers digging into his back, desperate to keep him with me. This isn't where our story ends. It can't be.
"You're going to fight this. We're going to fight this. It was self-defense." I pull back just enough to find his eyes, to force him to see my determination through my tears. "Promise me, London. Promise me. You're not accepting this. You're going to come back to me."
He swallows hard. "I'll fight." His voice drops to a whisper that belongs only to me. "I love you, Laney Hart," he says, placing a lingering kiss on my forehead before taking a step back.
Sheriff Townsend grabs his shoulder, his expression grim as he guides London toward the waiting police car. London doesn't look back, but his shoulders are straight, defiant even in surrender.
Sydney fills the void he leaves behind, rushing to me and wrapping her arms around me before I can crumble to the ground.
I watch, my vision blurred by tears, as they take away the only man I've ever loved, the man who saved my life more than once.
He said he loved me, and I believe him. He just sacrificed everything for it. Now it's my turn.
The police car's door slams shut with a finality that echoes through my bones. Through the window, I catch one last glimpse of London's profile—strong jaw clenched, eyes fixed forward—as the car pulls away, carrying with it my heart and the only future I ever wanted.
He's wrong.
Where he goes, I go. If he thinks I'll just continue on with a beautiful life while he faces this alone, then he doesn't know me at all. London may have saved my life, but what he doesn't understand is that, somewhere along the line, he became my life, our hearts and fates intertwined.
"I need to go," I whisper gently as I pull out of her embrace.
"Laney, wait. You can't just—" Her words fade behind me as I stand straighter, my gaze locked on the disappearing taillights.
London stepped between me and danger without hesitation. He chose me over himself, and now he's walking into darkness alone, thinking his sacrifice will set me free. But it won't—it can't—because his punishment is my sentence too. His hell is mine. If he's there, so am I.