Chapter 10 #2
“Such a pretty thing you are,” he says, and this time, his voice is different. Low, rattling. Right in her ear. “A pretty, young thing. I bet you’d taste sweet before you burn.”
That sound. That growl. It’s the same pitch she heard in psychology class, the same hissing voice that whispered slut in the greenroom. She should run. She should—
The man’s gloved fingers ghost over her throat, her collarbone, and Mallory squeezes her eyes shut, paralyzed with fear.
She doesn’t have to look to know his face has changed somehow, that his pale eyes have faded to an opaque sable, that no whites remain at all.
That his mouth is diseased with sharpened yellow teeth, threatening to bite.
“Please,” she whispers, “stop.”
Those fingers smooth lower, trailing to the space between her breasts. “Your time is almost up.”
Mallory’s lips tremble. “No.”
“It’s time,” he purrs, hand tightening, “to take out your heart.”
“Stop!”
Her eyes pop open.
The man in black is standing several feet away. Hands resting gently on his cane. No monstrous features, no hungry mouth.
She blinks, breaths coming in rapid gulps.
“Sorry.” She pushes a trembling hand through her hair. “I don’t—”
“That’s quite alright, miss.” He tips his hat with a confused smile. “I’ll leave you to your prayer.”
“Wait.” Mallory pauses, scrambling to sort out what’s real. “Did you really build it? This school?”
The man fixes her with a strange stare. “It is second on a list of great accomplishments.”
“What do you—”
“Good day, miss.”
Alone in the sacristy, Mallory counts to five before snatching a strand of rosary beads from one of the cabinets and sprinting out the door. Heart hammering in her ears, she races to the empty confessional box and slams the door behind her.
Mallory drops to her knees inside the small space, cross clutched in her fist. Arden’s encouraged her to get baptized and go to confession for years, promised it would help her feel lighter.
Cleansed. Happy. Mallory always declined, knowing no amount of prayer could wash away the nightmares she lived through.
But right now, her voice whooshes out in desperation, as if she’s been praying her whole life.
“Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” Mallory recites. “Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the—”
The door opens and shuts, a towering figure at her back. A scream rips from her throat, and she scrambles to her feet, colliding with whoever is behind her, sending them both crashing to the wooden bench.
“Let go!” she practically sobs, pushing at the body underneath her. “Let me go, let—”
“Jules, Jules, it’s me, it’s me—”
Warm hands circle her waist and the room spins. Ezra—Ezra? But her brain can’t process it, her surroundings swimming.
“What are you doing in here?” he asks, shifting her slightly.
“There was—I saw—” She closes her eyes. “I don’t know if it was real, I don’t know—”
“I’ve got you.” Ezra yanks the rosary beads from her trembling fists and grabs her hand. Squeezes twice. Their code. This is what’s real.
But it’s not enough.
“No—no.” Mallory wrenches her fingers out of his grasp. “There’s something wrong with me, Ezra.”
His features blur in front of her. Two Ezras, floating in and out of space. Her bones ache under the weight of exhaustion, and she fleetingly imagines dying right here, becoming a corpse in the arms of a man she’s never even kissed, just so she never has to feel this way again.
“Listen to me,” Ezra says fiercely. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“Something’s poisoning my brain,” she says. “I just want everything to stop.” A keening sound trills in her ears. She bites her lips so hard she tastes metal. “My mom got everything to stop.”
Ezra’s hands freeze.
“There’s so much noise in my head,” she adds. “I just want it to be quiet.”
Mallory waits for his gaze to harden, for him to tell her not to say such things.
Instead, Ezra’s throat tightens. He brushes sweaty bangs away from her face and says, “Sometimes I think about doing the exact same thing.”
She blinks, pulse slowing enough to register the somber admission in his words. It’s not easy to whisper that death can be seductive, to admit that being alive isn’t always desirable. Most people squash those kinds of feelings, can’t stomach hearing them, view them as a marker of damaged goods.
But Ezra heard hers. And she heard his. It’s not shameful to feel this way. It’s human. These aren’t thoughts to be stifled or dismissed. They’re meant to be held. Set free. Simply allowed to exist.
“Jules,” he adds softly. “What haunts you doesn’t define you.”
His words hang between them, thickening the air. Mallory stares into his dilated pupils, suddenly painfully aware of every single place they’re touching. Her thighs cinched at his hips. His hands, clutching her waist. Holding her close.
Her head swims, maddening heat blazing at the contradiction of talking about death with Ezra, while hungering for him to make her feel alive.
Today, she decides, she’ll choose life.