Chapter 3
three
My legs churn, propelling my body off the sidewalk. Throat raw and bare from screaming at the sound of a figure following me. Is it Vanq coming to finish me off?
Saturated in blood, covered in darkness, and shaking with terror, I keep moving.
Eventually, I slump against another alleyway wall to catch my breath and bring up my phone I remembered to snatch before I left. I nearly drop it. My fingers freeze over the screen.
It’s…sticky. Not blood. Something else. Oh, god. Shuddering, I wipe my hand on my dress, but it only smears and mixes with red. The sour scent lingers.
Swallowing the bile rising in my throat, I force myself to unlock the screen. I can’t call anyone for help. My brothers would make this so much worse. And my father… His involvement would start a war.
They’d kill trying to protect me, and then the society would send the enforcers for them…
Not to mention, they’d all know what I did. Worse, they’d discover what happened to me before. Then, all of my family would die for knowing the truth. I have to protect them.
It feels natural to run away. Zip my mouth closed. This is who I am. The keeper of secrets. One who must remain quiet to survive.
Hunter spoke the same words that have haunted me from the night that changed my life. The moment I had to become a good servant of Caliphylla. Or else.
Every step forward through the city streets forces me to relive my worst memories. Starting with seeing Bryce’s body twitch. Hunter’s blood coating me. The smell of Reggie’s breath as he forced himself inside me. And the victorious smile that covered his face after.
Hours later, I wander through Northview’s campus in a daze. Thirsty. Exhausted. Caked with red stains.
But I still have enough wits to head to the basement laundry. No one comes down here except for the staff, and at this time of night—morning—it should be dark and empty. Fortunately, my key code works on the door. The president has access to every part of the Omega Nu Epsilon house.
Splashes from the lake are the only sounds in the still air. A chill scurries down my spine. The wind shifts, carrying something unnatural with it. A presence. A weight I can’t see but feel pressing onto my chest. I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know.
He’s watching me.
Hustling inside to escape that thought, I shed my dress until I’m left in my white slip with just a hint of blood at the hem. Underneath some pizza boxes and oversized laundry detergent containers, I stuff the garment and tie off the bag, setting it near the back door.
As I pass the dryers, something flickers in the corner of my eye. I turn and nearly recoil.
A ghost stares back at me. Sunken eyes, bruised skin, dark hair tangled in blood and sweat.
I step forward, and she mimics the motion.
But I open my mouth, she doesn’t. My stomach twists once again.
The woman in the reflection isn’t me. She’s someone else.
Someone…ruined. Pieces of me are forever cemented in that warehouse downtown.
I seem to have aged ten years overnight. But even if I made it to thirty-three, I don’t think I would change. Will he ever stop tormenting me?
On the metal sink lies a nail brush that I use to scrub my hands and face. At least enough so I don’t look like I just murdered two men. With delicate steps, I tiptoe toward my room on the top floor, skirt inside, and hurry to my private shower. Another perk of being president.
The hot water settles me, but I slump to the floor, everything exploding from my body.
Sobs wrack my chest, brutal and sudden—like they’ve been waiting in the wings, silent until now. Forehead hitting my knees, I fold forward and release a silent scream. My throat clenches too tightly to let it out. Steam rises around me like smoke from a ritual fire, but I don’t feel clean.
Hunter’s dead.
Bryce too.
The words loop like a children’s song gone wrong. A nursery rhyme for the damned.
I should be gutted. Perhaps clawing my chest open with sorrow, ripping clothes, or burning myself upon a pyre. Begging Caliphylla or Bonakanos himself to bring them back.
But instead, I just sit here on the cold tile. Crying. Shaking. Weak. And not even sure what these tears are for.
Am I grieving…or am I relieved?
A hiccup rattles through me, and that’s when the laughter starts. The sound is ridiculous and broken. I’ve lost it. Horrified, I clamp my hand over my mouth. But it slips out anyway. A nasty little giggle, like my brain doesn’t know which lever to pull.
What’s wrong with me?
Hunter is gone. The boy who owned my first college Homecoming. My first heartbreak. The man I was supposed to love.
And yet, some part of me feels like I’m finally exhaling.
Is that sick? Is it wrong?
Does that make me just as bad as the man who killed them?
I press my palms against the slick ceramic, grounding myself. My hands are still shaking. The blood might wash off, scalded away by the heat, but their deaths won’t.
I’m stained deeper than sin.
Marked in places no shower can reach, no mirror will ever reflect. In ways my mother couldn’t understand if she were here, stroking my hair, cooing, “It’ll be okay,” like she used to when I had fevers. I can almost feel her arms around me. Almost.
But she’s not here.
No one is.
Can I be safe now? Can someone take care of me?
Pink water flows off my hair and body, swirling down the drain. Eventually, it becomes clear, and my tears end. By the time I step out, my mask is already forming. Olivia Cardell. Perfect sorority president and the girl who doesn’t break.
It’s not just a cover-up... The face I put on for everyone else is my disguise. My protection and penance.
To survive at Northview, I became what they wanted: obedient to Caliphylla, faithful to the Seventh Society.
As we devotees are taught, if I stay perfect, if I obey the rules, then maybe I’ll be rewarded with a prestigious appointment and a future I’ve dreamed of.
One in politics. I’ll be the girl with the pristine family, the right resume, the gold star ribbon, and a shiny engagement ring.
But as I brush out my dark hair and scrub the last trace of blood from my teeth, something whispers beneath my skin:
What if I don’t want it anymore?
What if I was never that girl to begin with?
And if they all find out what happened to me…then they’ll know—I’m not so perfect after all. Tainted. Stained. And ruined.
Still, I lift my chin. Tie the towel tight.
No one can know.
Rolling my shoulders back, I step into my room. Then freeze. Someone’s inside.
“Why are you up so late?”
I heave a sigh of relief at my best friend and vice president squatting on my bed. Familiar and soothing in her striped silk pajama set and with her hair wrapped in a pink bonnet. It could be any regular night we talk about boys.
Tension dissolves from my neck for the first time tonight.
I grab a large sleep shirt and toss it over my head, followed by a fresh pair of panties underneath.
“Why are you up so late?” Shoving her lengthy bronze legs aside, I slide into the bed as she leans against the wall and grabs my pink bear to squeeze. Her brown eyes won’t meet mine.
“Did you just leave Hunter’s?”
“No… What’s wrong?” I attempt to change the subject, but she also seems as if there’s something she’s struggling with.
“Heard there was a shooting at Luminescence. Malik and I were at Theta house for the pre-Terror Tuesday party. Well, mainly just in his room.”
Sitting up, I force her to look at me. “What is it, Naomi? Did you two break up?” There’s no way. They’re perfect for each other.
“No. Did you finally wise up and ditch the dumbass yet?” Finally, she snaps a shrewd gaze at my face, and it helps me relax a little more. That’s the girl I know.
What am I supposed to tell people? What excuse can I come up with for where I’ve been and what happened? “Well, I think I may have. He was supposed to drive me home, but we argued, and he dropped me in the middle of downtown.”
“Olivia, are you fucking serious? Why didn’t you call me?! Malik and I would’ve come to pick you up—”
“I needed to calm down. Was so angry. I turned off my phone, so I didn’t have to speak to him anyway.” The lie forms so easily, and she nods, already agreeing. Tension eases from my shoulders. Hunter treated me like an afterthought so often; she doesn’t question when I say he abandoned me.
Nims doesn’t hesitate. “I’m proud of you. But please don’t take him back tomorrow, er, today when he shows up here with a bunch of roses.”
I lie down and yank the covers up to my nose to smother a small smile, then murmur, “I’d never do that.”
Besides, I usually spend Sundays not hearing from him and wondering where he was on Saturday night.
She pokes my side beneath the covers until I laugh, then quickly quiet myself. No, Hunter can’t be dead. This is just a normal night. He’ll text me in the morning, and we’ll make up, and things will be fine. I just need sleep.
But like an ocean wave, reality forces its way over my head. Hunter’s dead. He’s not going to be walking through the door anymore. There won’t ever be another opportunity for me to make up with him. He’s gone…forever.
Naomi stands and rubs her hands together like she’s trying to decide whether she wants to stay or go.
“Are you going to tell me why you came in here, or dance around the topic? Because you’re scaring me. Naomi Adesanya, future news anchor, is not a woman who stays quiet.”
Her shoulders slump, as if she’s considering giving up everything she’s holding back.
Swallowing back some anxiety, I ask, “Nims, you’re my best friend and my mouthpiece. What is it?”
She shifts on her feet once, then lifts her chin before she quietly confesses her worries. “Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?”
I gasp but quickly recover. My pulse pounds at a thunderous pace.
“I mean…”
Naomi breaks my stammering with a scoffed laugh. “It’s so stupid. So silly. I’m getting freaked out about Terror Tuesday, but we always win. That’s all it is.”
“Are you sure, because—” Should I tell her something? “I mean, I have felt like that before.”
“Caliphylla, goddess of all of life. I’m messing with you!” The chuckle she lets out doesn’t meet her eyes. “Anyway, it’s almost three. We need some sleep for President Harvey’s luncheon tomorrow. And I need to take good notes for the newspaper.”
Part of me wants to press her, to ask her if there’s something more. But if I begin, how many lies will I need to tell to cover up everything that’s happened? Each one that leaves my lips makes me feel further away from everyone in my life.
“Right, yeah. I need sleep desperately.” Without a thought, I dig out my embalmed butterfly wing from my nightstand drawer and rub it mindlessly between my fingers and thumb.
It’s cold from being left alone. And the stone is rougher.
But this is exactly what I’ve been missing all night.
The motion soothes me in a way nothing else can.
Naomi catches the movement, and her dark brown eyes widen, the whites around them glaringly visible.
“What?” I ask, pausing my motion.
She opens her mouth, but then she quickly closes it and hurries to the door. “Goodnight,” she says over her shoulder before slipping away.