29
Blair stops asking questions once she figures out all I’m going to do is deflect. “It’s not you, it’s me,” I told her, yet it went over just about as well as it does in the middle of a breakup. In this case, it’s true. She seems perfectly sweet, capable, smart, and like she’s hiding some secrets of her own. Truthfully, we might’ve been best friends in another life, any other life. And while it’s possible we’ll get there eventually in this one... I’m not going to hold my breath.
I have to protect myself.
And that starts by figuring out what I have to work with and what my options are. I never considered getting a place this close to St. Andrew’s because I always assumed any dorms or apartments over here were for student use only, but now I’m not so sure. I’ve spent the better part of the last hour people-watching out the window, taking note of the types of people who walk past. They’re definitely not all students. But how much of my money did they actually return?
Bracing myself, I unlock my phone and log into my bank app. For a moment, I’m not sure what I’m seeing. My $7,353.64 is there, every penny — but there’s now a 5 in front of it that absolutely wasn’t there before.
They gave me fifty-thousand dollars.
The room spins, and the bedframe I grab ahold of does nothing to keep me steady. “What the fuck?” I yell too loudly. “What the fuck?”
Blair comes running into the room with a fucking sword in her hand, making the situation that much more ludicrous. “What? What happened?”
Selfishness warns me not to tell her anything, to close my phone and tell her the bastards robbed me again or something. But I need to know why. None of this makes sense, and she’s the only one who spoke to them. “They mentioned my bank account to you, right? They told you to have me check it? Did they tell you why?”
Lowering the weapon, she releases the breath she was holding. “Not specifically. I figured they probably gave you enough so you wouldn’t have to worry for a while, but I know they make damn good money so I was hoping they set you up nicely. They did, right? Because this sword was made to chop off balls.”
“Nicely might be an understatement,” I say softly, sitting back down on the bed as I stare at my balance. “I could go anywhere, anywhere in the world with this.”
Relaxing further, Blair sets the blade aside and smiles at me. “Guess they’re not fully devils after all. Least they could do is take care of you.”
What a funny phrase, take care of me. What does that even mean? Clearly not my body, or my heart. Not my mind. I’m still riddled with bruises and bite marks, still holding strong to the scar that won’t ever fade. And I feel... like the sun’s been sucked out of the sky. It’s so stupid, but it’s true.
I guess they broke me after all.
“Where would you want to go?” she presses softly. “Italy, maybe Scotland?”
Huffing, I shake my head. “Honestly, right now I just want to go somewhere that serves steak.”
“That sounds awe— wait, do you mean alone? I was totally about to invite myself along,” she says with a chuckle, her laugh telling me she wouldn’t take offense at all if I wanted to go alone.
Surprisingly, I don’t. “I think the least I can do is buy you some food since I was dumped on your doorstep. We’ll go for lunch, yeah? I want — no, I absolutely need a shower. I can’t believe you’re standing in the same room with me right now with how I smell.”
“You smell like cologne and great sex. Nothing new here, girl.” With a grin, she grabs her weapon again and heads back out the door. “All your toiletries are in the guest bathroom, by the way. Asher made sure of it.”
She waves her fingers at me in a farewell, like that wasn’t yet another dagger to the chest. So what, he lost the argument to keep me and then doubled down to take care of me better than Manson?
Fucking men.
Scowling, I lock my phone after taking one last look at the balance and head off to the shower. If I’m going to start over — again — that starts with getting rid of every shred of evidence that they’ve ever touched me.
This might take a while.
––––––––
Five hours later, I’m squeaky clean, less tired thanks to a nap, and sitting in a restaurant way too fancy for me. “Good thing those bastards gave me a big fat severance package, huh?” I laugh quietly. “I don’t think I’d have been able to afford this before without kicking myself.”
“At least they were good for something more than those bite marks,” she replies teasingly. “They need to hurry with the damn bread.”
A little self-consciously, I tug the sleeves of my sweater down like that’ll make a difference. “Have you... heard from them?”
Blair nods. “You want to see the messages?”
My stomach squirms, but I nod anyway. I need to know.
It takes her a moment to fetch her phone out of her never ending purse, but once she has the thread open she hands it over without hesitation.
Asher : Is she awake?
Manson : answer the fucking phone
Asher : This wasn’t part of the deal. Say fucking something!
Blair : deal?! Get over yourselves
Manson : the fuck does that mean?
Blair : It means I don’t work for either of you and quite frankly I’m not doing this for you. It’s for her. She’s awake, pissed and soon will be on her way to healing. She doesn’t need you two poking your dumb heads around. I’ll answer your messages and calls when I fucking feel like it. Our deal was for me to make sure she’s safe, and apparently that means safe from you two. Did you have to mark her that much?
I see there’s a gap in their messages before Asher responds in a way that catches me off guard.
Asher : you’re right. Guess that’s why we came to you
Blair : exactly. I got this. Let her live or come show her you love her. Pick a side, boys.
Since that was the last message, I guess they made up their minds.
I’m surprised at how much it hurts.
Handing her phone back, I force a smile and silently thank the waitress for choosing then to bring our bread. “Thank you,” I tell her quickly. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem.” Based on her expression, I don’t hide my sadness well — but she walks away anyway.
“So stupid,” Blair sighs. “You want them, they want you, why are we here, Rhea?”
“They don’t want me. Not really,” I mumble. “They want the me who fights. The me who bleeds, hurts, cries for them. I can’t be that girl anymore. I won’t.”
“Yikes,” she says before a sigh. “I don’t know much about that, but I guess I’m glad you’re free then.”
It comes out like vomit. The whole thing, the whole fucking sordid story — from my dad’s murder, meeting Asher for the first time, my stepfather’s murder. The night he lit my bed on fire. The terrible things he said to me, did to my car, my psyche. My disorder. The locks, the shock bracelet. The alarms and evictions. Reaching out to Asher for help, for a lifeline.
The way he tricked me.
The torture that followed. The bullet wounds, the murders.
And then... the good. The moments of peace after a lifetime of war. The comfort, the butterflies. I don’t stop talking until my throat is hoarse and the entire restaurant around us is silent, staring.
Fuck. I just admitted to... so, so many fucking crimes. Clearing my throat, I add, “Oh, sorry! I didn’t know you were listening. She’s a literary agent, I’m here pitching a book to her. A fiction book.”
Blair’s eyes are wide as a woman at the table next to us tells me I should definitely write it, and she doesn’t speak again until people have moved on and the restaurant is buzzing again. “Holy shit, girl. Are you sure Ireland is off the table? I knew they were crazy, but Je-sus. How are you okay?”
I glance around to make sure no one is paying attention, and even then, I keep my voice low. “I’ve never been okay, Blair. This is... normal.”
She reaches out to take my hand abruptly, making me flinch so hard she lets it go. “Sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry, Rhea. You’re stronger than me, that’s for sure. You will be okay. I can see it in your eyes, you’re resilient.”
That’s always meant to be a compliment, but I’ve never taken it as one. Being resilient is bullshit. What choice do people have? Lay down and die? Maybe, but that’s not really a choice at all. “Anyway, so that’s how I ended up here. Figures the little shits only gave you the bare minimum. They could’ve at least warned you to lock your door at night.”
Her eyes narrow curiously. “Because of the sexsomnia?”
“Yeah. You’re fucking gorgeous and when I’m in an episode, I have no reasoning skills. Sex is sex. All I’m saying is l—”
No.
A man walking by catches my eye. Not just any man, either. Face tats, freakishly tall, muscular. It’s the one they didn’t kill. In the woods, the cabin. They killed his friends and now he’s here.
“Blair, we have to go. Now,” I rush out, standing and grabbing my purse. “Get up, let’s go.”
“The food didn’t even come yet!” she argues. “Why are you freaking out? What’s going on?”
The man stops several booths over from us with his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face. My blood runs cold when he winks at me. “I’ll explain in the car, let’s just go!”
I grab her by the arm and haul her out of the booth, dashing for the door as people gasp and our waitress tries to flag us down. All we had to eat was bread, I’m sure they’ll be fine — and I’ll find a way to pay the bill once we’re safe.
Suddenly, I’m glad our dining room is decorated with weapons. Without Asher and Manson around to do the killing... I’ll have to protect myself. And Blair now, too.
What the fuck?