19. Briar
brIAR
Eight months ago
I love you.” Callum pushes my hands over my head and kisses me deeply. “I can’t get you out of my head, Chloe. You know that? You take every thought from me.”
I giggle against his lips. He pulls back and looks down at the mess he’s made of me.
It’s rare that we go less than at least twice.
I swear to God he’s insatiable. It was fate that we met at the bar the night I was ditched by Uncle Arnold.
My uncle was supposed to meet me for a drink since we hadn’t seen each other in a few years, but something came up and he couldn’t make it.
I didn’t mind though, because Callum found me. That was a year ago and we’ve been inseparable since.
“Even when you’re working?” I ask sweetly against his lips.
His soft blue eyes warm, and he pushes back brown strands of his hair that fall over his brow. “Especially when I’m working.”
I’ve always wondered why he fell for someone like me, someone who has a tragic past. He’s also clearly way out of my league.
He says he’s only successful because of his family wealth, but he’s just being modest. I know he works harder than anyone else in his IT firm.
I don’t know the specifics of what he does there, but I’ve seen him a few times surveil footage and travel a lot for his boss.
He’s gone for days at a time, coming home with bruises and cuts.
Every time I ask how he gets so hurt, he just shrugs and says that he has to get into tight workspaces with machines.
When he’s at the apartment, he’s working on his laptop into the late hours of the night.
My lips curve, and I lean up to kiss him again. Callum moans and chuckles over my lips. It’s my favorite thing that he does. His gravelly voice is impossible not to yearn for.
We cuddle up on the couch after a shower and turn on a movie. I nuzzle into his chest and try not to fall asleep as he gently runs his fingers through my hair.
“Don’t fall asleep, baby,” he whispers.
I don’t reply since I’ll likely be asleep in a few minutes. I think it’s fun to let him think I’m already dreaming, though. He continues to run his fingers through my hair, leaning over and pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
My chest warms, and I start to doze off when his phone vibrates a few minutes later. I’m barely conscious but I hear him answer.
“Yeah?” he whispers, sounding annoyed that his night is being interrupted. His hand stills on my head and his entire body tenses. A long silence stretches—so long that I think he just got bad news. “You’re sure?” he says in a cold, distant voice I’ve never heard him use before.
Who called him?
Callum’s gentle hand curls into a fist in my hair, not pulling anything, but I can feel him trembling. Is he angry?
“Understood. Consider it terminated,” he mutters before ending the call.
I slowly lean up and rub the drowsiness from my eyes. “Is everything okay?” My shoulders stiffen when I see his tortured expression. Tears stream down both of his cheeks. “Callum?” Concern is evident in my tone, and I lean forward, pressing my hand against his cheek.
He shuts his eyes and leans into my palm. “No, baby. Nothing will ever be okay again,” he chokes out.
Worry tears through my chest. Did someone die? I pull him closer and wrap my arms around his shoulders. “What happened?” I hold him tightly as he lets his shoulders shake with emotion.
He pulls away slowly and looks at me like it’s the last time he ever will. His eyes trace every dip and curve of my face.
Before I can ask him what’s wrong again, his hands are wrapping around my throat. At first it’s gentle, like he’s going to pull me in for a kiss or a hug, but I quickly realize that’s not what he’s doing. His grip gets tighter.
I cough, and my hands fly up to my throat. “Callum, that hurts.”
His jaw trembles, and he’s looking at me with more misery than a man should hold in their gaze. He shuts his eyes, and more tears spill out as he tightens the pressure around my throat.
Panic hits my nervous system, and I try to struggle out of his grip.
“Fuck!” he cries, shaking his head, but he doesn’t let up. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I’m so fucking sorry. Please forgive me. Please don’t fucking hate me.” His voice becomes distant, and before I hear anything else he says, I lose consciousness.
When I wake up, I’m in a heavily wooded area.
It’s damp, cold, and everything is hazy.
My mouth feels so dry. Why does everything hurt so bad?
I try to remember what happened, but my head hurts so badly that I can’t think.
My lips part, and I’m about to call out for Callum when I’m struck with a sharp pain in my throat.
It all comes back to me.
Adrenaline hits my veins and horror sets into my bones.
He’s trying to kill me.
I carefully lift my head and look around. I hear him digging somewhere nearby. Holy shit, this is really happening. I’m not tied up, which surprises me a bit. Did he think I was already dead? The idea of that sinks like a stone in my stomach.
Being betrayed like this by someone I love feels like my heart is literally being torn out of my chest.
Why would he do this to me? He just told me he loved me, didn’t he? Why would he do this… Tears brim in my eyes, and I try to see past them as I slowly get on my hands and knees. I crawl as quietly as I can, trying to breathe equally as silent.
The scent of moist dirt burns my nose. It used to be a smell I loved, from all my time gardening when I was young. There are few memories I have with my parents, but among them are pancakes at diners and gardening on hot summer nights.
I’m colder than I’ve ever been, hurting more than I thought was physically possible. I can’t tell which is more painful: the rawness of my throat or the aching in my heart.
I’ve been crawling for a few minutes. Small pebbles and sticks are embedded in my palms and knees, but I keep going. Hot tears drip from my chin and hit the backs of my hands.
That’s when I hear Callum step on a branch behind me.
I thought he’d give himself away when he noticed I was gone. I thought he’d start calling out my name, and I’d have time to run. But I suppose I didn’t know Callum as well as I thought I did. Or at all.
I don’t turn to face him. I clench my jaw and continue to crawl.
I know it’s the end. There’s no sound for one moment, and it feels drawn out into many more insignificant moments—moments in which I wonder if our memories and shared love turn into ash between us. Something sharp glides over my back, making a long cut down my shoulder blade.
Hot liquid spills from my body, and chills pebble my skin like rain.
It’s strange. I don’t cry out and I don’t feel anything except the warmth of my blood. Even the pain in my hands fades.
All I am is numb—already dead maybe, and this is hell.
My body falls to the side, and I face Callum. He’s not remorseful like he was earlier. The light has gone from his eyes, and all that’s left is an evil I’ve never known. It’s then that I realize how truly mortifying his beauty is, how it only ever masked what he kept hidden underneath.
I lift my arm right as he swings his knife down. He cuts my arm, and more blood blooms into my clothes. Tears are streaming down my temples and choked, rasping sounds escape my throat.
“W-why?” is the only word that comes out.
He doesn’t even blink as he smacks the side of my head with the butt of his knife. It dazes me. I don’t pass out this time, but I know pretending to be dead is my only hope.
I let my limbs go limp and stay as still as I can.
The fucked-up thing is that the second you’re in survival mode, you dissociate. It’s like my brain just flipped a switch and everything that is based in emotion evaporates. Like smoke, my heart has all but vanished. I’m just a creature surviving its predator.
Callum stares at me for only a few seconds before he gets up and starts dragging me by my legs back to the hole he dug.
My arms are trailing up over my head, and I’m staring dully into the breaking points of the trees above. The stars are barely visible, but I hold on to them. I wonder if he will hear my question in the back of his mind for the rest of time.
Why?
Callum shoves my body into the hole with one hard boot to my stomach. I hold my breath to keep from gasping as I hit the bottom. It’s damn near six feet. I don’t have anything to measure the distance other than the despair in my soul.
I watch as he shovels the dirt on top of me until my face is buried.
I hold my breath, and the second that I hear him go for another scoop, I cup my hands around my mouth to keep a pocket of air.
As he adds dirt, I try to make the pocket as big as I can, like they tell you to do in case of an avalanche.
It only takes him a matter of minutes to bury me. The dirt is loose, so it’s not too hard to move my way back up, but I wait for a few minutes without hearing dirt hit the pile before I start moving. It’s like climbing mud, fighting for every scrap of life I have left in me.
And after I take that first breath of crisp air, I run.
I run as fast as my wounded body will allow, and I don’t look back.
Chloe is dead.