Chapter 21
It’s my third time walking the property, and I’m doing exactly as Blake said, sticking close to the fence line.
I don’t want to give him another excuse to say I’m not ready to go on a run.
I point the flashlight ahead of me, illuminating the path so I don’t trip over a fallen branch or uneven ground.
It’s been quiet, save for some coyotes howling in the distance.
The stars are hidden behind the clouds and the moon is barely visible, with just a sliver of it peeking out.
At the corner of the fence line, I think back to Blake’s super-important training. “Oh no. What do I do?” I mock, waving my hands in the air. “Thankfully, Blake equipped me with all the right knowledge.” I roll my eyes and turn right, avoiding running into the fence.
What was his deal tonight? I mean, the eavesdropping and trying to be authoritative are typical Blake traits.
But what was up with him telling me about his mom?
He’s never confided in me about anything, even when we did get close.
So why now? Did he feel he had to after overhearing my conversation with Dad?
Or was it so I’d put my sword down? Figuratively and kind of literally.
Or did he tell me so it’d absolve him from how much of an asshole he was to me?
Because it doesn’t. He treated me horribly from ages thirteen to eighteen, and his mom dying isn’t an excuse.
Trauma makes you either a hero or a villain.
He chose the latter, deciding to inflict his pain on others because he didn’t want to be the only one who felt it.
My mom died too, but I wasn’t anyone’s monster as a result. So he doesn’t get a pass for that.
Something rustles in the long grass, startling me, and I quickly shine my flashlight toward it.
A possum emerges, sniffing around before bolting back where it came from.
I sigh with relief and keep walking, my mind returning to Blake, and I’m not sure why.
Maybe because tonight reminded me of when he and I were friends, or a little more than friends.
It didn’t last long, though. He earned my trust, made me fall for him, and then turned back into the monster he always was.
A branch snaps to the left, somewhere within the thick forest. I scan the tree line, searching for the origin of the noise.
“Hello?” I call out.
Nothing stirs. I linger for a moment or two, just to be sure, and then I carry on.
Only a few more hours until I’m relieved of my duties, and I can finally go to sleep in my warm bed.
I yawn so big that my eyes tear up. A stick cracks under the weight of something stepping on it.
I scramble to point the flashlight in the direction of where the sound came, but it slips from my hands, swirling a beam of light as it hits the dewy grass.
“Shit,” I say, bending down to pick it up.
I take a hit from the side, and I’m sent crashing to the ground with a thud. I open my mouth to scream, but a hand covers my lips, stifling it. Struggling against the person on top of me, I buck and elbow and kick, and then I roll onto my back so I can see what I’m dealing with. Of course.
“What the fuck are you doing?” The words come out muffled.
Blake grins and removes his hand. “Testing your reflexes. If I was a zombie, I’d have bitten you already.”
“Bullshit. Biters don’t hide and do sneak attacks. And what are you doing out here anyway?” I cock my head.
“I couldn’t sleep with you on night watch. It’s like having no patrol at all.” He chuckles.
“You’re such a dick.”
“Only with you.” The moonlight catches his verdant eyes, making them glow.
I throw my head back into the grass, surprised at his admission. “What?”
“I mean, no, I’m not,” he says nonchalantly, trying to play it off.
“You’re being really weird.” I squirm beneath him. “Can you please get off?”
He starts to crawl off but stops suddenly, shifting back into place like we’re tethered to one another.
Our eyes meet and a silence stretches between us as his body is pressed against mine.
It should feel heavy, but for some reason, it feels like it’s part of me, and I’m used to the weight, the pressure.
“Blake,” I say, “what are you—”
Cutting me off midsentence, he lowers his head and plants his lips on mine, taking me by surprise.
My first instinct is to push him off or slap him across the face.
But I don’t, and what surprises me even more is I close my eyes and kiss him right back.
Deepening it, I pull him into me, my fingers combing through the short hair at the nape of his neck.
His lips are unexpectedly soft, shifting in sync with mine like it’s a routine we’ve rehearsed before, and we both know all the moves.
My heart beats faster and faster, and my skin turns hot, like a fire’s been ignited inside my body.
I slip my tongue through the seam of his lips and find his, massaging it.
He purrs and rolls away, pulling me with him.
As I straddle his torso, his hands grip my hips, and he hardens beneath me.
Oh God. I’m kissing Blake Morrison. I’m kissing Blake Morrison.
I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen, not again, not with him—but it feels so good, and I can’t help myself.
So I push the thought away, and I kiss him harder, biting at his lip, making him moan.
A memory comes flooding to the front of my mind, one I can’t push aside.
The night at Blake’s house party started out fine.
I was nervous just being there, because it was the first time we were hanging out with other people, and I was the only person not drinking, but no one noticed, or maybe they didn’t care.
My Solo cup was filled with apple juice I’d found in the fridge rather than beer from the keg someone had their older brother buy for them.
Blake and I had been friendly for three months at that point, and I was enjoying every second of it.
Maybe it was because I wasn’t being teased and bullied anymore, or maybe it was because I was happy for once.
Every day, I had something to look forward to . . . and it was him.
I was seated next to Blake on the living room couch.
A pop song blared from a broken speaker that rattled every time the bass hit.
Classmates huddled near the keg, while others stood around a folding table, where a competitive game of beer pong played out.
The house phone rang, and Blake yelled to turn the music down.
He answered on the fourth ring, after the party had quieted.
I remember he didn’t say much. Whoever was on the other end of the line did most of the talking.
His face changed, anger and sorrow flashing across it.
He thanked the person for calling and then set the phone back down on the receiver.
The music resumed, blaring through the shaky speaker, and everything went back to normal—except for Blake.
I asked him who called. He said no one. I asked if he was okay.
He said he was fine. I didn’t believe him.
“Let’s go talk,” I said, standing from the couch and reaching for his hand, trying to pull him with me.
Blake looked up at me for a moment, as though deciding what his next move would be, like he was at a fork in the road and there was no going back and trying the other path once he started down one.
He shook his head ever so slightly, as though he was about to deliver bad news in response to a question that hadn’t been asked.
Blake flicked my hand away, chugged the rest of his beer, and got to his feet.
He stumbled over to the keg, where he refilled his cup, gulping the whole thing down in under three seconds before refilling it once more.
It was the fuel he needed for whatever fire he was about to start.
Blake staggered back over to me, but his eyes were different—mean. The kindness I had become so accustomed to over the last three months was snuffed out in an instant. Something in him had changed.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I whispered.
Blake put distance between us, sizing me up before tightening his eyes and laughing, even though nothing was funny. “Why are you even here, Doomsday? Don’t you have a well to dig or canned goods to sort?”
I drew my head back at the mention of the nickname he hadn’t called me the entire school year. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but I assumed it was a combination of whatever news he got on the phone and the alcohol.
“Blake, you’re drunk.” I took a step toward him, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get you to bed.”
He shrugged me off. “Did you hear that, everyone?” The music lowered and all eyes were on us, like we were center stage and a spotlight had just been shined on Blake and me. I hated every second of it. “Head Case Pearson is trying to take me to bed!”
The party erupted with laughter, and several people joined in, hurling insults and comments at me. I felt sick to my stomach. My heart hammered in my chest, and my skin began to perspire, sweat gathering at my hairline.
“Blake, why are you acting like this?” I said in a low voice, hoping only he would hear me and it would snap him out of whatever this was.
“I thought we were . . . friends.” I didn’t want to say girlfriend and boyfriend or in a relationship, because we had never put a label on it. But I felt like we were more.
“Friends?” He cackled, slapping his knee to punctuate how funny he found it. His face turned serious, his eyes dark and cold. “I could never be friends with a freak like you.”
Some of the guys egged Blake on, high-fiving him and hooting and hollering while he continued to taunt and mock me.
My bottom lip trembled, and my eyes welled with tears.
I didn’t want him to see me cry, to see how much he was hurting me, so I darted out of the house before a sob could tear through me.
A quarter mile away down the road, I could still hear their laughter.
My heart ached, and I thought it might have snapped right in half.
Blake’s interest in me, all the time we had spent together, had just been one big, cruel joke.
And he had finally gotten to the punch line.
The memory makes me jerk away. Blake’s eyes shoot open, and confusion takes hold of his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Why’d you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Kiss me. Why’d you kiss me, Blake?”
His brows shove together. “Because I wanted to, because I like—”
“Stop!” I say, unpeeling myself from him. I dust the grass clippings off my clothes, collect my flashlight, and start walking.
“Wait,” Blake yells. He catches up to me and grips my shoulder, turning me to face him.
I shrug him off and point the flashlight right at his face.
“Jesus,” he says, holding up his hand to block the bright light.
I lower it and narrow my eyes. “I know what you’re up to.”
He jerks his head back. “I’m not up to anything. I swear.” Blake tries to reach for my hand, but I yank it away.
“Yeah right. You’re up to the same shit you did in high school, but I’m not falling for it this time. I’m not falling for you.” I turn and stomp toward the house.
“Casey,” he yells.
I ignore him. I should have ignored him from the very beginning. He’s too easy to fall for.
Without warning, I’m spun around again, standing face-to-face with Blake. He leans in and kisses me, but this time, I pull away. For good measure, I swing an open hand through the air, slapping him as hard as I can across the cheek. Stunned, he lets his jaw go slack, and his eyes expand.
I point a finger at him, thrusting it into his chest. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again, Blake.”
Turning on my heel, I storm off just as tears begin to prickle behind my eyes. It takes everything in me not to look back, but I know if I do, I’ll be right under his spell again.