Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Two
Ruby
The gun never stops moving. Lindsey talks with her hands, which means the weapon swings in little arcs every time she gestures. Toward the sink. The counter. Me.
Never quite aimed. Never far from it.
“Sit up straight,” she snaps.
I adjust in the chair, wiping my damp palms against my jeans.
“You wouldn’t listen.” She paces again. “I told you to stay away from him.”
“I tried.”
Her head snaps toward me. “You didn’t try hard enough.”
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a prescription bottle. My stomach drops. The pills rattle as she shakes them.
“You know what’s great about these?” Her voice turns strangely conversational. “You’re going to do the dirty work for me.”
Cold washes through me.
She sets the bottle beside the sink, then slides a piece of paper and pen toward me.
“Write.”
I stare at the blank page. “What?”
“Your goodbye letter.”
My chest tightens. “Lindsey….”
The gun lifts.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” She taps the paper with the barrel. “You were devastated. Heartbroken. Xavier ended things, and you couldn’t handle it.”
Every instinct screams at me to run. There’s nowhere to go. I pick up the pen.
Dear Bella and Emily,
The words look wrong. Good. They should. Bella and Emily know me. Maybe they'll realize something isn't right. Except that means finding the letter after….
No. I can't think about that.
My hand almost moves toward my stomach. I stop it. Don't let her know about the baby.
I’m sorry.
My handwriting wobbles.
Her perfectly made-up face scrunches with irritation. “Keep going.”
I write slowly, dragging out every word. Buying time.
Why did I never suspect it was her? Was I so egotistical that I couldn’t imagine the person not being infatuated with me? That’s pathetic. All this time, I was looking in the wrong direction.
I just couldn’t take it anymore.
Think. Observe. Wait.
The gun hangs more loosely in Lindsey’s hand now. She thinks she's already won. My phone buzzes on the counter. Neither of us moves.
“You should’ve told him to leave when I warned you.” The gun swings to the right as she talks.
“I left.”
“But he didn’t.” Bitterness cuts through her voice. “He kept coming back.” She laughs softly. “You know when I realized how bad it was?”
I keep my eyes on the paper. “When?”
“I opened your dresser.” Fine lines deepen at the corners of her eyes, makeup settling into the creases.
My pen stops.
“His clothes were inside.” Her gaze sweeps around the kitchen. “Like he lived here. This house. Your animals. Your routines.”
The gun rises. “You made him care.”
My throat tightens as another wave of nausea rolls through me. My eyes flick toward the pill bottle. No. She isn't making me take those.
My phone buzzes again. Someone is looking for me. Keep her talking. My brain starts calculating. Distance. Angle. The chair beneath me.
If I throw it…. One wrong move and she fires. Not yet. I lower my head and add another line.
I hope someday you understand that this wasn’t what I wanted, but what I had to do.
I pause, then write:
Please take care of Squirt and the pigs.
Lindsey reads over my shoulder. “Good.”
I almost sag with relief. Because Bella and Emily will know. I would never leave my animals behind. If I can't get out of this, they'll know I didn't write this letter because I wanted to die.
A sudden squeal erupts outside. Samson. Another follows, louder and agitated.
Then…. Thud. Something hits the porch steps.
Lindsey’s head turns toward the back door. My pulse explodes. Please. Please let someone be out there.
Her gun dips. And for the first time since I walked into the kitchen, Lindsey isn’t watching me.