Chapter 30
chapter
thirty
“Not all damage is visible. Some of it lives quietly under your skin.” - Haven
HAVEN
Age 16
The late afternoon, July heat beats down from the cloudless sky. Other than the steady hum of a lawnmower a few houses down, there is no noise. It’s almost as if I’m the only person left on the planet. Guess that doesn’t feel different than any other day of the week.
Dad is always traveling for work. My stepmother is a horrible human, and I avoid her at all costs. Her spawn, the son of Satan, Cy, is no better.
Why Dad brought these two horrible, toxic people into our lives is beyond me. It feels like another lifetime that today, July fourth, I’d be out here with friends and family, barbecuing, swimming, and setting off fireworks.
Not anymore.
Now everyone is busy, and I’m the loser at home, hanging out by the pool all alone.
Patrick’s family is having a huge party, and of course, the whole school is going.
The Rhodes’ parties are legendary. They go all out with entertainment, catered food, and a fireworks show.
An invite was slipped into my locker like everyone else, but despite missing Patrick and his mom, there is no way in hell I’ll be there.
Not unless I’m going for complete social suicide.
Showing up is like handing an open invitation to Cy—and those who used to be my friends—to use me for their amusement.
I glance around.
It can’t really get much worse, but at least here, no one is around to tease me or call me names.
One by one, I watched as he twisted everything about me until the things that had made me cool made me an outsider. What felt like overnight, I became the outcast staring through the glass at the life I once had and wondering how I got here.
‘He who follows the crowd will usually get no further than the crowd.’ The Albert Einstein quote made no sense to me until Cyrus arrived. Now I understand. Herd mentality is strong, and it is also the reason sheep get slaughtered.
If Cyrus told them to jump off a cliff because it was cool, they would do it.
I won’t. That’s the difference. It’s also why he hates me.
At least I think that’s why. I’m not willing to bow at his feet, even if he sings like a god, has abs to drool over, and eyes that pierce my soul.
Nope. Never. Screw him. Screw them. I don’t need anyone.
So instead, I’m lying on my lounge chair to tan.
I’m as pale as a ghost, and I don’t get it.
I was born in California. I spend half my life outside, and yet I can’t seem to tan no matter what I try.
White or red as a crab, that’s all I’ve got.
It makes me so jealous of those who look great with their bronzed skin.
I look down my body, shimmering with baby oil, and groan as I practically blind myself. This isn’t working. Nothing works. It’s useless.
Conceding before I turn into tomato status, I stand and stretch. My hands trace the bikini I bought the other day. The bright red butterfly print matches my hair. I’m not much for showing off a bunch of skin, but as soon as I saw it, I had to have it.
Tentatively, my toes test the water. My heated skin breaks out in goosebumps despite it being eighty degrees. With each step, the water rises higher until I’m on my tiptoes, trying to convince myself to just drop down into what feels like freezing water.
That’s when I hear it. Them.
“Oh shit.”
I look up just as the gate bangs open and the backyard begins to fill with people. Cy is at the front of the pack. Why the hell are they here?
He stares me dead in the eyes and smiles. But there is nothing warm and fuzzy about it. He’s a monster ready to strike.
I need to get out of here. Now.
I push through the water as fast as I can to reach the stairs, but I won’t make it to safety.
Cy struts across the yard like a king. Shirt off, swim trunks and sunglasses on, a towel around his neck, and a swarm following him.
He moves quickly to cut off my escape, standing at the edge of the pool, leering down at me.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
I swallow hard and inch backward.
“Nice bikini,” Cy says, running his lower lip through his teeth.
Fuck.
He kicks off his flip-flops and makes a slow, dramatic move to drop his towel and sunglasses.
It’s like watching a collision, and I can’t tear my eyes away.
He slowly descends the stairs into the water.
Everyone else has faded into the background, and my heart thumps so hard, it’s all I hear.
The ladder in the deep end is my only hope, so I make a break for it.
My arms and legs slice through the water, but I’m no match for Cy.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
I panic when his fingertips graze my leg, and kick faster. I’m almost there.
My hand wraps around the metal ladder. For a single heartbeat, I’m safe. I made it. But Cyrus is like a shark after blood, and he never gives up when it comes to torturing me.
I scream, but the sound dies as his hand clamps around my ankle and yanks. The water swallows me whole.
Terror slams into my chest. My grip on the ladder breaks, and my fingers scrape uselessly over the smooth metal before I’m dragged backward and down. The world goes muffled and warped, the laughter above me turns into distorted echoes that bounce through the water like something cruel and far away.
I kick. Twist. My nails rake against skin—his, but it does nothing. Cy is stronger.
My lungs burn, and the terror overwhelms me as I claw for the surface. My body knows before my mind catches up.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
But there’s no air, only water pressing in from every direction.
Cy releases me.
For a split second, I surge upward, breaking the surface with a gasp that tears from my throat. Air. It’s never felt so good. And then I’m dragged back under.
My scream for help is choked as water rushes into my mouth. It floods my throat, burning as it goes down. My body convulses as I cough, but there’s nowhere for it to go. My chest spasms, trying to breathe, trying to pull in air that isn’t there.
Everything tightens. My lungs. My throat. My thoughts. I’m going to die. This is the moment Cyrus kills me.
I can hear my heartbeat. It’s loud, frantic, pounding in my ears like a drum that’s too fast, too hard. I fight harder and kick wildly as any animal caught in a trap. My hands push against him, against the water, against anything.
He doesn’t move. Nothing works. My chest is on fire. No…worse. Tears sting my eyes, and they would fall if we were on land. But here in my watery hell, no one will ever see them.
I need air. I need—
My body jerks as another mouthful of water forces its way in, and my vision flickers.
Black creeps in at the edges. My hands fly to my throat, clawing at nothing, trying to open something that remains blocked. My adrenaline wanes, and the fight drains out of me all at once.
I haven’t given up, but my limbs are heavy and don’t work.
The noise fades. The laughter. The splashing. Everything dulls like someone turned the volume down on the world. There’s just the pressure. Then darkness comes with a sharp, terrifying realization…this is really it.
Someone grabs me and pulls, but not down.
Up. I break the surface, and air hits me like a punch as I’m dragged out over the rough stone around the pool.
I barely feel the pain in my knees as I collapse forward, coughing violently.
Water pours out of my mouth, my nose, and my lungs.
Each breath is jagged, broken, like I’ve swallowed glass and then coughed it back up.
“Breathe, Haven, breathe,” Patrick says, patting my back. His voice cuts through the ringing in my ears. It’s comforting because even though we aren’t best friends anymore, he is the one person who will stop Cy when he takes things too far.
I cough until my whole chest aches. My vision swims in and out, and spots dance everywhere.
Hands hover around me, and voices overlap. Some are worried, some are whispering, but I can’t focus on any of it.
Air has never felt so violent and yet necessary.
Eventually, the gasping and wheezing ease. I’m still shaking. My hands tremble where they press against the stone.
I look to my left, and that is when I see him. Cyrus is in the pool, watching me, and for a moment…just one…he looks worried. Like maybe he didn’t mean to go this far. Then it’s gone and replaced with that same smirk I’ve learned to hate.
“Damn,” he says, pushing wet hair back from his face. “Aren’t fat girls supposed to float?”
Laughter ripples around us.
“Shut the fuck up, Cy,” Patrick bites out, his voice more heated than I’ve ever heard.
The smug smile on Cy’s face fades, and so does the laughter.
Something inside me snaps.
I shove Patrick’s hands away when he tries to help me, and instead, I get up on my own.
“I don’t need your pity,” I say, with a hard glare. “I can defend myself.”
My legs wobble, but I lock them in place.
I glare at Cyrus, and he stares back. I can taste chlorine, humiliation, and something bitter sitting at the back of my tongue. But when I speak, my voice is steady.
“Guess you’d know a lot about things that float,” I say, tilting my head. “You’ve been coasting your whole life on a raft of bullshit, propped up by that bloated ego, and the mother you hide behind.”
People go quiet. Some shift uncomfortably. But I hold his gaze for one more second. Then, I turn and walk out, ignoring Patrick’s calls for me to come back.
Even though every breath still hurts. Even though my chest feels like it may cave in. Even though I can still feel his hand around my ankle…I walk through the back door like I haven’t almost drowned.
Like, he hasn’t almost broken me.
Like, he never will.
I sit up with a gasp and look around, trying to figure out where I am. My fists have the comforter balled so hard that my fingers ache as I hold it to my chest.
Then it all comes back. The hotel. I’m in my room, and I’m alone. The bedside clock glows in the dark. It’s three in the morning.