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He pulls me by my hair, lifting me to my feet, and walks us over to my bag. With his grip locking me at arm’s length, he digs in my bag and finds my gun. He pops the clip out and fires the gun toward the ground in case one was in the chamber. He throws the clip across the room, and it lands between some shelves.
“I knew you would have something. You’re not stupid,” he says.
He continues to drag me through the library, and I decide to stop fighting. Not because I’m giving up, but because I’m saving my energy. When we get outside, I will suck up to him, play into his needs. And then I’ll make a run for it to Susan’s. If I can get to her, I can get her gun and end this once and for all.
The entire walk to the front, I check for Cam, for any sight of what happened to him. But I don’t see anything, and worst of all, I don’t hear anything.
He kicks the door open, and I see two tools sticking out of the lock on the door.
He picked it.
His pickup is parked out front, and memories crash into me as fear takes over. I will die before I get into that truck. I won’t let him take me.
“I’m sorry,” I cry out as I step into the wet snow, feeling it soak into my tennis shoes.
He yanks my head back, grimacing. “You’re sorry?”
Tears stream down my face. “Yes, I’m sorry that I ran. I’m sorry that I lied to you.”
Victory twinkles in his eyes. “Continue.”
“I love you. You’re the only one who protects me and keeps me safe. I have been lost without you.” My words are toxic in my mouth.
His grasp loosens and loosens more. He cups my cheek with one hand and pushes the gun against my other cheek, holding my head in place. “I have been waiting for you to say that. I know it’s not your fault that you were resisting me in there. That boy brainwashed you. He made you think you hated me.”
I nod, and he crashes his lips onto mine, kissing me. My stomach churns at the contact.
And I make my move. Pulling my knee back, I plunge it into his groin as hard as I possibly can. He screams and falls to the ground, cupping himself.
I turn and run without looking back. I take off through the snow.
Turning the corner of the library, I see Susan’s house across the frozen lake, and I make a decision before I even allow myself to question it. I’m going across the lake, not around it. I don’t have time.
Trey’s feet pound behind me, and I dig in harder, no longer having feeling in my toes and up to my ankles.
The ice is slick, but there’s enough fallen snow for me to maintain balance as I fly across the pond.
“Come here!” Trey screams behind me.
Without looking back, I continue to race to Susan’s house. I’m halfway across the ice. Almost there.
Trey tackles me, and we slide across the ice together. He wraps his hand around my throat and squeezes. I fight him, slapping and scratching his hands, arms, face, any part of him that I can reach.
“Why couldn’t you just be good?” Trey spits at me.
My vision flickers as my ears ring from a gut-wrenching sound. The ice cracks around us, and in a split second, we crash through the ice and are completely enveloped by bone-chilling water.
Our hands clash as we try to grab on to one another, desperate to get out of this dangerously cold water. We thrash, trying to hit each other anyplace we can as the surface seems to drift farther and farther out of reach.
Holding my breath, I force my eyes open in the dark abyss. Trey does the same, and I reach for his throat, but I move slower than anticipated under the water. He catches my hand and tightens his hold on the gun. He lifts it up, and I know what’s coming. An odd sense of serenity calms my body—or maybe it’s the hypothermia setting in.
Picturing the pieces of happiness in my life, I think of Chloe and her laugh, of my parents and the love they share, and of Cam, who I love so dearly. His perfectly messy brown hair and those stunning blue eyes stole my fucking heart. I’m so lucky to have been loved by him for the short time we had.
Had.
I don’t want it to be over. I don’t want everything to change to the past tense. I don’t want people to say, She was kind. She was…
I don’t want my life to end by his hand. I strike, and for once in my life, I don’t hesitate. As he lifts the gun higher, I reach for it and grab the top of the barrel with my right hand and his wrist with my left.
