Page 183 of Beautiful Scars

Chapter 17

MEISIE

“Pull over.”

Mom frowns at me over her shoulder, but she’s already signaling for the driver to turn off the road. The car has barely pulled to a stop before I’m out the door. I don’t even make it to the first shrub—I puke on the verge, holding onto the guard rail for balance.

A hand lands on my back, rubbing through my sweater.

“Are you sick?” she asks.

“No.” I spit, and wipe my hand over the back of my mouth. A wet wipe magically appears and I use it to clean myself up. “It’s just nerves.”

My stomach’s been in a knot ever since our conversation last night.

What if she hates me?

What if she doesn’t?

Which is worse?

As we begin driving, my mouth full of gum, I realize something else.

I’ll never see Cillian again.

Except in court, where I’ll probably be asked to give testimony about my kidnapping.

I press a hand to my chest. It feels like someone’s stomping on my heart.

I’ll have to stand up in court and testify against him. I’ll have to look him in the eye. Remember every single time he made me laugh. Every time he woke me up from a nightmare. Every time he picked me up, and not just in a physical sense either.

I was an empty shell before I met Kill, but he filled me up. We filled each other up every day, every night.

Oh my God, Trish. I think I just had a breakthrough.

And how does that make you feel, Meisie?Trish asks.

Like losing Grace, all over again. But different, because this pain is so fresh, so new, so fucking raw.

I’ll be the one responsible for sending him to prison. And I’ll have to live with that every day. Empty, but brimming with regret.

Because I put away the man I love.

Yeah, I fucking said it. If I wasn’t such a self-pitying coward, I’d have admitted it sooner. Things would have been different.

Maybe...Maybe I wouldn’t have been on that roof. Maybe Mom’s lackey wouldn’t have had a chance to grab me at the wedding. Maybe Kill and I would be on a pretend honeymoon he’d planned for us.

And maybe you’d be walking into the sunset, Grace on one side, Kill on the other, because this is Hollywood, and there’s got to be a happily ever after, right? But not this time, Meisie, because you fucked it up.

“I won’t testify against him.” I don’t know who’s more surprised by my outburst—me or my mother.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

She lets out a sigh. “Jesus Christ. Meisie—”

“I won’t do it. I won’t.” I know it probably won’t stop the gears of justice grinding Kill to a pulp, but it’s got to count for something, right?