All this to say, I’m not defending myself. I won’t pretend it wasn’t the fucked-up decision of a notoriously fucked-up girl. But there I was.
The corpse registered like a prop, like an extra in good makeup. It didn’t feel like what it really was—even with the mark of death unmistakable.Trelliswas a cozy crime film, one that glossed over the more repulsive parts of death, but I’d been so overzealous I’d done my research. And here it all was: the loosened bowels and bladder, the spray of the blood that would point to exactly what had happened, even the knife curled in his own hand, and I justknewhe’d yanked it out of whatever wound it was plugging himself.
A tray of room service lay discarded on the side, a half-eaten steak and the dregs of a salad. I looked back at the body—yes, that looked like a steak knife.
And that’s what finally broke me—the sight of that steak and the knife in his hand. I knew how meat felt underhand, the sawing blade tearing through it.
Had Joel’s flesh felt the same?
I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the wail that threatened to escape, moaned into my own skin as I staredat the body of the man Harper had—apparently—so dearly loved. She’d done this. Had taken that knife and …
How? I couldn’t see it. Couldn’t picture that knife in her slender hand—despite a dozen weapons wielded in films or trick blades clutched on a CADS stage. All I could see instead was Harper at my door, stained in blood, her eyes scared, and desperate andpleading.
(Only I was allowed to bring her to tears. Only I could bring her such devastation. She was mine to hurt, not whatever this was. Not—)
(I’d dropped to my knees. I’d bound my throat with that lace. I’d chosen the route that burned, repeatedly. Claimed there were no other options, but there were. There were—I just liked the way it ate through me. The push and pull—so if she was lying, if this was all a prank, then once again here I was, walking into it for the thrill of her victory, knowing mine would be next. But that was really truly a dead man so—)
(No one else’s love was as delicious as Harper’s hatred. Her attention, no matter the cost. And now her need, her debt, her helplessness—)
(No. None of them felt quite right.)
I didn’t know. I didn’t know why.
Harper was the center of my world and those pillars I’d crafted—ones of loathing and rage and vengeance were dissolving. It was all coming crumbling down and there was only her, at the middle still.
Harper needed me. It was the only thought that could cut through.
So I pulled the edge of the sheets over Joel as my thoughts calmed—promising myself I could process it all later, like this wasn’t a well-trod path: pushing my feelings down until they were so loud and angry and crying out for relief they broke free of their cage and tried to break me too.
The sort of thing only a pill could quiet.
Oh god, I wished I wasn’t sober. Numb I might manage this.
As it was, I clung to Harper’s need and felt quite the opposite: not numb but aflame. And I let that fire push me forward into a plan.
I couldn’t move Joel alone, but I didn’t know what state I’d find Harper in when I went back upstairs, so I made sure Joel was entirely covered by the sheet, in case looking directly at what she’d done sent her back into bright-eyed shock. I didn’t need that Harper right now—I needed the calculating diabolical bitch who’d have a plan for getting away with this.
I skirted around the drying pools of blood, but there was no way to avoid it completely. It was even on the ceiling, on the lampshade above where the body lay.
I found Harper’s suitcase and gathered her some clothes: cargo trousers, a soft dark gray sweatshirt, a bra, mismatched socks, her beloved combat boots, andof courseshe only packed thongs. It was probably all she wore. She probably claimed they were more comfortable.
Frankly, if she had a G-string up her ass all these years it would explain a lot.
I grabbed her washbag too, took a final look around the room, and snagged Joel’s key from the side before shutting and locking it, like that simple turn of a bolt might solve everything.
———
I knocked on the bathroom door in case Harper had decided to undress, but she called, “Yes?” like this were a passing visit.
“I have clothes for you,” I said, opening the door a crack and sliding it all through.
“Oh. Thank you.”
Thank you!Like this were all so perfectly normal. I stretched, walking back and forth along the hotel room, as the panic swelled again. We needed to clean, we needed to move the body, we needed to not be two of the most recognizable faces in the world …
The door twitched open and Harper strode through, her wet hair was plastered back into a ponytail, but her lips were still that deep plummy red. She clutched a half-translucent bag with green gleaming beneath. Her gown, wrapped in the liner of the bathroom bin.
She looked at me with the same uncertainty I was feeling, and I went to speak, to ask her … anything. But then she took another step, and the light above hit her, illuminating a cut that ran right from her cheek to her collarbone.
