I clutch my phone to my chest, knife in my pocket as I climb the steep hill from the tarn to the thick stone walls of the castle.
Don’t let whoever is texting you stop you from living a normal life.
It’s advice that’s been given to me by Alex, Colette, Mack, Divya, Magda.
It’s advice that’s easy to give when you’re not the one in my situation.
When I found Alex in the kitchen of that ridiculous London mansion last weekend, blood tricking down his jaw, my willingness to listen to that infuriating piece of advice dwindled and died.
If it was Alex being texted,mylife being threatened if he dared to spend time with me, I’m sure it’d be a different story.
My boots squelch in the mud beneath me, glossy ferns reaching out for my shins.
It’s been a week. I wonder what he’s up to. What he had for breakfast, what he did at work. I wonder what his mood is.
I wish so much that we’d been dealt a different set of cards. That we could spend weeknights together and go on a holiday and that I could take him home to meet my parents.
I wish I wasn’t scared he’ll get hurt because of me.
The clouds seem to cast a gray filter over the landscape, and over my mood. The campus around the castle is quiet, everyone either hungover, headed home early for the Easter break, or buried in textbooks ahead of the end of term exams next month.
Colette heads to Bora Bora next week, and Divya is off to some fancy beach resort in Sri Lanka a few days after.
I try not to think about going back to my parents’ house. I need to call the nursing home and beg for a job. My bank account is barreling back down toward zero.
A bush rustles somewhere behind me, too much to be caused by the wind. I wait for a deer to emerge from the foliage, but everything falls still.
A prickly sense of unease slickens my palms.
I glance over my shoulder for the third time in as many minutes, willing my tired legs to move faster.
I swear I hear a sharp inhale behind me. I whirl around to face the forest, fingers tightening around my knife as I scan the trees that shroud the path to the castle.
My voice sounds surer than I feel when I break the silence. This has always been my plan, hasn’t it? To keep this between the two of us? I’m tired of waiting around for other people to fix my problems for me. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Me, alone?”
I step into the dense foliage, trying to catch a glimpse of anything moving.
“Let’s do this like adults,” I say, into the dark shadows of the forest.
I can feel someone listening, feel someone’s presence.
My phone pings, echoing between the gnarled tree trunks. I scramble to turn it on silent, my pulse a hammer in the side of my neck.
Unknown
Tag, you’re it.
Somewhere through the trees, a figure clad in black takes off running.
Before I can start to chase them, three silenced gunshots fire from my right. The figure falters for a moment before sprinting deeper into the woods, out of sight.
One of Vincenzo’s men steps out of the greenery to my right, a pistol in both hands as he fires two more shots into the trees. He lowers the gun with a sigh of frustration, like it’s not often he misses a target. “Are you all right?”
“I …”
I’m not built for Sorrowsong. I’m not built for any of this.
My friends may not be disgusted by the guns and the danger and the fame and the wealth, but I am.
