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Bryce knew that Bailey hadn't died in the school. He knew before the police told us.
He knew and he shouldn't have known.
Jefferson left as I stood in the kitchen. As I stood there and my world had just cracked open, I was left alone and no one saw how I fell to the floor, blinded from my revelations that now screamed inside of me. I watched, suspended and paralyzed, as my hand must've caught and pulled the coffeepot to the ground. I saw it fall, crash into a million pieces, and I watched as the black content seeped across the floor.
The broken glass was camouflaged underneath the dark liquid.
My hand reached out to help myself stand up. I saw the shattered glass and I placed my hand there anyway. I felt none of the pain, but I stood and I gazed in horrified suspension as the blood quickly covered my hand.
That didn't make sense. I didn't understand where the blood came from.
And another hand was there, covering mine as they pushed against the blood, to stop the blood flow.
I looked up, numb, and saw Bryce's ashen features.
Chapter 31
The streetlights whizzed past into a steady constant blur.
I had wished, for a moment, to forget what I realized and to pretend. I wanted to curl up with Bryce, pull his blankets over us both, and sleep, protected in his pretense.
I had almost chosen to forget and deny rather than fight and survive.
I wasn't the innocent, sweet, and helpless princess.
Bryce would be after me. I knew it. And I think he knew it as he stepped aside and let my excuse command our actions. I had pled a headache and time to be alone and he had heeded. He chose to play the game and I bit back the tears as I stepped from his front door. I had wanted him to not play the game and strip away everything.
A big part of me wanted to turn the car, crawl back in his bed, and pretend I didn't know what I knew. But there was another part of me that wanted to survive, that wanted to live and birth fat babies. That was the part of me that kept me driving ahead, but if it had to come to percentages—it would've closed at 51% to live and 49% to die in bliss.
How sick and twisted is that?
I pulled into my garage and hurried inside. Immediately, I slid the locks in place, changed the alarm system's codes, and headed for the shower. And there I sat, naked, chilled from the cold stream, and teeth chattering in the corner. I hugged my knees to my chest.
I stared at nothing and my hair plastered against my skull, but my eyes were flat. Dead.
I never felt the frozen water slam against my vulnerable skin.
I lost track of time and I don't know how long I sat there, but my limbs were trembling uncontrollably when I moved out of the shower and wrapped a robe around myself.
I sat at the mirror and left my soaked hair alone.
The distant chime of my doorbell finally penetrated the haze. I wondered, briefly and faintly, how long the doorbell had sounded, but I ceased wondering when I saw Marcus Donadeli on the other side. He looked nervous and awkward.
I said nothing as I decoded the alarm system and stepped back with the door open.
"Hi, Sheldon." He blushed as he smiled.
I've never blushed before. I wondered what it felt like to blush, to have the capability to blush.
"What are you doing here?"
His eyes lingered on my robe, on the naked skin that showed near my neck. I didn't care. I didn't pull the robe tighter, but I did ask again, "What are you doing here?"
"Oh. Um…the Party Packs." He gestured, haltingly, inside. "I came by last night, but the party was done, huh?"
Yeah. The party was done.
"Corrigan got busted by the cops," I remarked and walked inside with him following.
"He did? Why?"
I shrugged. "I think he accused one of the cops of being dirty. I don't think that goes over too well."
"Yeah…cops can be pretty quick to defend themselves," Marcus muttered.
The Party Packs sandwiches still covered the entire table, half eaten.
I sighed and leaned against the counter as Marcus started cleaning off the food. "You like me, don't you?" I asked suddenly.
His hands paused, clenched, and he looked up, pale, "Yeah."
"Why?"
He said swiftly without pause, "Because you're amazing." He added, "Why do you think everyone wants you?"
"Everyone doesn't want me."
"Chad Yerling. Bryce Scout. Corrigan Raimler. That movie star guy."
"Yerling never wanted me. He just wanted to piss off Bryce and Corrigan."
"What about the rest?"
I gave no comment to the rest, but I did mutter, "Corrigan's my best friend."
"And…" His jaw clenched as he asked, "Bryce?"
I didn't comment. I didn't trust my voice.
"What?" Marcus asked softly. "You guys have a fight or something?"
"What?"
"You look sad."
I glanced to the floor and tightened my robe.
"But you always look sad…," he added.
I did?
"You didn't eat yesterday when you were at the Eatery. You didn't eat…I noticed that…" He swallowed, jumpy. "Are you hungry? I have some food in my car. I could go and get it…if you'd like."
"No, I'm okay. Thanks. I just…I don't eat that often."
"You should, you know." He jerked his head up and down, a self-conscious nod. "You hardly ever eat. Is that…are you, like, anorexic, or something? I…I know someone with that eating disorder and she said she can't eat because she feels all panicky if she does, like she's going to fall apart or something."
"No. I eat when I'm hungry. I'm just not hungry that often."
"Oh." He fell silent and returned to cleaning the Party Packs.
"Thanks for noticing, though," I remarked, kindly.
He glanced back, blushed, and smiled, "Yeah."
I had taken two steps towards the door when I heard him whisper, underneath his breath, "I notice everything."
I turned back and asked, clearly, "Why?"
He jumped and whirled to me. "What?" He looked alarmed.
"Why do you notice everything?"
"Because no one notices me."
"Everyone notices me," I said flatly.
"I know." Another flush and his hands jerked.
"I wish no one noticed me."
His hands stilled and the flush disappeared. "You do?"
"I do. I could breathe a lot easier."
"I…I feel like that sometimes," Marcus confessed.
"Why can't you breathe?"
Call me crazy. Call me out-of-sync or illogical, but for some reason—I was clinging to every word he said. I didn't have the lash inside to remind Marcus that he was a social defect, but then again—I was always nice to him. I just never understood why or thought about it.
I thought about it now.
"I don't know." He glanced towards his hands, which seemed steady and strong now. "Just…there's a lot of bullies, you know, and girls who are mean. They laugh in your face sometimes and they're not very nice."
