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The girl who was on a mission to destroy everything pretty I held of her. Everything…innocent.
It’s smudged in dark red blood now. Dry blood that’s been there for over a fucking decade and refuses to come off.
But now, I’ll use her to scrub that blood clean.
“It’s not a grudge, Knox. It’s a fucking game.”
Like the one she used to play back in the day.
This time, I’ll win.
4
NICOLE
AGE EIGHTEEN
I’m doing this.
Yes, it’s wrong. Yes, I’ll probably regret it and curse all my unlucky stars come morning.
But to hell with that.
To hell with being a good girl and counting every step before I take it.
To hell with being lucky.
I don’t want that. I never wanted that.
All I’ve ever wanted are peaches and him.
But I lost them both.
At eight, my allergic reaction to peaches nearly got me killed. So I can’t eat the fruit anymore—if I want to remain alive, that is.
I can’t even wear perfume with a peach smell if it has the natural fruit as an ingredient. So I wear cherry perfume instead and pretend it’s my favorite scent.
My wardrobe is filled with pink, peachy-colored outfits. My bags. My shoes. Everything.
Just because I can’t consume it, doesn’t mean I can’t stare at it from afar.
The same applies to Daniel.
We’ve had the rockiest relationship ever since that day. Although calling it a relationship is an overstatement. We’re mainly acquaintances who attend the same schools and classes and are shoved together at the same social events.
That day, I couldn’t tell Mum that I ate peaches on my own or else she would’ve been the one who killed me instead of the allergic reaction. So she assumed Daniel gave them to me, went to his mother about it, and he was grounded.
He thought I was the one who incriminated him. After that, I tried telling Mum that I did it on my own, but she wouldn’t believe that a “good girl” like me would do something so nasty. She preferred to believe the saying that it’s always the boy’s fault.
Whenever I tried to speak to Daniel at school, he’d glare at me and ignore me.
I keep missing him. Every chance. Every encounter. Every damn day.
I end up biting my lip and choking on the unsaid words he refuses to hear. He told Chloe, my close friend, that I should rot in hell.
I waited until I was alone in the bathroom and cried.
That’s what I do when it gets to be too much. I hide and cry where no one can see me tarnish my good-girl image.
