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She starts to bang on the door. “Allie, answer me!”
No. I can’t, I won’t.
Tara is just like everyone else here. She’s going to kill me.
Hopefully, the door will be thick enough to keep her out until the time for my “investigation” comes. Even that seems like a farce—why investigate after you’ve told everyone that I’m a fraud? It’s obvious they don’t intend to find me innocent.
It’s peak irony that on a campus filled with criminals you’re guilty until proven innocent.
I’ve backed myself into the farthest corner of the bathroom. On my first day here, this room felt expansive, never-ending. Now it’s not big enough to hide from Tara. I’m fumbling with the standing towel rack, intending to arm myself with it, when a loud boom rings through the room.
I fall to the floor, clutching my body.
A gunshot.
She’s shot me! My vision spins, as my hands frantically roam my torso, searching for the wound. My whole body feels on fire, I can’t be sure where I’m hit. I choke down a wailing sob as the world starts to fade around me.
The door swings open and Tara emerges.
There’s dust swirling in the air, and I make out her frame. She’s got a gun in one hand—the metal glints coldly in the light shining through the slatted window—her dark blonde hair swirling around her shoulders.
I close my eyes, then.
This is it.
She’s come to kill me.
How the fuck did it slip past me that she has a gun too?
I hope it’s quick. I hope it’s not too painful. I hope I end up where Dolores went.
Instead of another gunshot, it’s Tara’s shrill voice that pierces the air.
“Allie, what the fuck?”
I crack my eyes to see her rushing over to the window to close the blinds. When Tara turns to face me, she’s wearing a rankled expression, almost like she’s…worried? I look down, noticing through my panic that my body is still intact.
Tara rushes to my side, but I pull away from her, eyeing the gun.
Her eyes drop to it, still firmly clutched in her hand. She pulls a sheepish grin.
“Oh, sorry,” she says, skittering over to place it on the vanity.
Then, she’s back at my side again, catching me in a hug. Tara crushes me to her shoulder, and I get a breath of her lavender-scented skin. Her hair smells like a meadow of bloody flowers. As much as I want to resist her, I sag into her grip. Her hold is strong, calm.
The opposite of what I feel.
“Don’t worry, I’m here,” Tara murmurs, stroking my hair.
My body goes rigid. “What?” I ask, pulling away from her. “I lied to you, Tara. I lied to everyone here. You’re supposed to want to kill me.” The words are surprisingly freeing to say.
I lied about who I am. Allie Clarke doesn’t exist.
Tara frowns with trembling lips. “Kill you? You’re my friend, Allie.” She strokes my hair. “I’m not going to allow anyone to hurt you.”
I smile, her words dredging up memories of Alexander promising me the same thing. Promising me protection, even at his own expense. Yet, here I am. My life is in imminent danger because of him. I hope Tara doesn’t hate me for not believing her.
Leaning back against the wall, I straighten my legs. The marble floor is cold against the back of my legs, and I rest my palms flat against its surface.
