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“Oh, come on, Ry. You danced, you mingled—which is your favorite thing to do. You had to have enjoyed yourself a little.”
I roll to my side, tugging the comforter over my shoulders. “It was all great until I drank Maddox’s whiskey, or whatever the hell it was.”
“Youdrank whiskey? That doesn’t sound like you.”
That’s because I’m not me anymore.
I’ve only known Scar for a little over a year, but in that year, we’ve gotten close. Sometimes I feel like she knows me better than I know myself.
“What’s up, Ry? Talk to me.”
Did I mention she can also read me like a book? It’s true, and most of the time, I hate it. But tonight, I feel the sudden urge to speak my heart out and who better to hear what my heart has to say than my best friend.
“I really miss the person I was.” I spit out the words before my brain tells me to choke them down. Now that they’re out, I feel the sting they left behind. It’s been so long since I’ve openly admitted how much I hurt inside. And even then, I half-assed it and only gave the pitiful version of what I truly feel. Talking about it too much brings all those painful feelings to the surface and I just want to push them down and forget.
Scar drops to her side on my bed, her head propped up with her hand, her face aligned with mine. Her fingers sweep through my hair, pushing stray strands off my cheek. “You’re still you. Even after what happened, you’re still Riley.”
Talking to Scar about this might be my best option, but it doesn’t mean she’ll understand. I’m not sure anyone can unless they’ve done what I did.
“I still have the same name, and the same body, but I’m not the same person. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. It’s impossible not to.”
“I mean, yeah, it’s apparent that you’re not as bubbly as you used to be. You drink a little more, and don’t get me started on this.” She flips the streak of purple in my hair. “Dark purple, Ry. Really? What happened toeverythingpink?”
I laugh because it’s true. Before the incident, I lived in pink. I basked in everything bright and glittery. Once upon a time, I radiated positive energy.
“Everything just feels so dark lately.” Saying it out loud makes me realize how depressing I sound. All I do lately is overthink and wallow in self-pity.
“Babe, it’s normal to feel that way. You went through a lot last year. It’s not uncommon to have trauma after going through something so…traumatic. You’ll find yourself again.”
I wanna believe her. I’d like to think that eventually I’ll be able to sleep through the night again, or wake up with a smile on my face in excitement for what the day has in store for me. She doesn’t know the whole truth, though—that I don’t regret what I did. That I’m scarred by the sounds and the face of the man I killed, but I’d do it again if it meant protecting my friends.
How would Scar feel if she knew part of me is proud of what I did? Would she think I’m some whack job who takes pride in ending lives?Is that who I’ve become?
I’m a Guardian. It’s in my blood to look after members, but that doesn’t involve murder. I shouldn’t be proud. I should be ashamed of myself.
“You’re right,” I finally tell her, even if I know she’s just trying to make me feel better. I know she cares and I know she’ll always hear me out. “I’ll be fine. Just need more time.”
Scar leans close and kisses the top of my forehead. “You most definitely will. Now tell me about this Maddox guy.” She waggles her brows. “He’s cute.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back a smile. “He is cute, isn’t he?”
Her response is a profound nod. “Hell yeah, he is. And well-dressed.”
Maddox made the party tonight more manageable, even if we only hung out for a short time. He’s definitely nothing like his friends. Ridge is…Ridge, and I don’t know much about Lev, other than he’s not very social. I’ve never seen him at a party. Rarely see him out at all for that matter.
“Keep me updated on that developing situation,” she says before smoothing out the blanket around me. “Now, are you gonna be okay if I leave with Neo?”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I totally forgot Neo was waiting outside. Yes.” I shoo her away with the one hand that’s not tucked under the blanket. “Go. I’m gonna try to sleep while praying to the lords above that this headache is gone when I wake up.”
Scar’s leg swings over the bed. “I’ll be back in the morning with coffee and donuts. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.” She’s halfway out the door when I holler, “Hey, Scar. Thank you.”
“Always, babe.”
As soon as the door closes, I reach over and grab my journal. It’s wrapped in pink leather with a clasp and a matching pen with my name engraved on it. My mom gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday and I’ve almost filled it with short poems and random quotes.
With the pen to the paper, the dusky thoughts in my head break free.
