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For some reason, I can’t stop looking at the fresh hole in the wall, wondering if it’s a foreshadowing of what’s to come. No matter what I’d done, I won’t be letting my father or his fucking lawyers near me. If I did that to her, I’m turning myself in. I won’t be able to go on like it didn’t happen.
The night had gone from harmless fun to a fucking shitstorm of trouble. Two people are fucking dead, and the way Conner had rushed me out of the bathroom, I’m not all too sure that number won’t rise.
The thought breaks me out of my head. Looking through the window, I see Conner pacing on the porch, still on the phone. Wes has moved into another room, unable to look at his friend on the floor with foam seeping from his lips.
Moving slowly, I make my way back to the bathroom, covering my mouth as I take in the full scene with a semi-clear mind.
She’s as beautiful as the moments before the drugs took full hold of me, but now she’s marked. Painted in bruises and cuts, blood emanating from multiple points on her body. I’m sure all of it had come from the struggle. The one I don’t recall.
A flash of me punching her in the face flits across my mind, and a sob escapes me.
‘What the fuck have I done?’
I know I’ll never recover from this.
Tentatively, I drop to my knees, reaching down and moving hair off her face, uncovering more bloodshed, my chest weeping at the damage I’d done. I never knew that a dark demon lived within me capable of such a thing. Even still, faced with what I’d done, I can’t wrap my mind around how I’d done this. Me.
‘This can’t be real. It can’t be.’
“I’m so sorry. I don’t—I’m so, so sorry,” I whimper, letting my head drop in defeat as my tears fall from my chin and land on her. Her chest rises and falls, telling me she’s alive. That’s something, but it’s not enough. It’s not fucking enough!
No human deserves what I’ve done. I’m a fucking monster.
“What are you doing back in here? Come on, your father is on his way. He’ll be here any minute.” Conner tugs me off the floor, and I go willingly. Cowardly. That’s what I am. Because I can’t look at her for another moment. Can’t face the dark inside me.
When the night air hits me as he drags me onto the porch, I heave it into my chest. My lungs burn from the intrusion, screaming at me at how cold it is. But the pain of it is what I deserve.
Two people won’t leave here and get to breathe another breath.
“I should’ve stayed home,” I mutter absently.
“You and me both,” Conner mutters, leaning over the railing and breathing out in annoyance.
Rage builds in me and then erupts as I stomp forward and grab him by the front of his shirt. “Do you think this is a game? Two people are dead, and one...” I trail off, eyes darting downward, catching what looks like blood spatter on his shirt momentarily before he pushes me off him.
“Fuck you! Of course, I don’t think this is funny.”
“Boys! Get inside. We don’t need to tell the entire neighborhood we’re here, do we?” Father says as he bounds up the steps. He’s in a full suit, like he came straight from work.
We both seethe, looking at one another with too much to say and no time to say it. Complying, we follow Father inside and shut the door behind us.
Moaning wakes me.
Flashes of Carina naked and straddling my attacker blur through the edges of oblivion. My head pounds, temples throbbing from what she’d done to me. It was well deserved. The memories cause emotion to choke me. But they’re too strong, and before I know it, my eyes close.
“You’re going to go home,” Father tells me, and I know better than to protest. “Conner, you’re with me.”
Conner looks fearful. But not enough for what’s happened here. Something about him is off. Too calm in the face of all the destruction. His hands at his sides are steady, his eyes fixed on my father, awaiting his orders like a good little soldier, and I can’t help but fixate on his every move.
My mouth opens, but Father’s stern glare has me shutting it promptly.
When he moves into the bathroom to look at the girl, he comes back out, nodding to himself as he plans to clean up a mess we’ve made.
“What do I do, Mr. Stanner?” Wes asks, voice shaking with fear.
“You stay with me. We will handle this, don’t you worry, alright?” Father’s hand comes down on Wes’ shoulder, and it makes my insides wither with rot. Something about the action is disingenuous. Something isn’t right, and my gut knows it.
But I want out of here so badly I can taste it. I can’t look at the bodies any longer. I can’t think about the girl and her bruises. When I close my eyes to fight tears, the images of me hitting her roll through my brain.
