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My fists tighten at my sides, but other than that, I remain very still, unable to trust myself.
Never have I been this desperate to smash something, someone. To hit and hit and hit until I can smell blood in the air, taste it.
Brandon might have been the latest in a long list of people who took advantage of her, but he wasn’t the first. There were so many she can’t even remember all the names, in and out of the foster system—because everyone knows those kids are vulnerable and more likely to keep their mouths shut to keep a roof over their heads. Wandering hands, lewd demands, touches at night, during the day. By the time she gets to thirteen years old, I feel sick.
Then, she circles back to her last home, and fucking Brandon.
She shrugs. Like it’s no big deal. Like she hasn’t survived the kind of shit that would send me, and most people, off the deep end, and somehow ended up whole. And beautiful. So many would have broken under a tenth of what she survived.
“See? No one was particularly smart, or rich enough to pull off something major,” she summarizes, echoing my own thoughts. “And they wouldn’t have bothered. I was just a convenient victim, no one’s obsession.”
If she shrugs again, I’m liable to break something—like my sanity.No wonder she barely registers any pain; she’s lived through so much of it.And no wonder it titillates her, when it’s delivered mindfully, purposely, on erogenous zones like I did on Tuesday.
“I wasn’t really anyone special to them, just an easy victim. I don’t think they’d actively stalk me years later.”
I nod slowly, not trusting my voice immediately.
“That’s useful all the same.” I sound clipped to my own ears. “I’ll look into them.”
Every single one of them.
She lifts her proud head. “Is this interrogation done?”
I admire her poise all over again. She’s earned her crown, for surviving so much.
“For now.” I try to smile. I’m sure it’s more like a grimace.
She nods and opens the door again. Before she leaps out of the high seat, she begrudgingly mutters, “Thanks for the lift.”
"You’re not waiting for the bus at night again,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes as she walks away. “Whatever, Marius.”
26
SARAH
My first weekend in the house is strange. Although there are only three other people—and as many pets—the place is loud, boisterous. Fun. I’m not certain, as I’ve never lived in one, but it feels like a home.
Rom, Rhys, and Violet bicker like siblings half the time—when the last two aren’t too busy sucking each other’s faces.
I can’t deny I feel rather awkward, unsure of my place, but they do their best to include me.
I cook on Sunday, in between homework and listening to Specter’s latest song, “Seven Nation Army.”Everyone else is out, socializing in Violet’s case, and at football practice for the others. I am more than happy to stay in. It’s a nice day, and I normally would take to the hills, but after what happened last Sunday, I opt to use up my restless energy on a yoga mat instead.
As the day draws to a close, my tranquility flies away. Tomorrow’s Monday again. I’m going to have to navigate the large campus, alone in a sea of strangers, and with a potential enemy watching at a distance.
All of my anxiety felt so real, but nothing justified it. Now I actually know someone is watching me, spying, stalking. And no matter what I said to Marius, I am petrified. His certainty that it can’t be Brandon should reassure me. It doesn’t. Instead of one specific—albeit terrifying—demon on my heels, I feel hunted by something bigger, more elusive, frightening.
Still, I make myself get up and go to class. I only hide in a dark cupboard, headphones blasting in my eardrums once, at lunchtime. It’s cozy, really. And sure, I got in there because my heart was threatening to explode, galloping faster than any horse, but I stay for my whole lunch hour because I appreciate the quiet. The stillness. I’ve become more comfortable in the darkness.
I’ve just walked out of there when I hear my name.
“Sarah! Wait up.”
Shit. I recognize the voice before I turn, and she’s too close to avoid.
Riley jogs up to me, waving. I really wish I could return to my closet and hide. Sad it’s not an option, I remain on my feet, stiff as hell.
