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He draws back his fist and punches me again. This time, it connects with my mouth, and the iron tang of blood coats my tongue. Pain explodes through my face. I drop to my knees. This time, his foot connects with my chest, and he kicks me backward, so I end up sprawled on the floor.
I cough, and blood sprays across the carpet. Agony spears through my side. Did he break a rib when he kicked me? I roll onto my side, preparing myself for the next blow, but none comes.
“You’re an embarrassment,” he says, standing over me. “I’m glad I’ve got a new family now.”
Yes, this is what it all comes down to—Mackenzie and her mother. If they didn’t exist, my life would be normal right now. My mom might even still be alive.
I lie there, unmoving. His feet thud against the floor, and then my bedroom door slams shut, signaling his departure.
Slowly, and carefully, I climb to my feet and manage to drag myself back over to the bed.
I do my best to pry open my eye, but it’s swollen shut. I flick out my tongue to touch my busted lip. I’m conscious some of my teeth may be loose, and I try not to tongue them, worried I’ll make things worse.
Each time his fist connected with my face, I’d pictured Mackenzie seizing on the floor of the church, her body twisted into a C, her beautiful face contorted. I push the memory away and focus on the anger roiling inside me instead.
Stupid fucking bitch. Why the hell hadn’t she told us?
Would we have done things differently if she had?
This is her fault. Everything is her fault.
I’ve never been so confused before. It’s easier to focus on my anger and hate than it is to dig deeper and analyze how I’d felt at the moment she’d collapsed.
Like my heart had been torn from my chest.
Like my lungs had no longer known how to breathe.
Like my whole world had been ripped out from under me.
Chapter 5
Mackenzie
I wake the following morning, after very little sleep—though I really could have used the rest—with a decision solidified inside me.
I can’t stay here. I just can’t. The idea of going to the cafeteria for food literally makes me want to throw up, and I feel like I’m going to have a panic attack at the thought of going into a class.
Mom hasn’t tried to speak to me again, but she’s called through the door to let me know she’s left a tray of food outside for me. I haven’t touched any of it. I don’t want anything from her. I’d rather starve.
I check my meds. I’ve got enough to last me a few weeks. What will I do after that? I have no idea, but I’ll figure it out. There are harder ways of dying than never recovering from a seizure. At least that’ll be relatively quick, and I won’t know too much about it. I don’t want to die—at least, I don’t think I do—but I know I’ll only have a slow death if I remain here. I’ll die of a broken heart. Betrayed by everyone I’d thought cared about me.
I ache with longing for my old life. My old friends. To think I believed the professor was as bad as things could get. How naïve I’d been.
My brain tries to remind me that it had been my mom who’d gotten me out of that situation, and, unknowingly to me at the time, Nataniele, too. They’d had my back.
Now I have to wonder how much of that was them not wanting to get the police involved because of what they’d done. Had that been my mom’s first thought—that if the police thought me capable of murder, they might look more closely at my dad’s death, too? Not that I had anything to do with that, but it would have been far too close for comfort.
She said she acted because she loved me, and, up until a few days ago, I would have believed her one hundred percent. Now, I’m doubting everything.
A light knock comes at my door, and I shove my backpack under my bed. I don’t want to speak to anyone, but it’s not a secret that I’m back. It’s probably around the whole school by now.
Still feeling weak and shaky, I go to answer it.
I open the door to reveal Camile standing there.
Immediately, I burst into tears.
She steps toward me, half pushing me back fully into the room so she can close the door behind us again, and then wraps her arms around me.
