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“We killed him, Arch. How am I ever supposed to forget about this?” I step away, but he grips me harder, pulling me back to him once again.
“Because I’m not going to let anyone fuck with you. Not any of you, you hear me?” he growls.
Eloise appears out of nowhere, tearing his hand from mine. “Let’s get this over with, Archer. I don’t think any of us want to be here for another fucking second tonight.”
He sneers, giving me one more heavy glance before he walks away and heads toward his Escalade. Slipping inside, he slams his door shut just as Creed hops in the passenger side. As he starts it up, the headlights illuminate the parking lot. Rolling down his window, his arm goes over the ledge, his head peeking out and glancing over at us.
“Let’s go,” he snaps, and Posie reaches out, grabbing onto my arm.
“Come on, Lakyn. We have to go,” she whispers over the engine of his car. Her voice sounds as if it’s coming through a tunnel, her face cloudy, distorted from my tears.
I feel as if I’m in a fog as I take a step toward Eloise’s car.
“Okay,” I croak, wondering how a night that began so brilliantly could end so horribly.
What the hell have we done?
My eyes don’t disconnect from the back of Archer’s car the entire drive. The trunk, specifically, where a dead body lies. The body of the guy who was supposed to be something to me, maybe someday. Though he turned out to just be another asshole, someone after my money, out to ruin me.
Maybe I am meant to be stuck with my guys for the rest of my life, never finding true love, but instead being circled by the vicious wolves who are the guys I love. But we aren’t swoony, head over heels love. No, these guys are possessive, snarly, vicious,touch her and I’ll break each one of your fingerslove.
My body chills and my heart stalls, and I wonder if it’ll stop beating for good, if I give up on it altogether.
I’ve had the love that stops your heart. The kind that electrocutes the blood in your veins and will make your feet levitate off the ground.
Though, that love was false, a façade, really, and never real to begin with.
He broke my heart, ripped it from my chest with his brutal fingers, and watched it burst into flames as he walked away from me.
A real love could never be like that. A true love would never cause that much pain.
And if it does, maybe I don’t want it at all.
A weathered sigh leaves my body as I glance at my friends. They attempt a pathetic go at small talk, but I can barely hear a word that slips from their lips as we drive through town.
The trick-or-treaters are in for the night, dropped candy scattered across sidewalks, the remaining lights and decorations still adorning the streets as we drive toward the darkened part of town.
Middle-class homes and fishermen cottages turn into abandoned streets, filled with empty Victorian homes that have an air of warning against the aged wood. Across the street is the ocean, with the large, rocky hills covered by brush leading to the waves. The rocky shore with sharp, oversized rocks extends to the lighthouse far in the distance, surrounded by pebbled sand. The lighthouse used to be white, though years of salty spray and sunlight have dulled the stark color, turning it an absent gray hue. It’s tall and wide, leading up so high it feels as if it’s reaching for the clouds. At the top is the black beacon, the harsh light circling around the water.
By the time Archer turns on his blinker, making his way toward the lighthouse, my sadness has long since abated, and I’m filled with an odd emptiness. As if whatever humanity I had left in my soul has washed away with Zane’s blood, seeping into the depths of the dark waves.
Vienna reaches over the front seat, her fingers brushing my wrist. “You okay, Lakyn?”
I turn toward her, confused that I can’t feel her fingers touching my skin at all. I’ve turned numb, and not just on the outside, but on the inside as well.
I stare at her, not saying a thing. Am I okay? I don’t know, honestly. I don’t think so.
“Lakyn? Are you okay?” Eloise asks, and I can feel her eyes piercing me in the rearview mirror. Her red hair whips in the breeze, flying behind the seat and kissing the edges of my skin.
Our costumes are now distressed, wrinkled and wet, filled with sand, water, and blood. The makeup has dripped from all our faces, painting our skin in an odd watercolor pattern that would almost be comedic if it weren’t for the situation at hand.
My hands go to the fabric seat, and I dig my fingers into the cushion, cold from the night air, yet it grounds me when it feels as if my body is about to float away.
“I don’t think so,” I whisper, looking up at her.
I saw someone die.
More than that, I killed someone.
