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I knew that no matter what happened in the future, I’d always associate that scent with her—with nights spent teaching her how to play the guitar, time volunteering with her, and listening to her play the piano.
My phone buzzes, and I drop my hand instantly, reaching for it. My heart beats rapidly in my chest, the excitement coursing through me. I don’t remember the last time I was this excited over something like I was when talking to her.
This girl.
I didn’t dare dig deeper, question what it all meant, or why she made me feel that way. I just knew that I couldn’t get enough of her.
Birdy:
Girl’s night.
Girl’s night?
What the hell is a girl’s night?
I’m just about to ask that when my phone buzzes once again, only this time, it’s not Penelope.
Unknown:
We’re not done.
You can try to hide, but I’ll always find you, Bash.
You’ll pay for what you did, I’ll make sure of it.
Then the photo comes through.
Icy chills run down my spine as the cold sweat washes over me.
It’s a photo of me from that night. I remember that vest like it was yesterday. It’s strange that when tragedy strikes, some things stay vividly engraved in your mind, and others turn into a blur.
I’m sitting on the bathroom floor, clenching the lifeless body in my hands, a look of utter horror and panic on my face.
How the hell is this possible? Who took those photos?
My heart beats furiously against my chest, the sound echoing in my ears as I just stare at the image on my screen, unable to move my eyes from it. Unable to stop the trainwreck that I know is about to happen as the memories sneak past my defenses.
The smell of puke filled the room.
The buzzing in my ears as I stepped inside.
Bright lights.
The world tilting as I swayed on my feet.
Those lifeless blue eyes.
It’s all your fault!
My phone buzzes once again in my hand, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Unknown:
What would people say if I sent those photos to the press? I’m sure your fans would love to know their favorite star is a killer.
Me:
What the fuck do you want?
