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“I think that’s a part of what I was struggling with. Knowing you walked away.”
“God, Willow. I know. I know I fucked up back then, but I was young and stupid and really fucking scared. They’re not great excuses, but I can assure you, I know it was wrong. I’m sorry.”
“I know. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t moved past that. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
“Never be sorry for that. I will always want to know how you feel, and I’ll always help where I can.”
Willow leans forward to kiss me again, and while it starts off slow and gentle, it quickly turns frantic. We fall back onto the bed, and before long I’m ripping open a condom packet and sliding into her. My home.
“Fuck, Willow. Why is this so different?” I whisper, slowly thrusting into her again, watching as she stares up at me, her breath picking up speed. “Why is everything with you so different? So amazing. So perfect.”
“Because we fit,” she rasps. “Because this is meant to be. And I know we’ll get through anything.”
When Willow returns from the bathroom, I’m the one hunched over on the edge of the bed, waiting for her. We’re supposed to be in a post-sex haze, but all I can think about is what comes next. What I have to tell her.
She smiles when she sees me, but when I pat the bed for her to sit, her smile drops.
“Now you're scaringme. Is this payback?”
I huff out a chuckle but it’s clearly forced. I’m about to tell her something I’ve never told another soul. Something only three people know, and one of them is dead. “Before we go any further in this relationship, you deserve to know everything about me.”
“Oh-kay,” she says hesitantly, her eyes full of a wary look, as though she’s ready to put up her guard any minute.
“There’s another reason I tried to push you away back in Hepburn Falls,” I begin. “I would never knowingly hurt you, Willow, but I’m not a good person.”
Willow turns around, her gaze locked on the side of my face, but I can’t look at her. Not while I say this. I can’t bear to see her expression.
“I killed my foster dad. And I don’t even regret it.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jesse - Twelve Years Ago / Age Sixteen
Islamthebathroomdoor shut just in time to expel the contents of my stomach, not even caring that some of it misses the toilet bowl. Sweat pours down my back and chest, the scent mixing with the smell of blood as they both coat my skin. I jump up to wash my hands but no matter how hard I scrub, the stains remain, like they’ll forever be tattooed on my body, a constant reminder of what happened. Of what I did.
Fuck, I need to shower.
I race to undress, knowing I don’t have much time, but the blood-soaked tee sticks to my body as I desperately try to peel it off, frantically thrashing about as the smell permeates my nose, a smell I guarantee I’ll never forget. My insides squirm again as I finally rip it over my head, throwing it to the floor with a wet thud.
I left her.
She was bleeding and unconscious and I left her. What kind of fucked-up person does that? I don’t even know if the guy who picked her up actually took her to the hospital. I put complete faith in the fact that he was gentle when he moved her into his car. But what if he hurt her?
God.I hurt her.Walking awayhurther and I’ll never forgive myself for that.
I hover over the toilet as more vomit threatens to come up, making my mouth water as sweat drips into my eyes. I blink rapidly trying to see, but for what? What do I want to look at? Her blood on my skin, the pain in my eyes, the bruises?
Turning the shower to scalding hot, I strip off the rest of my clothes and step in, not even bothering to check how it feels, my mind stuck on that mountain. On Buttercup. And on Lily…Jade. I should think of her as Jade. After all, that’s what they’ll write on her gravestone. Lily didn’t exist, but Jade fucking died, and I have to live with that knowledge.
I could have saved her. If I knew what was going on, I could have helped. If I’d just been two steps closer…
I don’t even know where to go from here. Do I go to the police? Alone? We’re lucky if we get the night before they come calling, asking for answers on why we left the scene. Left them. Left Buttercup. God, I don’t even know anything about her.
And she doesn’t know us.
The water turns a light shade of red as I wash the blood from my body, scrubbing so hard, the cloth mars my skin. But I can’t stop. I deserve it. I deserve so much worse.
What the fuck did we do?
