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I couldn’t bring myself to celebrate Halloween this year.
Since Jen’s death, I’ve been cooped up in my apartment, watching horror movies and drinking. Nothing seems to fill the void or make me feel connected with anything. I just watch violent, dark, and disturbing films on a rotation and consume far too much alcohol.
Brian has given Nick and me time off to mourn, so I haven’t been to work. With minimal contact with the outside world, Blake has been coming by to keep me company and make sure I’m okay. He’s been my rock, doing his best to keep my spirits up. I don’t know what I would do without him right now.
He sits down on the couch next to me. “I’m worried about you,” he says, taking my hand. “You’re not doing well. You need to get out of this apartment and start living again.”
I jerk my hand away and frown at him, but immediately regret it when I see the hurt on his face. He’s just trying to help, and here I am, pushing him away. “I know. It’s just … hard.”
“I know you miss Jen, but she wouldn’t have wanted this for you,” he presses. “She would want you to live your life, not stay in solitude like this.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “I know this is difficult, but you need to do something for yourself.”
His words twist a knot in my gut; I know he’s right. But it’s hard to move on when I feel like her death is my fault. It’s bad enough that guilt eats at me for not disclosing my connection to her murderer—and the murderer of so many others. “Okay,” I say, nodding. “I’ll try.”
“That’s my girl.” He smiles softly and scoots closer, putting an arm around me. “What do you say we go out? Get some fresh air today? We don’t have to do much, just go for a walk around the neighborhood. Or maybe the park.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, watching as some stupid teenage camp counselor gets mauled. “Yeah, sure. That sounds nice. Except for the curfew.”
In the wake of Jen’s murder, authorities have implemented a curfew as a precaution and launched a formal investigation. Given the recent violence in Fallbank, largely because of Damon, it’s not unreasonable to speculate that law enforcement may suspect a connection between the killings.
As we finish watching one of the manyFriday the 13thmovies, Blake kisses the top of my head. I can’t remember which one this is, and I don’t care to. So much for my being a cinema expert.
As the credits roll, something catches my eye. I try to ignore it, digging my nails into my thighs for some grounding pain. It’s the only way I’ve been able to keep the hallucinations at bay. With everything that’s happened and Jen’s funeral coming up soon, they’ve been getting worse. I need to see a psychiatrist, but funds are tight. And if I keep taking time off work …
I should’ve just killed Colton. Part of me wanted to. Something dark and primal stirred in me when I held that knife. I thought it wasn’t the right thing to do. He died anyway, and another person suffered the consequences of my mistake. And now I’m left with sadness and regret over my inaction, my flawed misconception of ‘right.’
I claw the flesh of my thighs, in the same scarred spots from old wounds being opened too many times. Blake notices, his brows drawing together. I force a smile, attempting to brush it off, and stand.
“I’m gonna go get cleaned up,” I say, my voice full of false cheer. I’m about to start for the bathroom when he grabs my hand, clasping it tight enough that I can’t shake him off.
“Let me go with you to Jen’s funeral,” he says—almost a demand, if I didn’t know any better.
This time, my smile is genuine, a wave of warmth swelling within me. “I’d like that.”
He lets go, and I turn to leave. I can feel his eyes on my back as I head to the hallway. I don’t deserve someone as caring as him. But I’m glad he’s here with me, helping me through this mess. Maybe, just maybe, I can make it out of this period of my life with my sanity mostly intact.
Reaching the bathroom, I turn to face the mirror. But instead of my reflection, I see the menacing visage of my stepfather, his lips pale and twisted into a cruel smile. I stagger back in shock, my back hitting the wall. I can feel his presence in the room, and it’s suffocating. My breathing quickens, sweat beading on my forehead.
Why is he here? What does he want?
Slowly, he motions for me to come closer, his hand unnaturally pale. His eyes are black, soulless, and vacant, boring into me as if searching for something—something inside of me. I tremble, my heart pounding so loudly in my ears that I think it’s about to burst my eardrums.
Just as I consider running, he finally speaks. “What I want from you is very simple.” His voice is deep and raspy, like rocks grinding against each other. An evil smile plays across his lips before he adds, “I want you to obey me and do whatever I say—or else you will regret it.”
He’s right in front of me, and it feels like I’ve gone back in time, with his body towering over me. He leans down, cups my chin, and our faces are just inches apart. Fear buzzes in my veins, and the cruelty and darkness in his gaze chills me to the bone. I’m rooted to the spot, unable to breathe.
“So, what will you do?” he asks, his breath laced with booze. “Do what I say? Or suffer the consequences?”
Deep down, I know what he wants is nothing good. I want to run, get away from this repulsive piece of shit of a human being. But suddenly, a voice speaks up, just at the edge of my hearing.
Kill him.
I realize the voice is my own. My body quakes with rage as an abrupt rush of strength compels me to do what needs to be done. Without hesitation, I grab the scissors I laid out earlier to cut my hair—andslamthe tip into the mirror.
The reflection of my stepfather’s face fractures into a jagged web as I drive the weapon in again, causing shards to fly everywhere. He stares at me with his mouth agape, and I can feel power oozing from my pores, a surge of wild energy that nearly carries me away. Before he can react, I lunge forward and bury the weapon in his shoulder, eliciting a scream that rips from his throat as blood pools around us, staining everything red.
And then I’m back in my apartment bathroom, blood dripping from the cuts on my arms. Dropping the scissors, I stumble out of the room, my mind spinning as I fall to my knees.What just happened?
“Mia!”
