Page 89 of Grace

The guy was drooling over a lot of girls, but somehow it was Grace who’d caught his eye. I can understand it to an extent—Grace is beautiful, and her innocence is intoxicating. But just like Billy, he didn’t deserve her. They didn’t love her the way I did. They had no idea what it meant to love her. Because it’s uplifting and destructive, wonderful and filthy at the same time. My admiration for her turned into an obsession. I thought about her day and night. My world, which was already small, got even smaller because the night sky reminded me of her eyes, the summer sun reminded me of her hair. I wanted her.

I wanted to touch her. To kiss her, and watch her with reverence until the end of time. To get lost in her beauty, in the delicate charm of her innocence.

I keep returning to my favorite parts.

I know Chase is older than me. I know he’s corrupted, but there’s something dark and seductive about him. Despite my better judgment, my eyes keep searching for that white van. For the boy who kissed me first.

Every time I close my eyes, Chase slips into my imagination like a ghost. When I step out of the house, I feel his presence, as if he was stalking me. But maybe it’s only my stupid, romantic imagination. What could a boy five years older than me see in me when boys my own age don’t even notice me?

Not that I’m interested in boys. On the contrary. I don’t care about them at all. But him, I can’t forget. Every time I think about him, my heart races. A wave of warmth spreads through me. I blush, smile to myself, and… and I get this tickling feeling low in my stomach. My skin tingles. I don’t have a sex life, but the place between my legs aches. It ached when he touched me. When he pinned me against that thick tree. Is this what adults talk about? Is this desire?

Oh my God. I’m horrible. But I couldn’t stop myself from stealing Nikky’s camera—the one she uses to take pictures of her friends and their parties. I had no intention of eavesdropping. I just happened to hear them talking about Chase. Nikky was bragging to Trixy that she’d managed to get a picture of him the last time.

I was dying to know what kind of picture she’d taken. Was he smiling? Were his eyes bright? Was he looking at Nikky the way he was looking at me? Okay. That was horrible, too. I can admit I’m not always immune to temptation. But Chase wasn’t mine. We’d only kissed once, yet I felt like Nikky had a picture she had no right to. But what do I know about their relationship? Chase could be lying. He might actually like being with Nikky and her friends.

I paced in my room for hours, trying to convince myself this was wrong. That I was acting like a stupid child. But temptation perched on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. That it would only take a minute. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, then let my gaze drift over my posters. I am a good student. Well-behaved and hard-working. I’ve never disappointed anyone. Maybe I could be naughty this once. I made the sign of the cross over my chest and apologized to Jesus. Then I jumped to my feet and went to the door. My skin tingled, my fingertips throbbed. My heart beat like that of a trapped rabbit—still, I did what I shouldn’t have done. I went into Nikky’s bedroom despite the KEEP OUT sign. The envelope with the photos Dad dropped off after having them developed sat on the vanity.

The room was dimly lit because of the closed drapes—it felt mysterious. The fear of being caught was suffocating me. There was an icy pain in my chest, and I was shivering with cold. I was flipping through the pictures until I found the one of Chase. My breath caught and I collapsed to the bed. Chase wasn’t smiling, his eyes weren’t bright. His whole body exuded dark force, especially his eyes. His brown irises were a dark whirlpool. It was scary, yet beautiful in a horrible, twisted way. This look is the one that scares people to death, the one everyone is afraid of. And I had a feeling it wasn’t an act. Chase really was dangerous. He was like fire—he burned you if you went too close.

I wanted to keep a piece of him. When I’m old, flipping through my diary, I want to see those dark eyes and relive what he made me feel all over again. This isn’t a crime, right? Or is it? I don’t know. All of this is so new, so complicated. I’ve never acted like this. I was crazy to steal the photo. From that point on, my sister had every right to hate me—but she never found out.

Temptation always seems to have co-conspirators. This time, it was Dad who told Nikky someone must’ve made a mistake and left that one picture out.

Forgive me, God!

Forgive me, Nikky!

I swear this wasn’t just my first time doing something like this—it was my last, too. Guilt cut deep into my heart. I wanted to tell Nikky what happened to that photo of Chase so many times… But I was afraid she’d mock me, humiliate me. So I didn’t say a word. I just glued the picture into my diary. My diary holds my dirty little secrets. It hides the fact that I’m not that innocent after all.

The diary entries stopped after I kidnapped her. Even though I love reading them, delving into her past, into her thoughts, into her. It brought a dark smile on my face that Grace, who seemed so innocent, wasn’t as innocent at all. And it was because of me.

This was another great example of how love can make you do crazy things. It makes you lose your mind. We are both sinners—it’s just that my sins are much more serious than hers. And I wasn’t sorry for Nikky at all. It was much better for Grace to have this picture. Nikky was superficial, and deliberately mean to others. She wanted to hurt Grace, too, and her plan would’ve worked out, because… that asshole had a certain charm even girls like Grace couldn’t resist. His only quality was perseverance. He didn’t become a star player by accident. He was as dogged about his career as about his pursuit of girls. He kept chasing girls until they gave in, patiently waiting for the moment when he could put his dick in. And that idiot was so good at break-ups, it was his ex-girlfriends who ended up apologizing.

Nikky didn’t want Grace to fall right away. She was smarter than that. She wanted to crush her confidence, her soul—to make her close up for the rest of her life. Of course, I could break that asshole’s arm or leg, and then he’d be focused on getting healthy again so his career could continue. But I couldn’t just run around breaking bones and leaving bodies in every bush. I couldn’t kill everyone who wanted Grace.

Because Billy Ray would’ve met the same end. He had persistence and patience, too. Mr. Miller, on the other hand, was impatient. He wanted to defile her right away.

But I shouldn’t be explaining myself. What needed to happen, happened. Grace came with me. And so did her diary. After her entries stopped, I kept filling the pages—unfortunately, my entries were much darker, much more painful. They were about blood, tears, and anguish. Because in those moments, it wasn’t only her who suffered. I did, too.

But I had struck a deal with the devil—and then I broke it.

I’m suffering my punishment in this cursed moment. My only consolation is that Grace will have something to read when she’s older.

Chapter 10

Grace

I wake to deafening pounding on the door. Something slams into the front door once, twice, three times. Through the thin walls, I hear a dog growling, teeth snapping. The windows tremble. Still dazed from the sleeping pills, I crawl out of bed. My clumsy legs carry me across the room, stumbling, until I reach the door, still dizzy. I turn the key with my eyes squeezed shut and my lips pressed tight. I take shallow breaths and swallow carefully. My lips, mouth, and throat are dry from the pills, and my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.

The lock gives a tiny click. I wrap my fingers around the metal doorknob and slowly open the door. Now I can hear the noise clearly. The balmy coolness of the summer morning makes me shudder, makes my nipples tighten. Thanks to Cyrus’s black T-shirt, no one can tell I’m not wearing a bra. I just stand there on my doorstep in only panties, mouth open, eyes wide with shock.

In my garden, the enormous malamute mix—Bruce—is ripping apart a brown cardboard box. His growling and Dylan’s shouts, drown out everything else. Dylan, his owner, is trying to haul him back by the collar, but the dog wants what’s inside the package—my package—, his muscles bunching with effort. The adhesive strip gives way, and my new gift ends up in his mouth. The dog shakes his frothing jaws. I feel like I’m hearing the sharp mew of a cat, but that… that can’t be.

The shock sends me running to the garden tap. I turn on the tap, set the hose to a single jet, and aim it at the dog’s head. I’ve always hated the dog shit on the pavement and on our driveway. Cyrus and I have talked to Dylan about it more than once. The dog also has a habit of digging up my flowerbeds. He’s done a lot of damage in the neighbors’ gardens, too.

When the cold water hits him, he drops his prey from between those deadly teeth.

“I’m sorry, Grace!” Dylan says, forcing the huge beast to sit at his feet. “I don’t know what got into him. He usually doesn’t behave like this, and…,” he says as an excuse. He looks down at the bloody, hairy thing. “Maybe this is for the best. That poor thing had been meowing in that box for hours.” He looks at the torn-up remains.