Page 92 of Carte

My dad wasn’t capable of anything but inflicting hurt.

“For years I came to him,” Cassie screamed. “Years, I went there in the hopes that he could be a part of my life, that he could see me. That he would love me. But no,” she leaned back and waved her hands like that blow up thing that car dealerships had in their lots sometimes. “All he could talk about was you. How good you were, how obedient. How you went out, struck out on your own, and made something of your life. How you were a perfect daughter. His perfect daughter. His only one.”

A glint shone in her eye then spiking fear in my heart.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I don’t need you to be sorry, I need you to be gone, so he’ll finally see me.” She shrieked.

“What are you going to do?” I asked. “You gotta know, Cassie, there’s no way out of this. We’re locked in. You can’t sneak me out, Carter knows it was you.”

She laughed then and looked at Finn, “Can you believe this? She actually thinks she will walk out of here.”

She turned to me, and missed Finn’s deep frown.

“It all ends here, big sis. You end here.” As she said those words she raised the gun and pointed it right at me. Right at my chest.

Finn moved then, coming from behind her and gripped her forearm, forcing the gun down, “You can’t hurt her. She’s mine.”

“Oh, come on, Finn,” Cassie rolled her eyes. “We’ll find you another one. A better one.”

“There’s no one like Harley. And we had a deal.” Spit flew out of his mouth. “You have your fun, scare her a little then I take her.”

“Take me?” I breathed.

Finn twisted his body to look at me. “Yes.”

I blinked back at him. They were making my head swim in confusion.

“What do you mean take me?”

He leaned to me, and sniffed me. “I mean I get to keep you.”

I reared back, hitting my head against the tile.

Finn reached out and ran his finger up my arm to my neck. He took hold of the guitar’s strap and pulled it over my head, taking it away.

“Don’t worry, baby. You’ll forget all about him. I’ll take good care of you.”

“But Finn,” I whispered. “I’m with Carter. And you’re my friend.”

“I’m not your friend,” Finn snapped. “I’ve been waiting for you to see me. To come to me. How many times have I offered you my bed, huh? How many times have I asked you to come to my room?”

Countless. But I never took it seriously.

“You were just joking around,” I said. “I knew you didn’t mean it seriously. We’re friends.”

“We are not fucking friends. You belong to me. Your songs belong to me.”

“I’m sorry, Finn,” I shook my head. “I don’t see you that way.”

“You will,” he promised. He looked down to what he was still holding. “ You don’t need this anymore.”

He then gripped the guitar by its neck and smashed it against the wall. He stood and looked down at the debris, his chest moving rapidly.

As the guitar splintered into a million pieces, so did my heart.

In that moment I knew, there was no talking my way out of this. Those two were absolutely crazy.