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“Do it.”
She freezes as the reality of our surroundings sinks in—no one at the party will hear her scream.
“Go ahead, Delaney. Scream.” I take another step toward her. “Scream like I screamed when you bitches stole my life’s work and burned it to ash. Cry and beg like I did when you came to my house night after night to terrorize me.”
My fingers tighten around the pitchfork.
“Do it!” I shout. “I want to hear you fucking scream.”
“Max.”
I hear Milo’s voice coming from somewhere behind me.
It takes a second to penetrate the rage.
Another for me to realize what I’m doing.
I’m standing over Delaney with a pitchfork in my hands.
Screaming at her to beg for mercy.
Jesus Christ. This is what they did to me.
Delaney scrambles to her feet and takes off toward the party without looking back.
I let the pitchfork fall from my hands.
It hits the ground with a dull thud.
My whole body starts shaking.
I don’t turn around. I can’t.
Because I know what I’ll see if I do.
Disappointment.
“A part of me wanted to do it,” I confess, staring into the darkness ahead of me. “A part of me wanted to drive that fucking thing into her and make all of this stop.”
“I know.”
His voice is closer now.
“I might have done it if you hadn’t stopped me.”
“I know,” he says again, softer this time.
Then his arms slide around me from behind. The second they do, something inside me breaks.
“Maybe I should have.” My voice trembles. “Everyone already thinks I’m a murderer. Maybe I should give them what they fucking want.”
Milo says nothing. He just holds me tighter, his face lowering into the crook of my neck as I shiver against him.
“They took so much from us,” I whisper, my vision blurring. “They took so fucking much.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“We could’ve had a life, Milo.” The first tear slips free. “We could have been happy.”
