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What are your dirty secrets, Talia Garcia?

My mother hated her. Jealous whenever my father mentioned her, which is likely why he never brought her around much.

She’s just an old woman now, grasping on her final days, but I’ve seen photos of her in her youth. She was a dark beauty, with onyx hair to her lower back that covered the entirety of her slight frame. Everything about her reminds me of midnight. She certainly looked like someone who might worship a dark deity.

Her research is less refined.

Fear. Anger. Loathing.

My father had the fear covered in spades. So does that leave her with anger or loathing?

Do you loathe yourself, Dr. Garcia?

Grant squeezes my arm, and I smile back at him but shift over slightly and focus diligently on taking notes for class.

Week five of the semester, and we’re finally done learning about biological psychology. And I found the material dry as hell. I didn’t sign up to learn about the anatomy of the brain, nor do I care that it’s the unifying function. I’m loving this week’s topic on developmental psychology—the nurture.

I want to understand the phenomenon that is the human mind. What are the factors that drive someone to commit murder? I don’t believe that is something you are born with. If my father was a monster, that doesn’t automatically mean I am one, too.

After class, I head to the campus pool to let off some steam and swim some laps alone. When I head to the locker room to change, I can’t hide the scar SF gave me, and a few girls stare at the red and blistery mark on the edge of my swimsuit line.

They whisper, giggle, and stare. “That’s a mark of the Order,” one of them whispers. I guess people understand more about the lore than I give them credit for.

“She’s gonna die,” the other one says too casually. “The rumor is, they mark the ones they kill.”

I turn and look them straight in the eye. “I cut myself,” I spit out at them. “No one did this to me. And your bathing suit is way too fucking small for you.” I move toward the shower, hearing gasps in my wake.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

SUMMER

When I get home from the pool and see Dani and Misty’s cars parked out front, I let out a deep sigh. My thoughts are entirely consumed by the whispers of the girls at the pool. As if my evil nature is stamped on me for the world to see.

They saw it…they grasped what he’s turning me into.

I hop out of the rideshare and stare up at my tiny house. My feet suddenly can’t move, and I’m planted outside, hiding beneath water-dipped trees and the glittery night sky, knowing I have to go in there and be normal. I just can’t bring myself to go inside yet.

My chest stings…that hellfire he put in there is burning strong.

Breathe. One. Two. Three.

Before I know it, I’m facing the ground, keeled over.

Breathe, Summer. Precious breath.

Clearly, I am spiraling.

I take a few minutes to compose myself out of the haze. I take one last final breath and walk in, keeping my head down. When I step inside, I immediately lean down, unzipping my knee-high boots and dropping my backpack.

“There you are,” Dani greets me. Her and Misty are eating pizza, and I kick off my boots and walk in. Misty still won’t look at me, and Dani gives me an apologetic look. The air inside this house is suffocating.

“I was just about to text you,” Dani says, hardly paying attention to me. Books are strewn out in front of them.

I smile weakly, averting my gaze from Misty. “I’m fine. I went swimming, then I needed some air.”

“Summer… Seriously, just call me next time. I’ll come grab you. Cali was running in the woods when she went missing, and you don’t want to end up like her, do you?”