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“What do you think?” Dickwad snaps. A ghost of a smile crosses my face at the knowledge that Raven is at least not sleeping with this prick.
“Why you dating a chick that ain’t putting out anyway? From what I hear she’s poor as fuck. I don’t get it,” a guy with dirty blonde wavy hair chimes in.
“Because, assholes,” he grinds out, clearly annoyed, “my mother has it on very good authority that she’s actually a Deighton. As in, Cordelia. And that’s just the ‘in’ that we need right now. I have no idea why she’s hiding behind a fake name but I’m determined to get a ring on this girl’s finger before the semester’s out. Now change the fucking subject.”
Over my fucking dead body. There’s no way Raven is ending up with this guy. He’s fucking vile.
“So you’ll join us later if she still doesn’t put out?” another preppy asshole asks.
“I’ll join you later even if she does. Have you seen her?” he gives a cruel laugh, “Miss fucking priss, who dotes on every word my idiot father says, isn’t about to be much fun in the sack is she? I bet she’s a fucking virgin. Ugh. They’re the worst to fuck, they don’t have a clue what they’re doing.”
The preppy clones all laugh heartily and head towards the elevator. Fucking hell. I don’t know how I didn’t kill them. But at least I know when I can see Raven again. Tonight. I just have to follow this fucking asshole without killing him first.
Charlotte’s Diary
3 days post-blaze
As expected, Grandma flew me out to the island where we had stayed together over Easter. I was beginning to wonder if all the times she’d said she was on a cruise, she was really here, shacking it up with Dicky.
I wasn’t thrilled to return, but things did look up when she gave me my own cabin this time, disappearing up to the big house. A couple of tense days later, I learnt that Baxter wasn’t going to be around. Once I knew that, I felt like I could relax a little and try to mend my broken heart.
That’s what I have to focus on; mending my heart. I can’t even begin to think about what happened...what I did...because every time I do, I break down.
I may not be sure exactly who I am, but I’m not a stone-cold killer. I’m not a remorseless hardass. Nothing in my plan for vengeance prepared me for the aftermath of having to actually live with what I have done.
And no matter how hard I try to block it out and not think about it, it’s keeping me awake at night. Questions swirl around and around in my mind, twisting my stomach and fraying my soul into tattered pieces.
How will I live with myself?
