by Sara Hubbard
“I forgive you,” she says in my ear. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard.
“That’s big of you.”
“I appreciate you telling Michael the truth. You turned him against me, so he never would have believed me.”
“Maybe not.”
“Are you happy with yourself? Now you have him following you like he did me?”
“I’m not playing your games, Chloe. All right? I made a mistake and, yeah, I feel bad that it happened, but I won’t give Michael up because of it, and he doesn’t want that either.”
“Are you so sure?”
I shake my head. This girl…oh, this girl. She knows how to push my buttons. I feel her baiting me, and it won’t work. Not as long as I’m alive will she win.
The line moves, and I’m next. When the girl ahead of me comes out, I head inside. There’s only one toilet, no stalls. Chloe pushes me in further and follows, locking the door behind her. I stumble and stop myself from falling over by gripping the edge of the sink. With a click, she flicks the lock.
“What do you want?” I say, my voice getting louder.
“I want you to suffer. I want you to know what it feels like to see someone you care about fall so quickly for someone else like you were nothing to him.”
This catches me off balance, and though I’m so rip-roaring mad I want to kick her, I find myself feeling bad for her. It’s my fault she’s hurt, and it’s going to take some soul searching to really accept that when I dislike her so much.
“I’m sorry, Chloe. I didn’t mean for this to happen. You have to admit she looked just like you.”
“Michael won’t leave you, and you won’t leave him, so what am I going to do now? Huh? I’m not just going to let you guys be together. I won’t. He gets me. He loves me, and he’s never loved anyone but me. Never. I just need you to be out of the way so he’ll remember.”
My anger simmers a little when warning flags go up in my mind. This girl isn’t just angry; she’s crazy, and crazy people do unpredictable things. I might have been temporarily insane when I smashed that car, but Chloe? I’m not sure it’s a temporary thing.
“I’m leaving. You need to get some help. I really hope you do.”
I try to step around her, but she moves to block my path.
“Stop!” she screams.
I take a step back, and that’s when she turns things up a notch and goes full-on crazy. “Stop!” she screams again, louder.
I hold my hands out and try to shush her. “Calm down. I just want to leave.”
She turns on her heel and spins to the right to face the mirror. Without warning, she snaps her head back and smashes her forehead against the mirror. Shards fall to the sink as a crashing noise rings out.
What the fuck just happened? I gasp and hold my hands over my face. “What the fuck?”
She does it again. Blood slides down her face to drip through her lashes as the gaping wound on her forehead oozes.
With my mouth agape, I stare at her stunned, unsure of what to do or say.
“Stop it! Please don’t hurt me!” She slams her head onto the sink and falls back. She’s committed. I’ll give her that. She crumples to the floor, moaning, as she looks up at me with bloodshot eyes and a half smile. Against her bloody face, her teeth are so white they’re almost florescent.
I don’t even know what to do or say. I don’t realize in the moment how this will look or what people will think. It doesn’t occur to me until someone starts pounding on the door. Then all I can think about is my probation and going to jail.
“Open the door! Now.”
I start to bend down to help her because she’s bleeding everywhere, like all over the floor. The crimson liquid pools around her, a stream snaking its way to my heels. “Oh my God, Chloe!”
“Help me!” she screams.
I panic. “No! What are you doing?”
The door cracks and splinters on the hinges as bouncers swarm inside.
They look at the two of us and see me as the threat even as I hold up my hands and plead with them. “This isn’t what it looks like! She did it to herself.” I’m saying those same words over and over again as they grab my arms and force me out of the bathroom, dragging me through the crowded pub and into a large office space while everyone stops to watch. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Michael running for me with Ozzie right behind him. They push through the dense crowd but they’re unable to get to me before the bouncers slam the door shut between us.
Chapter 29
I’m twenty years old, and this is my second time behind bars. This first time I was upset and panicked and couldn’t stop screaming at police officers to give me my one phone call. Now, I don’t know. It kind of seems pointless. I know what happened, but no one is going to believe it, not after what I did last September. No more probation, no community service, just jail.
What must Michael think right now? He would have seen Chloe coming out of that bathroom with her head bloodied, looking like she’d been shot. My God, where did all that blood come from? Given my history, he’ll probably believe I did it. The evidence is compelling. I wouldn’t blame him. Will Charlie believe it?
A loud bang rings out and my gray cell bars vibrate. Someone is coming, their footsteps getting louder and louder with each step.
I lean back and let my head rest against the cold cement wall behind me. I sit on a bench with no mattress. I don’t have my heels on; they were too tall and pointy. So they took them after telling me they could be used as weapons. Huh. Who knew? They took my belt, too. Genuine leather with a bedazzled buckle. I love that belt. Like I’d actually hang myself.
The door opens, and the hinges squeal like they’ve never seen a can of oil in their lifetime. I expect a police officer to throw some food at me or to bark out orders. Instead, I see my probation officer. Sigh. Will he lecture me? Tell me I’m a complete fuck up and he was wrong about me? Maybe.
“Hi.” I say, with a weak wave.
“Emily.” His voice is ice. He clucks his tongue at me and shakes his head. “Let me guess, ‘I didn’t do it. I was framed.’”
I don’t even have the energy to reply. The way he looks at me is odd. Not in surprise or anger, but with disappointment. I got this look so much from my parents growing up I could paint a picture of it with scary accuracy.
“Nothing to say?”
I shrug. “What’s to say?”
“You need a lawyer.”
“Yep.”
“I called yours, and he’ll be here shortly. Though he might not stay with you.”
I tip my head to the side, confused.
“Your parents won’t pay his fee. They’ve washed their hands of you.”
I laugh at this. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s the cherry on top of a fantastic day. What’s next? Is the sky going to fall? The sun going to explode?
“What happened?” he asks, but his voice is sincere.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“The girl I allegedly attacked is my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend.” I continue to tell him about our recent history and how I think she was the one who called him to get me in trouble. He remains expressionless the whole time, listening to every word without comment. When I’m finally done, he finally says, “You couldn’t make that stuff up.”
He’s right about that. “You believe me?”
“I’m not saying I don’t.” He waves me forward. “Show me your hands.”
Tentatively, I stand and slowly meander over to him. I hold up my hands, and he tells me to turn them over. Then he asks me to show him my arms.
“You have no marks on you. We’ll get pictures to help with your story.”
“I don’t understand. You keep believing me when you have no reason to.”
He clucks his tongue. “Sure, I do. Evidence. Not just on your body but in your body language. I’ve been at this a long time, kid. You have no marks on your body. No scratches or
bruises. I find it hard to believe you did that much damage to that girl and have no marks to show for it. It doesn’t make sense.”
“No one will believe it after what I did to that man’s car.”
“Let me worry about that. I swear to God, kid, if you get out of this, you’re going to have to live the most boring life you’ve ever lived for the rest of your probation. You got me?”
“I swear I’ll never leave my room if you get me out of this.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
I wait hours after Officer Erikson leaves. Most of the time I sit quietly and think about Michael and if he’ll believe in me like Erikson does. I think it’ll break my heart if he doesn’t. Because I’d believe him. When I don’t think about him, I’m stuck on my parents. They’ve washed their hands of me? What does that mean? They’re out of my life? And what about school? Am I on my own? Man, this gets better and better. I should be more upset than I am, but I feel numb about it. I think maybe I stopped caring long ago because they’ve always managed to let me down in some way.
When my ass starts to ache, I stand and pace. It’s almost four hours later before I hear someone coming back. This time it’s my lawyer, Mr. Nolan. How nice of him to do this pro bono.
“We need to stop meeting like this,” he says.
“I didn’t do it.”
“So I hear.”
“Really?” I try not to get my hopes up, just in case.
“They’re dropping the charges…for now. It seems that girl has some mental problems.”
“You don’t say,” I say dryly.
“She accused someone of the same thing in high school. That girl went to juvenile detention, but the details are so similar the cops are suspicious. They’ll look into it some more and maybe they’ll charge you again…maybe not, but you’re free to go for now.”
“Oh, thank God.” Some of the tension eases from my shoulders.
He raises an eyebrow. “We’ll do some paperwork and then you’re out of here.”
“I can’t pay you,” I say.
“I know. But I was already on my way when your parents called.”
I swallow a thick lump in my throat. “What did they say?”
“They want to cut ties with you. They think it’s better all around.” He chuckles without humor. “If only we could pick our parents, right?”
“Yeah, if only.”
“They’re upset. I’m sure it’ll blow over.”
I frown at him. “No, it won’t, but thanks for saying so.”
I don’t remember ever feeling this low. It’s been a tough year so far. With Christmas around the corner and nowhere to go, I wonder what I’ll do. I suppose I could go home with Charlie. They’d always welcome me. Michael asked me to visit his family, but I’m not sure the invite will still be on the table after last night.
As I walk to the exit doors with my lawyer, all I can think about is seeing Michael. I just want to curl up to him and have him hold me and tell me everything will be okay.
We’re at the county holding cells just outside of Spruce Valley, and it’s an expensive car ride back to campus. My lawyer takes pity on me and offers to drive me home, which I gladly accept, only I ask for him to drive me to Michael’s house instead. Nolan speeds the whole way, so the car ride is short. I grip the armrest the whole time.
When we reach Michael’s road, I wait until I see his house and point to it. “Can you just let me off at that white house up there?” No sooner do I say this does all the air in my lungs get sucked from my chest.
My lawyer slows down as we approach, and I see her clearly—Chloe—on his doorstep and him in the doorway. What the hell is she doing here? They’re facing each other, and she’s holding her face. His hands are dug deep in his pockets. Her shoulders start to shake, and he reaches out to lay a hand on her. Something fractures deep in my chest, sucking all the air from my lungs.
My lawyer starts to pull over, but I let out a strangled, “No! Please keep going. My dorm. I changed my mind. Please take me to my dorm.”
He cranes his neck to see what the problem is and grimaces at the sight of Michael and Chloe. Thankfully, he doesn’t ask for an explanation. Instead, he picks up speed and drives away, and I think, but I’m not sure, that’s when Chloe turns and recognizes me before smiling.
* * *
I lie on my bed, on my back, my hands intertwined on my stomach, and I stare at the ceiling. There is a square pattern, and I spend the afternoon counting every single square. Four hundred and forty-six. I count them twice because a commotion in the hallway distracts me and I lose count.
Marla comes in shortly before supper. She halts when she sees me, and her eyes go wide, though I’m not sure why until she says, “I thought you were in jail.”
“News travel fast.”
“It was on the school’s social media page this morning for a total of twenty-one minutes before it got taken down. Then it circulated Twitter.”
“Awesome.”
She falls into her seat and opens her laptop. Her fingers hover over keys, but she doesn’t press them. After a sigh, she looks at me and says, “Did you really smash that girl’s head into a mirror? I get the whole car-trashing thing because your ex was a douche, but…I’m going to be a little freaked out if I find out my roommate is an honest to goodness psycho.”
I cringe. Social media? Already? People already think I’m crazy. Marla’s my roommate, and she’s on the fence about it herself. She’s giving me the opportunity to deny it, but no one else on campus will. They’ll just assume I’m certifiable.
“I didn’t do it. Not that anyone will believe me.”
“So you’re not going to murder me in my sleep for snoring or anything like that?” Her lips quirk up into a smile.
“I promise you’re safe.”
“I didn’t think you did it. I looked her up, and she is seriously messed up.”
I sit up in bed. “Looked her up? What do you mean?”
“I’m a hacker. It’s what I do. I got everything on her there is to find.”
“You’re a hacker? I thought you played games all the time.”
“Sure. Sometimes, but ninety-nine percent of the time I’m getting paid to find stuff most people can’t find. I’m pretty good at it.”
What the actual fuck? Here I thought my roommate was a gamer with no life. Turns out she’s like a freaking technological ninja.
She turns her computer to face me and shows me an image of Chloe that looks like a mug shot, along with bulleted details of her and her life. I scan it quickly. Parents Dorothy and Chuck. Moved in with grandmother at age thirteen for unruly behavior. Kicked out by grandmother at age seventeen for getting caught having sex in a school bathroom. Grandmother lives at 509 Bisset Lane, Hopewell. What the actual fuck? She told Michael she lost someone, and from her texts, she made it sound like that someone was her grandmother.
“Her grandmother’s alive?”
“Yeah, is that important?”
I nod and move closer.
She pulls up another file, and it’s a police report for a girl that went to juvie because of Chloe. Holy shit. This shit is confidential, and it’s not lost on me I’m breaking the law right now as I read this. But I can’t stop myself. Like my lawyer said, a girl went to jail for fourteen months because she “smashed Chloe’s head into a mirror.” There were no marks on this girl either. Some poor girl lost a year of her life because of Chloe’s lies. And I felt bad for mistakenly thinking she screwed my boyfriend? Wow.
“You finding this means that hopefully the cops will, too. Then maybe I can put this bogus accusation of hers to rest”—I cross my fingers—“and be able to walk away without more charges.”
“She’s a piece of work,” Marla says, shaking her head.
“I’ll say.” Then it hits me hard. She’s at Michael’s right now. Though I don’t think she’d hurt him, there’s no predicting what she’s capable of. That’s what makes someone like her so dangerous
.
“You’re a life saver, Marla,” I say as I spring form my bed and shove my feet into some sneakers. Then I dash for the door and start running.
Chapter 30
I rap on Michael’s front door, and it trembles in its frame. Though it’s evening, it’s already dusk, and the porch light is on. I hear music inside and some footsteps. I take a step back and catch my breath. My forehead is covered in sweat, and now that I’m no longer running it chills me.
Tate opens the door, cereal bowl in hand. He raises his eyebrows at me. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
He nods to the inside of the house and steps out of the way. The music is coming from the living room, but there is no one else down here. “I need to see Michael.”
“He’s not here. What the fuck happened to you last night? Someone said you got in a cat fight in a bathroom and got dragged out and arrested.”
“Not true to the first, but true to the second and the third.”
He grimaces to process. “You didn’t get in a cat fight? Then why was Chloe’s face so fucked up?” He grimaces at me. “Not that I particularly care all that much.”
“I don’t want to get into this with you, Tate. I need to see Michael.”
“Chloe came here all pathetic, and he felt bad and drove her home.”
He drove her home? Why would he do that? Because he believes her. Otherwise he would have told her to leave and never come back. I drop into the seat nearest to me and hang my head.
“He should be back soon.”
“Did he tell you about last night?”
He takes a bite of his cereal and chews loudly. In between bites he says, “Nah uh. Saw it on social media. There were pictures.”
I shake my head. Is that what made my parents cut ties with me? Did they see me being dragged off kicking and screaming? Was that what it took for them to finally destroy any love they have left for me?
“Did he say anything?”
“Nope.” Crunch, crunch. “Well, not really. He was kind of spazzing last night. He trashed his room—which isn’t like him—after the cops came by this morning asking questions.
