by Lucy Auburn
"Why can't you just stop digging?" His fingers dig into my arms, and my heart leaps into my throat. "You were supposed to just take the easy bait and stop when you'd gotten what you wanted."
"I don't know what you mean," I spit out, though some part of my brain is insisting that I can figure it out if I try hard enough. "Just leave me alone, you bastard."
"No."
He pulls me towards him. I tilt my face up to look into his, and realize belatedly that I've curled my fingers around his shoulders, a mirror to his grip on my arms.
"Tell me what you want from me." His voice is ragged. "Tell me what will get you to leave this cursed place and go back home where you belong."
I answer the only way I know how, rain dripping down my cheeks and across my lips.
With my mouth against his in a searing kiss.
Chapter 48
It's a storm cloud brewing overhead. The smell of ozone in the air, a promise of something yet to come. Every hair on your body raising on end.
Kissing Cole Masterson is dangerous. It feels like jumping out of a plane. He kisses like the last moment before the truck hits you.
It's like living.
Because you know that he's how it ends. He's how it all ends.
He tastes like storm water and toothpaste, smells like a warm kitchen, and feels like a living god beneath my fingers. His mouth takes mine and consumes me. I push against him, nails digging into his skin, teeth trying to find ways to hurt him like he hurt me.
His lips take the breath from me and give it back again.
His hands dig into my waist, feeding the part of me desperate to be touched, to be wanted, to be wild and reckless.
The darkness in him, the desire for messy revenge, feels like an echo to the girl I see in the mirror. The one who took him down, for a while. The one who wants to bury him.
This, then, is what it feels like to sin. I'm betraying the dead, and I'm ruining myself doing it.
I pull back from the kiss like ripping off a bandage, stumbling away from him, my bare feet sliding on the storm-slick ground.
Thunder booms. Lightning descends from the sky. About a hundred yards away from us, one of Coleridge's ancient live oak trees gets split right in half like a banana being peeled. It must feel the way I do right now: empty in the middle and utterly destroyed.
I can't look at him. I don't want to see what I've done. My purse slipped out of my hand sometime between facing him and breaking away from his touch. Getting down on my knees—because why not ruin this dress completely—I find it with searching fingers, soaked and cold to the touch. My phone slides out onto the ground, and I frantically grab it, pulling it out of the rain.
Panting, Cole says, "You need to know something."
I put the code into my phone's lock screen to make sure it's still working despite the torrent all around us. It opens up to the latest thing I was looking at: photos of Cole's journal, illicitly taken, proving nothing and barely sating my curiosity.
Maybe it is an obsession.
"Brenna. Brenna, goddamnit, look at me."
I can't.
Because I'm figuring something out.
Something I don't understand.
The handwriting in the journal. It seemed so familiar. Heart racing, I flip through my photos, back in time: to before I pointed at the wrong boy using the blog, before Holly found out what I'd done, before I took down Cole, before it all went sideways.
"Just stop this, goddamnit. You don't know what you're doing." His voice is frantic, pleading even. "Let's go somewhere and talk. Maybe if I tell you everything... I know I shouldn't, but you might understand... There's so much you don't know."
There are other footsteps coming down the stairs. Other boys joining us in the rain, fitted suits getting ruined. I don't have to look up to know who they are.
There are four wolves at Coleridge Academy.
I took a photo of the envelope that was slid beneath my door. I've studied it so many times, but there was something about it I didn't see. With a strange knot in my chest, I compare it directly to the handwriting in Cole's journal.
It shouldn't be.
It couldn't be.
But it is.
The same looping lowercase E. The same messy slant to the letters. Thick marks and broad strokes.
Cole gave me the very information that took him down. He grabbed both accident reports, changed them just enough to remove the photo of the body in the trunk and the record of two fatalities, and sent them straight to Legacies.
He used me to expose himself publicly. All this time, I thought that I was facing up against him and his friends, squaring off in a battle of the ages. I had no idea that everything I did, including that blog post that sent him running, was at his behest.
Reeling, I stare up into his eyes. The other boys are here now too, soaking in the storm. Rain slides down their chiseled blue blood faces. Water pools in their lips that speak lies—lips I've kissed, believing I was the snake, oblivious that I was really the fool. The naive little girl.
The pawn in their games.
"Why did you do all this?" I have to shout to be heard over the storm. "I have as much right to go here as the four of you! There's no reason to turn me into some kind of social pariah."
"I thought you said that you didn't care if anyone found out your real name." Tanner is smug, careless, and effortlessly charming. "If it bothers you so much, though, you can just leave. It's not like you belong here."
You don't belong here. This place isn't meant for you. Poor little lamb. Thief, liar, and traitor.
"Fuck you!" I explode at Tanner, stepping forward and shoving him. He stumbles back, looking startled more than anything.
"Getting rid of my brother wasn't enough, was it? You had to go for me too!" I glare at each of them in turn. "You could've told people the truth the whole time. We both know he was a drug dealer, not a rapist. But you let everyone believe the worst."
Cole's voice is challenging. "Did I lie? Was he not responsible for what happened to Mariana? He brought roofies all the way to orientation week. No one made him sell them."
This is the dark heart of the storm that's been swirling inside me since I saw the video Mariana sent me, the question without an answer, because the dead don't speak: why did Silas do what he did? Was he really that hard up for cash? Was it some kind of one time thing, or had he been doing it in Wayborne too?
I knew that he liked smoking weed, and that he'd experimented with hallucinogens. His crowd of friends in high school weren't the same crowd as mine. But what he put in his body was none of my business, and if he turned towards pills, it was because he had to in order to chase away the pain of our father's fists.
He couldn't exactly go to the doctor and ask for pain medication without our family being reported to CPS. Silas's greatest fear, more than anything, was that we would be forcibly separated if he ever let the truth about Daddy slip. We both knew Mom couldn't take care of both of us on her own—she didn't have the strength or the money.
So he found weed, and pills, maybe even other things I never knew about, or refused to look at closely. But he didn't deal. Or if he dealt, he didn't deal... that. Date rape drugs. Evil things for evil boys and men.
"For all he knew, that boy was going to take them himself," I respond, a feeble excuse none of us is buying. "But it doesn't matter. We both know who really assaulted that girl. And you did nothing about it. You just let everyone think an innocent person committed a crime."
It's Lukas's angry voice that responds, shocking me. "Unlike you, who definitively points fingers at the wrong people."
I recoil at the venom in his voice, meeting his blue eyes. We've only seen each other in class and during meetings about our project lately, and he's seemed cordial every time. I didn't think he hated me.
I also didn't think he knew that I was Legacies.
Tanner demands, "Why would you do that to him?" He advances on me, his clever brown eyes staring me down. "I
t was one thing to post my personal business on your stupid blog. Lukas never did anything to you. And he certainly didn't rape Mariana."
"I know he didn't!" I snap, cast back to that terrible mistake. "That post never should've gone live." Looking at Lukas, I add, "I printed a retraction as soon as I realized it was Hass who really did it."
A stone cold silence descends on the group. Cole mutters, "What did you say?"
Blake reaches out and grabs his shoulder. "I've got this." He advances on me too, and I cower back, my feet aching, dress torn, and heart bruised. Staring down at me, Blake says, "You keep poking your nose where it doesn't belong. If you're not careful, you'll go the way of your brother."
Hot biles rises up inside me. I taste bitterness on my tongue. Cold rain falls on my skin, and my wet dress clings to me, but suddenly I'm overwhelmingly hot.
The fire of my rage rises up inside me to consume and destroy everything. It's like a beast with a mind of its own, incapable of being tamed or forgotten. It takes everything: the way I felt when I kissed Cole, the soft ache I held for Lukas, how I let Tanner's dancing mirth infect me, and even my insatiable curiosity to know if Blake's darkness was like mine.
I let myself be drawn to them.
Sometimes I even believed that they could be different.
But I've seen my brother's body lowered into a coffin in the ground. I cut him down from a branch that never should have held his weight. Whatever I deserve from them, however they want to attack me, they won't do to me what they did to him.
With a snarl, I slap Blake across the face so hard that I feel it ring in my teeth and smart in my bones. His head snaps back, but his feet don't move. Those cold brown eyes of his briefly widen in shock, and he stares down at me in naked surprise.
I'm done being careful. Done being quiet. The truth is a living thing, and it demands that I scream its name. Stepping back, I throw my head high, stare them all down, and let the fire out.
"My brother killed himself because of you."
Chapter 49
Once it starts, it doesn't stop. The truth will out. It's a destructive fire, demanding fuel for its flames, and I can't control it now that it's leapt past my lips and out into the storm-filled air.
These things never turn out well.
"He put a rope around his neck, climbed a tree, and hung himself from it!"
I yell the words into a silence that's more than shock. The storm clouds overhead have quieted their rage, as if in silent awe of the fury I'm unleashing, which dwarfs anything nature could produce.
"There was blood on his chin where he bit his tongue. Blood on the ground we laid him down on. I had to cut him down with my own hands!"
As if to show them, I throw my hands out, hysterical sobs leaving my body like poison from an open wound. Excise me, the anger demands, and I obey, tongue and lips turning breath to truth.
Let them have this load I've carried. Let them see what it feels like to bow beneath its weight.
"Silas didn't fucking drop out and go home. He didn't even make it to seventeen. He died! He isn't even here anymore, but you just can't shut up about him, can you? Calling him out like what he did was worse than what you did to him."
I shove Blake back again. Then, because the anger is wild, I throw a poorly thought-out kick at Cole's shin, my bare foot smarting.
"You fucking killed him," I scream at their wide eyes, their teenage boy faces, their shocked mouths. "We were born together, and we should've died together."
I throw a punch at Tanner's chest, and he just takes it, hands wrapping around my fist as if to comfort me. But I bare my imperfect white trash teeth at him and rip my hand from his grip.
"It isn't fair." My voice is ragged. I'm so angry at the sky for clearing, at the storm for leaving me just as my tears are falling harder and faster than I can control. It seems cruel that they can see me cry. I feel absurdly naked and vulnerable even as I throw my hands, feet, and words at them. "It shouldn't have happened!"
Lukas says, "It shouldn't have. And I'm so sorry. But that's not our fault."
"We can't control what he did," Blake says, sounding indignant. "It's not like we wanted that. That wasn't the plan."
"He was just supposed to go home." Cole sounds bewildered and confused. "I don't understand. Why would he..."
"I'm sorry, Brenna." Lukas tries to approach me, but I stumble back, shaking my head. "Clearly you're in pain."
It hurts to hear sympathy in his words. Telling them that Silas died shouldn't feel like this. The pain of seeing them look shocked, bewildered, and even grieving, just like me, doesn't match what I want to believe of them: that they went after Silas without a second thought. That they would celebrate discovering his death.
So I reel on them again, searching for a target to let the pain out on.
"You think it sucked for you to be accused," I yell at Lukas, knowing I'm red in the face and not caring. "Silas didn't have anyone here. He was all alone—you made sure of that! And nothing I can do to you will ever bring him back."
My words hit me, because I've told a truth I didn't want to hear myself.
Silas isn't coming back.
He'll never be beside me again.
I don't get to tell him how proud I am of myself for actually getting better at schoolwork.
I'll never be able to share my secret, joyful hope: that I might actually graduate school—even this cursed, terrible, wolf-filled school—and go to a college somewhere.
He won't be by my side when I pursue my dreams.
He'll never get to see me fall in love. Get married. Have kids. Grow old.
I'm here, but he isn't, which should have been enough to make the world stop moving. On and on it goes without him. Every day I grow older that he doesn't get to live is stolen. Happiness, joy, love—all impossible without him here to see me feel it.
I dry my tears. Tilt my chin back and force the unspilled ones down. Then I promise these boys, these ruthless, fearless, shocked silent boys, "I will end you for what you did to him."
I try to turn around and walk away.
But a hand takes my wrist and pulls me back. I expect to look up and into Cole's green eyes, but instead it's Tanner's gaze staring at me. The emotions I see on his face make me tremble: sadness, grief, regret, and even a bit of what might be admiration.
He tells me, "I'm sorry about your brother. We all are," and I almost believe him. Until he adds, "But you should go now and never come back."
I try to jerk my hand out of his grip so I can slap him, too, but he very quickly and cleverly grabs both my wrists and holds them together, shaking his head.
"Uh-uh. Not so fast. You won't be bruising me like you bruised Blake." I cut my eyes over at the other boy, who's rubbing a spot on his jaw that's turning a dark red. Triumph fills me, even though I feel a stab of regret that I stooped to violence. "You stuck your nose in a hornet's nest. Shit all over us on social media if you want—I honestly don't give a fuck. It'll be a cold day in Hell when I care about Senator Connally's run for President. But stay the fuck away from solving mysteries, you hear me? Especially when it comes to the dead."
"If you mean that girl in Cole's truck, she deserves justice." I manage to twist out of Tanner's grip and jump away before he grabs me again, using a trick the coach at Wayborne taught all us girls. "However she died, someone is going to find out. And you're going down for it," I tell Cole, "along with the rest of you if you've covered it up."
Cole frowns in my direction, then runs a hand through his hair. "If you're going to be like that, you might as well know the truth. The thing that happened with the girl was—"
To my shock, Lukas tackles him, throwing him halfway off his feet in a single smooth motion. Cole manages to recover, and turns on his friend, shoving him back. Tanner steps in and tries to break them up—or rile them up, it's hard to tell—while Blake just moves smoothly back.
I'm so tired. Completely exhausted.
I let the fire out of me, and no
w I have nothing left to burn.
So I turn around to leave, just as the storm starts up again. Maybe when I'm back in my room I'll understand what just happened. I can lick my wounds, prepare for finals, and figure out what to do about this wretched place and its terrible boys.
Their voices chase me, but I run through the storm, carelessly careening into the dark. They try to follow me, but the ground is slick, and their dress shoes are perfectly polished. My bare feet may be aching and bruised, but it's no worse than any other day at the riverbank, running on stones with my teeth gritted, desperately chasing after my brother.
Two halves of a whole, irrevocably split.
I'll never be unbroken again.
I run all the way to the edge of campus, towards the gates, like I think I might ever be free of this place. Grief consumes me; tears blur my vision. I'm barely even aware how far I've run.
So I barely notice when I see the car coming. Running into the road, I stumble and fall down on my knees, and for a moment I think it's going to hit me.
Headlights blind my eyes.
Brakes screech.
I hold my hand up, as if to ward the car off.
It stops right in front of me, inches from my face. The white light of the headlights is blinding. Someone curses and rushes out of the car. A man puts his hands beneath my elbows and pulls me up. Another man, a tall figure I can barely see through spots in my vision, gets out of the driver's side and stares at me.
"You okay? You came out of nowhere."
I'm about to answer when the man staring at my face says, "Holy shit. It's her. Talk about a lucky day."
"Oh yeah?" The hands that were supporting me suddenly snake around my waist and pull me tight against a strong chest. I instinctively kick and squirm, but a hand comes up to cover my mouth and pinch my nose shut. "Hush now, little girl. No one is going to hurt you."
"Yet."
As spots dance across my vision, I try everything I can to get free. I kick, scratch, slap, and struggle. But another set of strong arms grabs me and holds me tight. The hand choking off my air increases its pressure.
