Don't Be Scared - Page 50

Or how exactly it felt when he spat my cum and their spit onto my tongue.

“Fuck,” I mutter, rolling onto my side and curling into a ball under my blankets. My window is cracked, and will always be—come hell or high water—so my room on the second floor is too chilly for me to walk around without blankets or a few layers of clothing.

Did I really do that?I know it’s a rhetorical question. I can remember every touch, every surge of heat, and every hot breath on my skin as they replay in my mind with such clarity that I could be watching a movie. A really hot movie.

Slowly, I drag myself up and out of bed, groaning as I slam my eyes shut against being awake. A sound catches my attention, a rusty meow, and then Stranger is butting up against my hands, looking for attention and demanding my affection in quick succession. I give it, and when I open my eyes, I’m surprised to see Kale on the foot of the bed, glaring down at the two of us with irritation.

“No one did anything to you, Kale,” I sigh, reaching one hand down so my fingers are inches from his nose. He considers my hand, considers me, and deigns to lean forward so he can sniff the very tips of my fingernails.

I wait while scratching Stranger’s belly that’s on proud display. His tail flops against the bed. Once, twice, then a third time, and as if that’s a signal, Kale gets up to stretch. Unhurriedly, he pads my way, not stopping until he can rest against my folded legs, a soft purr echoing from his throat. I carefully pet him as well, knowing that if he gets spooked by anything, real or imaginary, he’ll be gone like a bullet.

The knock on my door is enough to do it. Kale dives for the safety of the floor, scooting under the bed while I watch with a disappointed breath. “Come in,” I call a few moments later, dragging one knee up to my chest.

My mom comes in, her face paler than it should be, and a note of seriousness about her that doesn’t bode well for me. “Hey,” she murmurs, walking across the room to sit with me. She knows what happened last night, and by the dark circles under her eyes, she’s worried about it.

Well, at the very least, she knows the story I’d told Detective Angleson. Past that…I’m certainly not about to tell her I know who the murderers are, or that I was ready to beg them to fuck me last night.

Or, worst of all, that I’d told them who I want to kill next.

Jaydenhasn’t spoken to me in years. Not even when the others tried to smooth things over for the sake of looking sympathetic. Jayden had made it known he’d never cared. He’d never once felt bad for Daisy, or me. And Jayden has starred in the highest number of my nightmares out of all of our former ‘friends.’

“Hey Mom,” I sigh, leaning back against my wall after scooting myself around to do so. “Everything okay?”

“Iseverything okay?” she fires back, eyes jerking upward. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” She knows I don’t like or care about the five of them. But I worry she thinks I’m taking this hard for reasons that don’t matter. Or things that aren’t true. “I’m not so tired anymore. Things don’t feel so bad when the sun is up.” I wave my hand stupidly at the window, as if she doesn’t know what time it is.

“Have you seen the news on your phone or anything?” she asks, watching my face to see if she can see a reaction before I can hide it. Not that I’m very good at hiding my expression from anyone, and I slant my gaze to the side when her gaze becomes too heavy for my eyes to hold.

“No,” I say to my blankets, shifting my leg to tuck it more comfortably against my body. “Why? I like to think I’m caught up on last night’s…”Murderis a strong word, and not something I should probably say with my mom in the room. It’ll make me sound too cold. Too uncaring. Too…over it.

She’ll really send me back to therapy if I act like I don’t care about Evan’s death. But when I open my mouth to try to say something, anything, about my condolences for his family, at least, I can’t seem to find the words.

Because I’m really not sorry. Not for any of them.And that just makes me think of Rory’s voice in my ear, of Phoenix’s gaze, and the way they both had taken it upon themselves to get the justice for Daisy she more than deserves.

“He’s not dead,” my mom replies, and it takes me longer than it should to process that thought. My gaze narrows, then widens, and my brows lift as I turn to look at her in confusion.

“What?” I ask, my voice flat and strange as it leaves my mouth. “What did you say?”

Because she has to be mistaken.

Evanhasto be dead.

“He made it.” From her tone, I can’t tell how she feels about it. I can’t tell if she’s relieved or just repeating the news to me. “I hear it was touch and go for a while, but he’s going to be fine.”

The flood of disappointment brings a flush of embarrassment to my chest, and I close my eyes against it. It’s inappropriate to be disappointed that someone I went to school with isn’t dead. It’s embarrassing to know that I can’t control my feelings, and I clench my fingers hard against my palms, as if I’m keeping her from seeing how I feel about the situation.

“Wow,” I murmur, blinking at her owlishly. “I remember…I think…he had a lot of wounds. I can’t believe he made it.” I don’twantto believe he made it, is the more truthful statement. But it’s definitely not going to leave my lips while my mom is here.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go see your therapist?” My mom is asking, sure, because she can’t force a twenty-year-old to go if I don’t want to on my own. “Seriously. I think it might be a good idea. Just so the two of you can touch base. There’s nothing wrong with that, Bailey.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it.” It’s so damn hard to keep the derision and bitterness out of my voice. Harder not to seem like I’m snapping at her. My mom has my best interests at heart. Iknowthat. But I also know that I don’t want to go see my therapist, because there’s no way in hell I’m going to be honest with her. About anything.

The best case scenario is that my mom is instructed to ‘watch me for signs of a dangerous situation’ and my emergency meds are refilled. The worst case scenario is that I get hospitalized for what she thinks is something leading to said dangerous situation, just because I don’t give two shits about the people who led to my best friend’s death.

“I’ll think about it,” I add, realizing belatedly I’ve interrupted something that my mom has said. “I’ll consider it, okay?” There’s an electricity in my veins that makes me restless, and though my plan was to take the day off from worrying about everything, and just exist in my room with my streaming services, my cats, and some oatmeal…I find myself at the dresser, yanking out a pair of loose sweatpants, a tee, and a hoodie. “I’m going to go walk,” I add, glancing her way. “Okay?”

“That’s fine,” My mom takes a moment before she says it, and gets to her feet. “As long as you’re okay.”