Is she exhibiting signs of psychosis? Maybe. It’s hard to tell,and for the first time, I wonder if Shae is responding poorly to her meds—or if she’s not taking them at all.
“The judge determined that I wouldn’t be a good fit for prison. That sounds like a win to me.” She almost seems to be gloating.
“Shae, the judge deemed you incompetent at the end of the trial, and instead of sentencing you, he committed you. It’s hardly the upgrade you think it is.”
Shae’s eyes harden. “Obviously.”
At that moment, it occurs to me that Shae is more cognizant of reality than she’s been letting on.
“But…what about the baby?” I ask, desperate to distract her.
“What baby?” She chuckles in a way that turns my blood to ice. Shae rubs her tummy with both hands, then pinches at her muffin top. “I’m not pregnant. Just fat. Likeyou.”
Hot tears sear my throat as I realize what’s been happening all these months. Shae has been pretending to gain weight. Pretending to be pregnant. Pretending to becrazy.
Shae has been playing me. Shae has outsmarted all of us.
Chapter Forty-Three
Mia
“You know, Kelly.” I circle my friend with a smile. “I’ve really been admiring this dress.”
“W-what?” Her face crinkles in confusion.
I continue, enjoying toying with the woman who thought she was smarter than me. “Can I try it on?”
“No, of course not,” Kelly spits, anger souring her sullen features. We were never friends; I know that now. I thought we were, but really, I knew that I was Kelly’s pity friend, and I could only take it for so long. She chose me because she thought I didn’t have anyone else. She chose me because it made her feel good to think she was helping an otherwise lost cause.
“Switch me.” I seethe and use the razor-sharp tip of a small clay knife from the kiln to carve a line along her thigh.
“Shae—no. Stop.” She turns, rearing one arm back like she’s about to hit me with her tattered Louis Vuitton tote.
I’m ready for her, though. I’ve been waiting for this.
“You don’t want to do that,” I grit out, locking one of her wrists in my palm and spinning it behind her back. She’s at my mercy now. The way I’m twisting her wrist is painful. Her soft,pillowy body is limp, but just to scare her, I drag the small, rusted hook on the end of the pottery knife along her cheek.
She’s shaking and crying, her mascara is running, and something in me loves every moment of her misery.
I hook the dirty metal blade into her cheek and pull her skin taut. Tremors rack her body, and it feeds the power that’s pumping through my blood.
“Switch. Me.” I yank on the knife that’s hooked in her mouth, and she screams.
“You’re cutting me! Please! I can taste blood. You’re cutting me.” She’s squirming against my hold. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“Switch clothes with me, or I’ll cut you deeper.” I pull again and notice a trickle of bright-red blood is sliding down her chin and neck. “I’m fat now. It should be just the right size.”
Tears mix with blood from the inside of her cheek as she drops her bag and then loosens the tie on her wrap dress. She’s sobbing now, but she’s also stripping. I move quickly, keeping one eye on my friend as I shrug out of the oversized hospital gown.
“You could have gotten out early for good behavior, you know,” Kelly snarls as she thrusts her dress at me.
“Shut up.” I throw the gown at her, and she pulls it over her shoulders.
“You’ll never get away with this.” She is digging through her bag now.
“Give me that.” I gesture to the bag. I know what she’s up to—trying to locate her phone, probably.
“No,” she growls.
