“But why are they targeting you? Why is this person just messaging you?” Sam asks, her eyes narrowing.
“I wish I knew,” I reply honestly. I’ve wondered the same thing myself, and came up with—well, nothing. “All I know is that it’s been going on for a while now, and it’s getting worse.”
“Should we call the police?” Naomi chimes in, looking down at her feet, her face pale.
“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “We don’t even know who’s behind this. And what if they retaliate?”
“Retaliate?” Naomi repeats, her voice rising. “They’re already following us, Addie!”
Sam sighs, rubbing her temples. “The police won’t do anything. Not here.”
She’s right. Everyone knows the cops in this town are under the thumb of powerful families—the Carsons, the Steeles, the Brooks. I know for a fact that the Carsons control the police force, and the Steeles are among the most powerful and influential families. So are the Greys and the Brooks family.
If this stalker has connections to any of them, we’re screwed.
“So, we’re on our own,” Naomi mutters, slumping against the wall.
I nod, and exhale a long breath. “Seems like it.”
“Great,” Naomi sighs.
“Let’s add that to our long list of problems.”
***
“I just don’t understand. Why? It makes no sense,” Naomi voice wavers, confusion apparent in her words.
“Isn’t it obvious? It’s got to do with our father. That’s the only explanation,” I reply, though my own voice falters this time. The words feel heavy as they leave my mouth.
“It’s true. Our father wasn’t perfect. He had enemies,” Sam adds, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, her tone as detached as ever.
“He must have been involved in something sketchy that we didn’t know about,” I say firmly. “Don’t you ever wonder about the day of the accident?” I press on.
Both Naomi and Sam visibly tense up at the topic. Naomi stiffens, her lips pressing into a tight line, and Sam looks away entirely.
“The roads were clear. The weather was clear. And Father is—was—a careful driver. You know that. He would never speed—”
“But he would—for you,” Naomi interrupts, and the sudden harshness of her tone shocks me, but I force myself to meet her gaze.
Guilt washes over me, but I refuse to look away. She’s right. I called him that day. I was desperate, panicked, and I needed help. But I didn’t ask him to speed. Ididn’t know. That’s what I tell myself. That Ididn’t know. That it wasn’t my fault. That I couldn’t have possibly known.
But deep down, the guilt eats me whole.It’s killing me.
“I—” I try to speak, but Naomi cuts me off again, her words sharper this time.
“He sped that day because of you. You called, and of course, he rushed to help,” she accuses, her voice trembling.
It’s not fair. It’s notjustme. But the way she says it, as though I’m the only one to blame, stirs something dark inside me.
Anger rises, cold and biting, and I can’t hold it back. “If you want to blame someone, maybe you should think about why I was in that situation to begin with!” My voice shakes, but it’s louder now, cutting through the suffocating silence that follows.
They knew what was going on in school.The bullying.What I had to endure every day. But they did nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
And instead of helping, or even so much as talking to me in school, they turned a blind eye to it. Their silence was a betrayal, a hurt I couldn’t put into words. And maybe if they had done something to help, we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place.
That’s something they always fail to understand. Or maybe they do, and just pretend not to, to avoid the guilt.
