My balcony door is still open. I slip inside, and the moment my feet touch the floor, my legs give out. I collapse, the breath tearing out of my chest in a sound that feels like it comes from somewhere deeper than my lungs.
I press Judas’s shirt to my face and scream into it.
When the sound finally dies, I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. My body goes hollow. I can’t cry anymore. I can’t scream. There is just this empty, buzzing quiet inside me.
Would they even care if I’m gone?
The thought slips in, poisoning my mind again.
Would they even notice?
My phone buzzes.
I forgot I left it on the bed.
I push myself up and cross the room. The screen lights up in my hand.
It’s Knox. I also forgot I told him I’d go to the party.
Hey, pretty girl. If you’re ready, I can pick you up in 20 minutes.
I look at my reflection in the mirror. My shirt is smeared with blood. My eyes look like I haven’t slept for days.
But I need a drink. I need to forget this day.
Great. See you.
I text back.
I peel off my clothes until I’m standing there in my navy bra and thong. I go to the closet and reach for the only black dress inside. I pull it over my head and face the mirror again.
I can still taste Judas on my lips.
I close my eyes, wanting him here, and then I shove the thought away.
I’m not angry that he might be the one who killed my mom or my stepdad. I’m angry that if he did, he never told me. And I’m angry at myself for not remembering.
All I see when I try is a white ski mask. A small spiderweb near the temple.
I swipe on red lipstick and twist my hair into a messy bun. I don’t care how I look. I just want to get drunk.
My blackAll Starsare still on my feet. I sit on the edge of the bed and pick up my phone. I lift it and snap a selfie. I sent it to Judas.
Before I can move back toward the balcony, my phone buzzes again.
It’s him.
Where the hell are you going dressed like a hooker?
I took another selfie. This time, I press my finger to my lips and tilt the camera low, my breasts filling the frame.
Come and find me.
Brother.
With the phone still in my hand, I hop down onto the grass and cut across the yard toward the driveway.
Headlights sweep over me a minute later. Knox’s car rolls up, ground crunching under the tires as he stops.
