I really,reallyshouldn’t.
It feels like submission. Like accepting it means accepting that what he did wasokay.But it’s not like Bastian fucking cares either way. I came right out and accused him, and the fucking snake didn’t even blink.
I guess we both know I won’t go to the authorities. Not just because it would be my word against his, and like he so gracefully pointed out, the evidence is…ambiguous.
Riversiders don’t snitch.
Weget even.
And until I figure out how to exact my revenge, why not use him, like he used me?
Curiosity may have killed the cat…but everyone forgets how that story ends.
Satisfactionbrought it back.
If Bastian thinks I’ve forgiven him, he might let his guard down.
And there’s no reason to tell him I’m working for Milo. In fact, I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be my little secret…like all the others I’m keeping.
The screen lights up when I press the power button, revealing a lock screen wallpaper that makes my blood freeze in my veins.
It’s a photo of Lookout Point—the best view of Agony Hollow for miles. The place I used to go park to get some shuteye, back when I was still sleeping in my dad’s car.
Where I stood on the edge and desperately tried to think of reasons not to step off into nothing.
Superimposed across the photo is a phrase in stark white.
ABOVE THEIR REACH
My hands shake so badly I nearly drop the phone.
There’s no way he can know the significance of that place. It’s just a coincidence, right? I mean, if I wanted to take a photo of Agony Hollow, that’s where I’d go.
He can’t know.
But I wish he did.
No one’s ever thought about what happens to Haven Lee when she leaves their sight. Where she goes after a shitty day. If she sleeps like a rock at night, or tosses and turns.
No one’s ever cared enough.
With trembling fingers, I swipe across the screen. No password required. The phone unlocks immediately to a home screen organized with the apps I use most.
Gmail. Notes. Maps.
And VibeFeed, already installed and logged into the profile Bastian created for me…waiting like a bear trap in the woods.
Seventeen unread messages.
I know they’re from him, because he’s the only person who knows I have an account.
Tears prick at my eyes, spilling down my cheeks a second later.
My thumb hovers over the app, my pulse roaring in my ears.
Why is the fucking sociopath who violated me the only person who remembers what candy I like? Who sends me gifts, and buys me beautiful dresses, and calls me ‘sweet girl’ and sounds like he actually fucking means it?
Only one way to find out.
