I wasn’t sure if I had a heart left anymore, because surely it had beat its way out of my tender chest. “You think it’s really happening. You think I killed—oh, God. You think I killed all those people?” My voice broke, a tired thread from keeping it together for so long. This was too much for one person to handle.
“I think your subconscious remembers what happened that night. And I think you have a lot of pent-up emotions that have had nowhere to go for five years. Those dreams you’ve been having…I think you’ve been getting revenge on the people responsible for Oliver’s death, one by one.”
I gulped, desperate for air, desperate for him to tell me we were both mistaken when I knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. I knew it in the deepest parts of my soul, in the shadows I tried so hard to avoid. The anxiety I’d developed, the self-hatred, the fear of the dark, the distrust of the police—it all made so muchsense, and I hated myself for that.
The sucker punch of reality didn’t stop knocking the wind out of me.Killer. I was a killer. It didn’t matter what Winder said, that I was seeking revenge for my boyfriend’s murder. I didn’t even remember him. What Ididremember was murdering those people. My brain cracked with the weight of the sudden guilt, trying to put together pieces that didn’t want to fit.
He stepped forward, arms outstretched. “Take a breath for me, baby. We will get to the bottom of it. I promised you I would keep you safe and I will.”
“Don’t call me that.” I darted out of his reach. I was a murderer, and my boyfriend’s brother was calling me baby. “I can’t do this right now.”
Spinning in a circle, I was lost for a moment, unsure of where to go, I just knew I needed to getaway. I needed to get off this ride that wouldn’t stop.
I ran toward my only option—the house we’d just walked out of.
“Blaire!” Winder’s voice echoed behind me, filled with concern I didn’t deserve.
What kind of person forgot their long-time boyfriend? Forgot theydied? The cherry on top of the trauma sundae was Winder. I felt something, some kind of innate, primal pull I couldn’t explain, toward my dead boyfriend’s brother. This didn’t even begin to dissect the nightmares—no, not nightmares—thememoriesI had of actuallykillingpeople.
I was incredibly, absolutely, entirely fucked up. And right now, there was only one solution for this, and that was to get incredibly, absolutely, fucked up.
Lucky for me, I was in the right place.
Chapter
Eighteen
BLAIRE
Ineeded to get high. I needed to get highnow. Higher than the one puny hit with Leon. My bones ached, and I was so tired of hurting.
A contradiction, that’s what I was. A walking, talking, fucked up contradiction.
I felt too much, but I felt nothing.
I remember it all, but I remembered not nearly enough.
I wanted Winder, but I couldn’t have him.
Turning everything off sounded like the best option I had. Through the kitchen doorway, I saw two girls, laughing without a care in the world. I wanted to be like them.
I beelined across the room, shoving people out of my way. Their heads popped up in unison when they heard me enter the kitchen, but neither seemed concerned at the intrusion.
The dark-haired girl smiled. “Hey.”
My brain stumbled over the words I wanted to say, so instead I offered a simple, “Hi.”
The blonde left her friend, stroking my hair. It was oddly maternal, in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long time, and I didn’t feel the need to pull away. “You look sad,” she said. “You’re too pretty to be sad. Pretty girls aren’t supposed to cry.”
Pretty girls weren’t supposed to black out the memory of their boyfriend’s murder, either, or kill people, so I wasn’t sure where that left me. I choked back a sob, grateful for the unexpected kindness. “Can you help me forget?”
It was a strange thing to ask, wanting to forget what I had forgotten. But remembering was too painful, and acknowledging I had forgotten in the first place was worse.
“Of course we can,” the blonde said, still petting my hair. Her touch was so light, so soft, I could’ve been imagining it. “Open your mouth.”
I did as I was told, gaping like a baby bird waiting to be fed. The brunette took a small pink pill between her finger and her thumb, and placed it gently on my tongue. “Swallow.”
I gulped the pill down dry, desperate to not be here any longer. I smiled at them both. “Thank you. What was that?”
