“What. the.Fuck,” I say again, insisting on the swear word just to rile him up. But he’s once more looking at me with a neutral expression, and doesn’t take the bait.
“You killed my parents,” I lash out, “and you think you can make it up to me by sayingsorry?”
It’s his turn to face me with a furious glare, and that glare is far more lethal than mine could ever be. I cringe back, my heart beating a mile a minute, terror taking the place of anger, and when he sees my reaction, his features relax again. In the place of his anger rises something that looks like… confusion.
Then he says, “What the hell are you talking about?”
20
Quill
Eighteen years old
“Yo. Quill. Wake the fuck up, man.”
I blink my eyes and look around. Liam’s reaching his hand out to me, a bong between his fingers. There’s the heavy, sickeningly sweet stench of weed hanging over us, and Dane is half-passed out, his eyes creased.
I’m sick of weed. I need something stronger. Far stronger.
“Like coke?” asks Liam.
I blink again, realizing I’ve spoken my thoughts out loud. No, not like coke. Coke doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what I need.
Two nights ago, I kissed the girl I’ve wanted to kill since elementary school, and it felt fucking amazing. And now, all I can think of is her.
That part’s not unusual. Since the moment I first laid eyes on her, all I’ve ever thought of was her.
But it used to be because I was so consumed with hatred that my every thought felt like an oppressive nightmare, revolving around her thick, horn-rimmed round glasses, her curly red hair that assaulted my eyes, the cheerful smile I wanted to bash in.
And now, the urge is gone.
No, not gone. Never gone.
Just… different.
I want to strangle her, but not in order to end her life. Now, it’s to feel my control over her. I want to own that smile that’s grownangry, not with my fist but with my lips. I want to own her whole body. Her brain. Her heart. Her lungs. Her liver. Every single fucking organ inside her that makes her who she is. Piper Day, the insect.Myinsect.
The weed is giving me a headache. I need oxygen. I fucking need oxygen.
This new version of the urge is more violent than ever, because every second I’m not seeing her, it feels like I’m dying.
Clearly, my thoughts are intense enough to be reflected in my expression, because Liam takes back the bong and drags his eyes away, looking nervous like the pathetic coward he is. Dane’s a bit smarter, a bit braver, too, so he just eyes me like he’s studying me. Wondering whether I’m going to whip out my pocket knife and stab them both.
I wouldn’t. They’re my friends. People don’t stab their friends, do they?
Who knows. I certainly don’t. I’ve lost all the information about how to appear normal I’ve carefully been gathering since I was little.Don’t talk too long about organs. It unsettles people. Don’t mention your curiosity about what burning flesh smells like. They’ll think you’re weird. Don’t wonder out loud how many tons of dynamite it would take to blow up the school. You might make your classmates a little nervous.
Right now, I have no clue what’s normal anymore. My mind is spiraling, my head aches, I feel dizzy. Like I’m drowning.
I stand up abruptly, so abruptly Liam, the fucking coward, jumps back, startled. Then I cross his garage, slam the door shut behind me, and go to my motorcycle.
Neither of them asks where I’m going. They just seemed relieved.
I guess that even with all my attempts at being normal, I can’t fully hide from those closest to me. They know something’s off with me.
Maybe that’s why Dad’s stopped beating the shit out of me. He’s always known I was a weirdo, but now, I’ve grown taller than him, stronger too. He doesn’t want to risk it.
I sit on my bike, rev up the engine, and soon I’m driving down the road, full speed, around the outer limits of Astley, where the metallic buildings have given way to big houses on sprawling lawns. I live a few streets over from Liam, but I don’t stop there. Nothing about my house has ever felt like home, and I avoid it except to catch a few hours of sleep or get a change of clothes.
