I lay there, bloody and beaten, the world reduced to the dull hum in my ears, the sound of the door opening, footsteps leaving, and the latch clicking shut. In a haze, I heard a familiar clicking, and I painstakingly turned my head. Zonk, terrified and splattered in my blood, had taken refuge in the hole in the wall, his breathing shallow as he stared back at me. One click. Two. Then he was gone.
And so was I.
When I came to later, the room was quiet. I was on the floor, one hand pressed against the linoleum, and the check lay inches from my face. Pain throbbed in waves. My ribs felt cracked, andmy jaw was swelling shut, but worse was the slow burn in my chest: the certainty I’d just proved her father right. I couldn’t even protect myself, let alone her. Let alone us.
I reached for the check, and a drop of my blood hit the paper and spread the ink.
Fifteen thousand dollars. For silence. Everyone has a price, he’d said.
I tore the check in two.
19
MICHELLE: TWISTED SISTER
“Michelle?”
I felt a tug on my arm and quickly pressed stop on my Walkman, silencing the mixtape Scott had made me. I’d lost count of how many times I’d played it, how many tears had soaked into the foam headphones.
I looked over to find Melanie nodding toward the stewardess.
“Miss Carver, can I get you something to drink before we take off?”
“Oh, um, no. I’m fine, thank you.”
Melanie ordered two glasses of champagne without hesitation. She’d only been twenty-one for three months, but she was taking full advantage of its benefits. When the stewardess walked away, she leaned in and whispered, “One for me. One for you. Something to take the edge off before we’re airborne.”
“No, thanks. I’d need a tranquilizer for that.”
She reached over and smoothed a piece of hair from my face, the same sweet gesture she used when I had nightmares as a kid.
“Stop beating yourself up, Michelle. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why does it feel like I’ve committed a crime?”
Last night had been brutal. Every hour that passed made the regret sink deeper. I hadn’t considered how deeply this would affect him. The last thing he said to me—I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you—looped through me like punishment. Why had I been so arrogant as to believe I’d be the only one bleeding after this? I shouldn’t have slept with him again. All it did was tie a tighter knot right before I cut the rope.
“He’ll be fine,” Melanie said, as if reading my mind.
“How do you know?”
“He’s a guy.”
“A guy who loves me.”
Her eyes jumped wide. “He told you that?”
“He didn’t have to,” I said. It wasn’t wishful thinking. He loved me, and I loved him back. Yet here I was, on a plane, leaving him behind.
“Gavin and I didn’t have that kind of relationship,” Melanie admitted.
“What kind did you have?”
“The kind that doesn’t require a messy goodbye.”
Of course. Must be nice.
Trying to pivot me to a better mood, she launched into a chat session about the fashion spread in the magazine on her lap, the cute boy she’d seen in the first-class lounge, and the club she planned to sneak me into when we got back to New York. Although technically, I wouldn’t be sneaking at all thanks to the fake ID Scott had doctored for me. I let her talk because I needed the noise to drown out the memory of Scott’s mixtape. Every song was a breadcrumb trail through our summer. Hours of effort, spliced together for me.
