Cringing, I bare my teeth in a dramatized, guilty smile. Her hand flies to her forehead, and she looks down at the letter as if it holds my death date.
Oddly, it kind of does.
“It was in a pile of mail,” I explain quickly. “I don’t think he even saw it yet, and I don’t know… I just panicked and took it. He’s going to lose his shit when he finds out and… I don’t know! I thought about thisshit—” I angrily wave toward the bloody dummy. “—and this wasbeforehe knew my father’s getting released. He’s going to do something worse when he finds out, and I guess I just wanted more time before that happens.”
She waves her hands in front of her rapidly, her brow furrowing as she shakes her head in confusion. “Wait, wait, wait. How did you steal this? Were youin his room?”
I groan. “Yes? Look, I'll give you all the details later, but he chained me to the flagpole in the courtyard and left me outside in the blizzard for?—”
“WHAT?!”
Quickly, I drop my feet to the floor and desperately grab her arms, planting her ass back down on the mattress just as she goes to fly off it.
“Don't get upset right now, Sable,please. I'm alive, and while that's definitely on a fucking timer right now, it's fine, okay?”
That's definitely a lie—it'snotfine. Dread has a video of me naked on his bed, skin covered in missing persons’ dates of several Locksmith victims. Not to mention the photo of him licking my tear from my cheek like a psychopath.
Nothing about that is fine.
With a defeated sigh, Sable's shoulders slump, her face twisting in both sympathy and apprehension.
“Shit, Rev. He’s going to lose it even more if he finds out you stole this letter.”
I bite my lip, my stomach twisting with anxiety at the mere thought of it.
“I know,” I say weakly.
She exhales again and looks toward the dummy with a shake of her head. I look down at my hands instead, twiddling my fingers anxiously.
“He’s going to find out, anyway,” I state quietly, drawing Sable’s attention again. “I could’ve told him last night, but I was too fucking scared because once he knows, he’s going to—” I cut myself off, inhaling deeply, though it does little to calm my racing heart. After a few beats, I force myself to calmly say, “He’s going to make my life even more miserable. I need to transfer schools, but I'd have to go out of the country, and the chances of being accepted are low, so I don't even know if I can, and I’m?—”
“Hey,” she says gently, stopping me before I spiral any further.She leans her forehead against mine again, frustration spilling from her pores. “You can still go out of state. Get away from him and start fresh somewhere else?—”
“Just for him to follow me, anyway?” I snap, leaning back to settle a glare on her, though it lacks real heat. “This university has the best criminology program in the country. What’s the point of giving that up for another college in the States with a shittier program, just for him to track me down again?”
She knows Dread has already made it very clear that no matter where I run, he'll follow. His schooling, his swim team, the Olympics be damned. He might even follow me across the world, but at least then, it'd be a lot harder to find me.
“Just because he threatens it doesn’t mean he will. Or that he’s as capable as he wants you to think,” she argues, her voice rising. “I just want you to be safe, and I’m not a student here, so I can’t watch your back most days. I can’t protect you from him, Rev!”
It’s not anger in her voice or written across her face. It’s fear.
My frustration diffuses, and this time, I’m cupping her face. “I’m not asking you to,” I say quietly. “I would never want you to, either. In fact, I’d prefer he not know you even exist—actually, I’d preferneitherof them know you exist.”
She slumps, closing her eyes and appearing just as helpless as I feel.
I know she doesn’t fully believe Dread’s capable of finding me if I were to run, but I do. She hasn’t looked him in the eye and seen the depths of his hatred. She hasn’t seen the face of a man who would do anything to make me miserable.
He’s not going to just…let me go.
That much, I’m sure of.
“I don’t lie down and take his shit, and you know it,” I remind her. “If I can’t study abroad, I will have to fight. That’s what I’ve always done, and he’s going to be reminded of that very soon.”
Her eyes slowly creak open then narrow, trepidation reflecting at me a second time.
“What else did you do?”
This time, there isn't an ounce of shame or regret.
