“I appreciate the effort, girls. I really, really do.”
I need to get out of here. I’m about to lose my shit, and the last thing I want is to have a meltdown in front of the Campus Drivers and their girlfriends—I’ve had all the humiliation I can handle for one day.
“Do me a favor, though, will you?” I can hardly breathe. “Don’t tell Lewis I was here.”
“You need to talk to him,” Lois pleads.
“And I will. But first, I need to blow off some steam—okay?”
The girls exchange nervous glances.
I look them in the eye. “I can trust you, right?”
Slowly, they nod.
“Call us later?”
“Sure,” I say.
Definitely not.They’re sweet enough. But they embody everything I can only dream of becoming—a normal girl, with normal friends and a normal boyfriend.
I clatter down the stairs, tears brimming in my eyes as I climb into my car.
Nope. I’m not crying over this. I’m…Amy Hitman? I have no fucking idea who I am anymore. Right now, I feel like a nobody. The person I thought I was with Lewis doesn’t exist. The girl I tried to disown is lost in the wild. All I am now is a shadow me, floating on the borderlands.
I rev the engine, turn the stereo up high, and hit the road like it’s the last drive of my life. For a couple of minutes, I take the streets as they come with no destination in mind, until suddenly, I know.
I know exactly where to go.
I cut through town, swinging past the shop and up the lane to the wasteland where we keep the scrap. This is my happy place. Somewhere I canbe—just me and all RJ’s old wrecks and the silence. He won’t mind me coming here to cool off.
As soon as I get through the gate, I ditch the car and head straight for the hut. Emerging with a sledgehammer, I make a beeline for the Dodge Challenger sitting right in front of me. It’s newer than Lewis’s, but it’ll more than do the job.
My phone starts to buzz. I look down.Lewis.I reject the call and turn my phone off.Go fuck yourself.I’m swaying on my feet, dizzy with rage, and the moment I reach the Dodge, I send the sledgehammer shattering through the taillights.
I turn my attention to the windows, and with every pane I smash, I howl to the moon.
“I’m…”
Bam!
“Amy…”
Bam!
“Hitman! I’m not…”
Bam!
“Your little fuck puppet! I am not a fuckingoutlet!”
I hammer and I hammer, picturing Conley’s face caving in with every swing, shaking so hard by the time I’m done; the wood slick with sweat in the palm of my hand. I tighten my grip and vault onto the hood, priming to do more damage, more hurt, but once I reach the top, tears fill my eyes and I break down, sobs racking my body, and it all comes gushing out of me, too much and too soon for me to know what to do with it all. I crumple to my knees. I hate Lewis for what he said, but I hate myself more for dropping my guard. I should’ve watched out for myself. I should’ve remembered I can only ever rely on myself. Like I always have.
I refuse to be weak. I’m better than this.
I stagger to my feet and reach for the sledgehammer again, bringing it down over the windshield, feeling the sheet of glass shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. I need more. I take aim at the hood, battering it senseless, feeling the metal give under the full force of my weight, and I’m not sure it’ll ever be enough to drain me of everything I feel for that asshole, but at least I can try—even if it takes every last car to do it.
“Feeling better?”
