Somehow, this is right. The way he becamejust a body.
But now, we’re even.
I’ve killed for her, and she’s killed for me.
CHAPTER FORTY
Mina
“You alright?” Leo asks.
I’m trying not to cry, actually, but I think you already know that.“As good as can be expected.”
Every time I look up from my lap to my parents’ house, bile lurches up my throat. I don’t want to be here, or do this, or say another word to either of them, but I must.
Mom never responded to my text. Frankly, I would’ve avoided this whole thing if a bunch of my stuff weren’t still at her house.
I’d rather die than deal with confrontation.
Alas,fuck.
Leo squeezes my hand reassuringly. “This can’t be harder than hiding a body.”
How do I tell him that I’ve lost more sleep over thoughts about cutting Mom off than I have in the week since Leo and I drove across state lines to dump Jack’s body? We even droveall the way back to Chicago and did touristy shit for a couple of days, and pretended like we weren’t getting away with murder.
We made the Airbnb evidence free. Then cleaned and disposed of the knife in a random public dumpster. We did the same thing with our clothes. Got rid of Jack’s car. Solidified our alibis. Invested in color corrector and concealer to hide the bruises on Leo’s face, and iced the hell out of Leo’s ribs. I even used my new Photoshop skills to edit all our pictures we posted so we’re mark free.
The police found Jack’s body the next day, and within hours, it was all over the news. No one wasted any time calling Leo to grill him with questions.
Nobody’s come knocking on our door since, and I can’t run from my problems any longer.
This past week of radio silence from my mother has been fucking blissful. The anxiety over Jack is there, but otherwise, I feel like I’m frolicking through a goddamn meadow with how good life has been.
No more blackmailing. No mother to make me hate myself. Just me and the man who treats me like I’m a fucking princess.
I take one final, solidifying breath. “Let’s do this.”
He stops me before I can get out of the car. “Just remember that I’ll be right beside you.”
I have half a mind to tell him to stay right where he is, so he doesn’t witness Mom’s level ten explosion, but I remember how perfect the situation is. Mom will never go nuclear if someone else is around.
I nod gratefully because the lump in my throat makes it too hard to speak. He rounds the car and grabs my hand once we’re on the sidewalk.
It’s a strange, melancholic feeling approaching the front door of your childhood home for what must be the last time. What’s stranger is the lack of regret sitting in my chest. The weightcomes from the dread of the next step and the minutes to come, but beneath it is excitement.
Leo’s solid presence is comforting, like I don’t need to keep turning around and asking a series ofwhat-ifsthat could make me chicken out.
Whether it’s habit or a false sense of self-preservation, I try to tug my hand out of Leo’s grip because my brain is convinced that it’ll somehow make Mom less angry. He refuses to let go, and I’m grateful for it. She doesn’t get to dictate my life anymore.
My breathing, on the other hand? It’s shallow and stuttered, and I’m getting lightheaded from the nausea. The ringing in my ears is making this whole thing worse.
My steps slow. Maybe I’ll do this at the end of the week, right before we leave. That way I can leave this city burned to the ground and not sit in the fire for a couple days.
I’m stalling. I know it. Leo knows it. This is what I want, but I’m frightened to do it, even though there’s no universe where Leo would let something bad happen to me.
“We can do this tomorrow—” he offers when we’re a few feet from the door.
“No,” I cut him off. “We’re here now.” Rip this fucking Band-Aid off so I can breathe.
