Page 2 of The Unravelings

It’s almost like our own private language where we can express everything we’re feeling without someone snooping on us.

“What did you learn?” I sign clumsily. One day, I’ll improve my ASL skills. But today is not the day.

He grins and shows me a new sign. Something I haven’t seen before. My brows furrow when he does it again.

“What does it mean?” I ask, tilting my head when he does it a third time.

“It’s your name.” Pride puffs out his chest when he does it a fourth time. ‘I don’t have to spell it out anymore. I learned to make you your own sign.’

My heart flutters in my chest. “Do it again!” I excitedly say, ignoring the butterflies bursting to life inside me at the sight of my name on his fingers. He made a sign for me. Something special between us. A sign that the other boys didn’t get.

An ache spears through my damn soul when JJ signs my name again with desperation. A fat tear rolls down his reddened cheek, and he does it again. And again. And again.

Pure agony rolls through me at the familiarity. He doesn’t deserve it. None of it. Not the special name. Not seeing me again after what they so callously did to me.

They deserve nothing but a ghost.

“No,” I grit out, shaking my head and tightening my fingers around the knife I’m holding. “Stop it!”

JJ shudders at the harshness of my voice. The raw emotions are spilling out of me, no matter how hard I try to repress them and shove them away. Slowly, he lowers his fingers and sucks in several breaths.

My hand tightens on the knife again. Thank you, Jordy, for the gift you left me—I mentally chant as I try to slow the frantic beat of my heart and rein in the overwhelming need to run.

I could.

I could stab JJ in the chest and make a break for it. Revenge, right? He watched as my throat parted beneath a blade and then set me on fire. An eye for an eye. My belongings would mysteriously be retrieved, and my existence would be wiped from this room and school. No fingerprints. No hair. Nothing would trace back to Veritas or me.

Oliver who? He never existed. No matter how many people would miss him.

My crime would be invisible. Like it never happened. Like I was never here. The only indication would be my murderer’s blood soaking through the floors and staining the carpet.

But what would that solve?

Nothing.

JJ’s death would only bring Franco’s entire gang to this school. After me. It could endanger the entire student body. Violence. Blood. Retaliation. Everything in their arsenal would be thrown in my direction until they brought me down to my knees. Again.

And I’ll never let that happen. I’ll never bow to these boys again.

I’ll make sure they’ll be the ones bowing to me. Begging me to spare their lives as they’re dragged away and thrown into prison forever.

Just like they did to me.

I may not have bars in front of my face. My prison is the name, life, and family that were ripped away from me. The memories that hold me tight and make me scream through my sleep. The trauma I endured to get to the Olivia standing here today.

As much as I want to embed this knife deep into his chest. I can’t. I won’t hurt them. Or stoop to their level. The repercussions to my career are too severe. No matter how much pain I want to inflict for what they made me suffer through. But I need to get the fuck out of this room. The walls are closing in. Oxygen is waning. The room sways, blurring together in a swirl of colors. I need to leave. Desperately. Then I can meet up with Jonathan and have him get me out of here.

There’s no way he’ll make me stay. Not now that JJ knows who I am.

JJ swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His brows furrow. Confusion takes over.

“No?” he whispers. “You owe me. I… You…” He stops momentarily, waving his hands around. “You’re alive! I mourned you! We mourned your death. You were ours. And you… You faked your death? You…” His voice betrays him when it cracks with emotions that I don’t understand. “You’re alive. You were dead, but now you’re alive and…” He trails off through a trembling lip.

His gaze snaps to me, hardening when I stand taller. Straighter. As his words pierce through me, embedding themselves into my soul. Fake my death? Faked it? Like he had nothing to do with it? Anger I’ve never felt before envelops me, wrapping me tightly in its embrace. Taking me over. Red tints my vision.

“Faked my death?” I spit. “Faked my fucking death?”

Now, can I stab him? No. No. Be good. Don’t leave behind a dead body when you’re about to make a break for it.