Last Christmas (Private 0.60)

She patted Thomas's pockets, searching for his phone. Empty.

Ariana clenched her fists, feeling blood that had caked on her palms crease under her grip. What had she done

to deserve this? Nothing that Daniel hadn't already done. Disgust welled up inside of her as she thought about

his lies. His promises.

But Thomas was different. To him, she wasn't some girl whose mom was crazy and whose dad had to flee to

another continent just to get away from it all. She was separate from her messed-up family. She was Ariana.

And she mattered to Thomas. And for the first time in her life, that feeling mattered more than anything else.

More than Billings. Maybe even more than her mother.

Drinking in the look of innocence that had settled over his features as he slept, her breath quickened. Anger

poured through her, and she felt the sudden urge to scream. To hit the cement wall over and over until her

knuckles bled. To make herself hurt on the outside as much

171

as she hurt on the inside. It wasn't fair. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. To feel what she felt with

Thomas only to have someone want to take it from her.

Her fingers and toes prickled with feeling as her body began to warm. She blinked, and the tears began to fall

freely. Slid down her dry cheeks as she leaned against the hard cement wall, her body shaking. Cradling

Thomas's still body in her arms.

Every creak of the old building, every sound that slipped through the vents and into the basement, made her

cringe. Tears dripping into her lap, she closed her eyes against the darkness, but she couldn't stop the familiar

feeling from creeping over her.

Ariana was totally and completely alone.

172

DUPLICITY

***Ariana felt the light on her face before she opened her eyes. A flashlight beam swung recklessly across the

basement, illuminating the tall stacks of musty boxes and the old gardening-slash-beer-pong table piled high

with tools and dusty bags of fertilizer. Her heart in her throat, she sipped shaky breaths of warm, stale air as

footsteps creaked above her, moving down the stairs in cautious rhythm. Someone was coming.

She had to move Thomas in a matter of seconds. His legs were sprawled at an unnatural angle, peeking out

from beneath the stairs. Carefully, she cradled his head in her hands, lowering it to the cement floor. She

slipped her forearms underneath his calves, straining silently against him. His deadweight was too heavy. He