At first, I came to make amends, tell him that we should start from scratch and forget about the past and the things we knew about each other, but then I heard Kandy’s voice, and something snapped inside me.
“Your disorder hasn’t gotten better. You said you were doing good! I trusted you enough to stay in that city and out of trouble! Goodness!”
Goodness!” my mother went on. “This behavior is wrong and the fact that you’re being so—so calm about what you just did frightens me! I have no doubt the cops will arrest you once they’re informed. Look, I’m catching a flight there and calling Chase. Hopefully, he will be able to plead another mental case for you. Can’t believe you would do something like this again! Go to your apartment and stay put, do you hear me? Do not leave. Don’t look for Quinton. Go home and wait for me to get there!”
I hung up, not bothering to answer. I looked from the blood to the knife again. The nicer side of me begged me to pick it up and ditch it. But the dark side of me—the side that didn’t give a damn and wanted to make a statement for Kandy to never fuck with me again—cackled and pushed me just enough to walk out of the bedroom.
Just like everything else, I would get out of this. I’d probably be threatened by a judge again to go psych or, with my lawyer at my defense and since I laid off the drugs this time, I’d get lucky and only have to do mandatory therapy for a few months, but if Kandy died, all of it would be worth it.
I left Quinton’s house with a big smile on my face because this was my small victory.
He wanted to try and get rid of me? Choose her over me? Fine. But if I couldn’t have him, no woman could.
Especially not some teen slut.