He motioned for a redhead to follow him; his wife, I guessed. She was tall, lithe, gorgeous, pretty much exactly the type of girl that I’d imagined Wes would settle down with. I’d seen her enough on the news to know they were an ideal couple, and I shuddered to think about how crappy of a friend I’d been when Wes had gone through his cancer. Yeah, I’d sent him cards and called a few times, but nothing compared to actually being in Seattle while he struggled. No, the only thing that could have brought me to Seattle was my own selfishness.
Gabe and Saylor, another couple who had been on the news non-stop since it was discovered that the pop star was actually alive and not dead, followed them out, both offering me tentative looks as if they weren’t quite sure if I was a friend or someone they needed to steer clear of. It’s possible it was because I wasn’t smiling and probably looked about ready to break my pen in half — not their fault. Mine. All my fault. Like everything else.
Gabe stopped at the door and turned, giving me a curious stare. And the funny thing? I imagined in that moment, that I was normal again: I was working on the hill, doing what I loved, doing what I believed in. I would have been friends with them. After all, I’d had loads of friends, family, coworkers. That’s the thing about life. You don’t realize what you have until it’s completely ripped away from you.
Or until you find out the brother you never knew…
Was murdered.
And your father tried to cover it up.
I’d always wanted a brother. And now I had nothing. Nothing. Before I’d even started, before I’d even got my hopes up, all hope had been stolen from me by a girl with black hair and shimmery blue eyes.
I gripped the coffee cup tighter, my jaw popping in irritation.
Time was going to run out faster than I’d anticipated. I could only keep a low profile for so long. Dad thought I was taking a much needed hiatus.
And it was true. To a point.
I’d take my vacation, then things would return to normal. Life would return to normal. Food would taste good again, and I’d stop feeling guilty for the life I should have saved. For the life I’d never known existed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I was so drunk that night anything with two legs looked good. But I picked her, over and over again. Only this time, it wasn’t consensual. We were in the elevator. She’d said she always hated elevators, making my pleasure that much more heightened. I fed off her fear when I stripped her of her dignity. Then again, she’d stripped me of mine. Made me feel, when the last thing I wanted to do was feel — I hadn’t felt any type of emotion for a long time. It scared me. It made me want to hate her, hate her for being all the right things at the wrong time. So I raped her. I raped her twice. And I told her to say thank you when I was done. I was a beast, but damn, she really was my beauty. —The Journal of Taylor B.
Lisa
“I LOOK LIKE I belong in a romance novel,” I huffed, staring at myself in Kiersten’s full-length mirror. We were getting ready at Wes’s mansion. And when I say mansion, I mean straight up, HGTV, hold-your-breath, Jay-Z-ain’t-got-nothing-on-him mansion. I’d been around wealth all my life.
It was nothing compared to Wes Michels’.
Kiersten laughed and pushed me in the shoulder. “I remember a time not so long ago when you dressed me up for a party. Consider it payback.”
I raised my hand. “Didn’t I also help with the wedding dress? So, technically, those two times should cancel out by default — meaning I shouldn’t have to wear this.”
“What’s so bad about it?” She crossed her arms. Her dress was white, puffy, like something out of a fairytale.
“It’s black,” I said, lamely lifting the lacy overlay with my fingers. The sweetheart bodice was so tight I could barely breathe. If she was Cinderella, then I was the evil queen. Granted, it was a black and white ball. I just hated black. Black reminded me of him, of his soul, of the things he’d done to me, of things he’d made me wear when he was in one of his moods, when he wasn’t happy — which was on a daily basis. I’d been too in love, too young, too naive to understand. Until it was too late.
“Where’d you go?” Kiersten braced my shoulders. Her green eyes were wide with concern. “Are you sure you’ve been feeling okay?”
Peachy, I wanted to say. Nothing like getting totally awesome stalker mail in my mailbox and dealing with a hot professor who looked like he wanted to kick my ass for breathing. Then there was Jack, who hadn’t left me alone since I’d helped him with his homework last week.
If I was honey, he was a bumblebee. I mean, he was funny and cute, but I had no interest in guys.
Another secret I’d kept.
One that I’d lied about to make Kiersten think I was one of those normal roommates. Yeah, guys were hot; I found them attractive, but I couldn’t do it anymore. Last year, I’d actually almost puked on a guy I was making out with. I’d tried to have the meaningless sex, the crazy make-outs, and every single time I ended up so sick I’d had to leave.
Probably why most guys thought I was a tease.
If they only knew that their mouths reminded me of death.
Their hands? Of rape.
“Lisa!” Kiersten scolded. “This is a masquerade ball. Fun is kind of part of it. Think you can wipe that grimace off your face and pretend to have a good time? Leave all the homework stress here, and let’s go.”
I looked down at the mask in my shaking hands. He’d made me wear a mask once.