The Other Girl

That fear of being trapped is a tiny white room with no escape, and it’s debilitating. I can’t breathe…I can’t move…

He uses his knees to wedge my legs apart. “Here’s some truth,” he says, his breaths coming hard. “Hensley said psycho chicks are the best fuck.”

There’s a loud snap inside my head. My vision blacks. Fear evaporates as I reach out in search along the ground until I grasp something solid—and slam it against the side of Sully’s head.

He stops moving, his eyes unfocused. Dark blood trickles down the side of his face. I use my knee and hand to shove him off, and he flops to his side. He groans and mumbles something incoherent.

I glance around the darkness. The ridge is empty and quiet, all but the sound of the howling wind. As I roll over and struggle to stand, I cough, catching my breath. I look down at Sully. Then at the large rock in my hand.

Psycho chicks are also painfully sensitive, you sorry fucker.

Hand still gripping the rock, I raise it above my head and bring it down on Sully’s head.

Blood mists my face. I feel his bones give beneath the stone; the soft cushion of his skin, the hard crunch of his skull as it caves.

I stand still and stare down at his limp, lifeless body, my head too full of frantic thoughts to catch just one. Maybe it had to happen this way. Two against one are not odds in my favor. One of them had to go down first.

Besides, he was not a good guy. How many other girls has he hurt? How many were to suffer because of him in the future?

Admittedly, the mind can justify almost anything; it’s designed to protect us. I’m not that out of touch with reality that I don’t recognize my attempt to do just that—but Sully really had it coming.

I drop the rock and use the hem of my dress to wipe the blood from my face. It’s spattered across my arms, shoulders. I give up on the task and pluck the phone from his back pocket. Then I use my bare heel to roll him toward the edge of the cliff. My hair clips my eyes as the wind batters the side of the mountain.

I remember the story Carter told me about Devil’s Tooth—how the ravine floor is littered with bones, how people disappear up here. How if someone had wanted to get away with murder all they had to do was toss the body into the ravine.

With a hard kick, I shove Sully over the toothed ridge. The sound of his body hitting the bottom never comes.

18

Fate

Ellis

Voltaire wrote: Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.

In other words, be careful who you trust.

Sully said many unfathomable things—things that made me doubt, if only for an instant, not only Carter but myself. We have to be strong in our convictions.

It would be an atrocity to doubt Carter’s love for me.

Ever since Dr. Leighton failed me, I’ve been wary of allowing anyone to get too close. Carter was the first to break through my boundaries, and I love him for that, but he’s also naïve when it comes to people and their intentions.

Had he not surrounded himself with leaches like Sully and Addison, then I wouldn’t have been forced to take such extreme action. However, I can’t have either one of them filling his head with absurdities about me either.

I have to protect us.

As such, I collect the blood-stained rock and the discarded flask and beer bottle and toss it all into a black trash bag. Then I tug down my dress and toss it in the bag, too. It’s filthy and covered in droplets of blood.

After throwing everything into the trunk of the Honda, I pull on a T-shirt and jeans. I didn’t think far enough ahead to bring comfortable shoes, but at least I didn’t forget the most essential item.

I grab the knife from the console.

A little too late, I realize, but I improvised with the rock. I hadn’t planned to use the weapon on Sully; it was for protection, just in case. But after what happened, I can’t risk making another mistake. Everyone has become a danger.

I walk down to the waterfall’s edge and find a seat on a large boulder. With a deep breath, I swipe open Sully’s phone. Adrenalin spikes my blood as I scan his text messages, searching for the ones sent to me—but there’s none. No proof that the messages came from Sully. If his phone was used, the texts have been deleted.

Heart knocking painfully in my chest, I hover my thumb over a message from Addison. I click it open.