Hurting You (Blackthorn Elite 3)

While stuck in the house, I checked to see if she had any type of social media, and of course, she didn’t. And all over again, I’m reminded of how different she is in comparison to the other girls at Blackthorn.

My thoughts fade to the back of my mind, and as soon as we pull into her neighborhood, I feel like something is off. I can’t put my finger on it yet, but there is something wrong. Turning on to her street, I spot it right away.

“Fucking Christ,” Easton mumbles and shakes his head, his leg bouncing faster and faster, giving his uneasiness over the situation away.

Slowly, I pull up closer to Stella’s house… or where it used to be. All that’s left now is a pile of black ash and rubble.

What the hell happened?

I park right in front of the pile of burned wood, my mind moving a million miles a minute, questions swirl, and burn at the tip of my tongue. We just sit in the car, neither one of us saying a word as we stare at what used to be a house. The air is thick, making it hard to breathe, and my stomach rolls. I’m aware I shouldn’t really feel anything for this girl, not when our plan was to torment her and keep her quiet, but that’s the least of our worries now.

My gaze catches on something, and that thing has my stomach-churning. Flowers. Among the destruction are a set of bright flowers. They stick out like a sore thumb. I notice then that someone brought a wreath and set it next to the mailbox. I’m not stupid. People only bring flowers and wreaths for one thing: remembrance, which means…

I can’t even think about it. Someone died. No, not someone. Stella. Fuck, I can’t comprehend the thought. Dead? There is a tightening in my chest, the emotions pushing to the surface. All I can do is think as I sit there staring at what should be her house.

I should be glad that she’s dead, one less person to worry about telling our secret. I should be cracking open a cold one, celebrating this easy out the universe has dropped into my lap. In reality, it feels like I’ve lost something… precious. I can’t fully explain it, just that there is this missing piece where something used to be.

“Call your dad,” Easton breaks the silence, his face void of emotion. “He has to know something.”

Of course, why didn’t I think of that? Probably because I was too shocked to think of anything else. Pulling out my phone, I dial my father’s number. A moment later, his gruff voice comes through the speaker.

“Hello, son, staying out of trouble today?” My father asks humorously.

“Hey, Dad. Yeah, I am, but I need something… Can you tell me what happened to the house on 2nd Street?”

“Are you talking about the house that burned down?” My father asks, casually.

“Yeah, that one. Did someone die?” The words feel like shards of glass on my tongue.

“Why? Surely you don’t know anyone in that neighborhood.”

“I do actually… a girl I sometimes see,” I admit.

“Oh, well. I don’t know the whole story; I had the PR guys deal with it. I only know one body was found but couldn’t be identified, and one older lady was brought to the hospital. Fire marshal says the lady set her own house on fire. Dementia or some shit. That’s all I know.” Inky dread pumps through my veins. Grams started the house on fire and Stella… my jaw aches with the pressure from clenching it so hard. She died because of it.

“Oh, okay. Well, thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime.” He hangs up the phone, and I drop my own into my lap, twisting to face Easton, who looks a little ashen.

“I mean… we should be glad she’s dead. It’s one less person we have to deal with. She definitely won’t tell anyone who killed James now.” I try to make light of the ordeal, but a sourness fills my mouth at the thought of talking about her like this.

“Look, shit happens,” Easton says, “can’t get hung up on some girl. It’s done, people die, nothing we can do about it. Let’s go to Night Shift and find someone we can screw. I doubt we’ll even remember this chick come tomorrow.” Easton tries to cover up his emotions with our usual activity, but I can see he is struggling. He might not show it, but he is.

“You sure that’s what you want to do?” I ask, giving him a chance to right his wrong. I’m not fond of the thought of fucking Stella’s memory from my brain, but what the fuck else is there to do about it?

“Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t be a pussy. Let’s go fuck our way through some girls and forget that she ever existed. She wasn’t anyone important anyway.”