When he finally speaks, the first thing he says is, “Vic Thorne?”
“You know him?” I ask cautiously.
Grant turns toward me, his face smooth, eyes resolute. “Not well. I know of him. Printz-Lee’s not that big, but we’ve never really talked. He’s always been withdrawn. I thought it was because of his mom. Maybe losing her sent him over the edge?”
“Maybe.”
I’ve never considered why Vic is who he is. I don’t care. Because regardless of how miserable his life is, he’s always had a choice whether to be an asshole or not. I’ve known plenty of people who were dealt shitty lives, and they aren’t holding up convenience stores or shoving girls down stairs.
I stand to join him when it’s apparent that there are too many thoughts and emotions coursing through him to allow him to sit. He opens his arms as an invitation, which I gratefully accept, welcoming the warmth of his embrace.
“So you’re trying to decide if you should tell Ashton about Morgan? Confront Brendan about what you found in his room? And tell the police about Vic? While trying to figure out who’s sending you these messages and pictures and what they have to do with your mother, father and potentially Brendan’s mother’s suicide … that’s if she’s really dead?”
“That’s pretty much it.” I press my face into his chest. “I have no idea what to do.”
“Yeah.” Grant laughs humorlessly. “It’s a lot.” He stares over my head at the water, lost in thought. “I can’t believe you’ve had to go through this all by yourself.” His focus shifts to me. I tilt my head to take him in. “You’re incredible, Lana. And I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
My cheeks grow warm. “I don’t think I had a choice.”
“You always have a choice.” He leans down and kisses me gently, spreading the heat throughout my body. “I need to process all of this, okay? Figure out how to help you.”
I nod in understanding. “We should probably go back. I have no idea what time it is, and I can’t be late for this test. Maybe we can talk tomorrow?”
“Yeah, uh, no.” Grant grimaces, setting a fist to his forehead. “There’s a golf tournament this weekend at the club. I have to work doubles both tomorrow and Sunday. I remember Cary saying he begged Blackwood to let you work, but they wouldn’t budge. Now I kinda get why they have a reputation for being so controlling. I always thought it was to protect their high-profile students, but apparently, it goes beyond that.” He climbs back onto the lawn and helps me up too before walking toward the dorm with his hand engulfing mine. “But I’ll call you as soon as I get off each night. And we’ll figure this out, together, next week.”
I don’t even cringe when he says together. Maybe it’s time I get over it.
I wanted to believe the demon’s lies. They were more powerful than your truths.
It’s difficult to get into trouble when no one’s around.
Ashton, Brendan and Grant are working the golf tournament. Lance is spending the weekend at the lake house. And Sophia went home for the weekend.
Brendan … I avoid when he is on campus. But who knows what he sees from his monitor-infested perch. He doesn’t make one of his spontaneous appearances in my room either. I pick up my Blackwood phone, examining it. I wonder if he knows I suspect. I mean, I’ve always suspected him and never been shy about telling him. But now that I’ve seen what he’s capable of … I drop the phone into my bag, not wanting to touch it. My spine erupts with shivers.
Ashton invites me to her room after her shift on Saturday night. We listen to music and make a mess of her clothes, dressing ridiculously and dancing around to songs we shout to at the top of our lungs. Laughing feels good. Even better than screaming. And the entire time, she’s sober. As much as I can tell anyway … she’s always been a little peculiar.
I decide to risk asking one of the forbidden Blackwood questions. “What do Sophia’s parents do for a living?”
Ashton adjusts a bright blue wig on her head in front of the mirror, smoothing the bob into place. “Um, I don’t think I know.” She pauses. “Wait. Do I? I think one’s a scientist. Some super genius. Can’t remember if it’s her mom or dad. And the other does something with computers.”
This is the piece I’ve been trying to fit into place. I know it’s useless, asking Ashton for details if she barely knows this much. But it’s a crack in a previously closed door. Now I need to understand what Sophia has to do with any of this. Hopefully nothing.
“Where’s she from? I heard she went home this weekend.” I try to sound casual, applying white gloss to my lips. I don’t want to alarm Ashton and cause her to be suspicious of Sophia. Theirs isn’t a relationship I want to mess with without cause.
Ashton spins around, the train of her skirt floating around her. “She went to Chicago? That doesn’t make sense.”
“What do you mean?” I pick up a pale pink wig with pigtails and settle it on my head, tucking loose wisps of my platinum strands beneath the elastic edge.
“Her parents are in Japan for the summer.” She scrunches her face, plucking a tube of liquid liner from her makeup suitcase. “I think it’s Japan. Maybe Indonesia. No, I’m pretty sure it’s Japan. Anyway, they’re not home.”
“Maybe I got it wrong,” I offer quietly. I decide this is a good time to change the subject before she starts questioning my curiosity. “Why did you pack so many wigs for school?”
“Why not?” She looks down at me from her red vinyl platform boots and laughs. “Omigod, that looks so adorable on you. I wore that wig to an EDM festival last summer. Brendan and I …” Her voice fades. “Anyway, you look good with pink hair. Not so sure about the white lips though.”
I watch the light dim in her eyes through her reflection in the mirror as I swipe the gloss from my lips. She leans in and draws exaggerated wings along her lids. I want to say something to comfort her, to make her laugh. But what? He doesn’t deserve you? Or some other cliché girl-to-girl consolation that means absolutely nothing.
The truth is, he loves her. I know he does. But he’s also lying to her. Keeping her in the dark in the name of protecting her. And keeping secrets isn’t what love’s about.
If you can’t be honest, then …
My phone rings. Ashton grabs it when Grant’s name appears on the screen. I reach for it, but she holds it above her, and jumping in these sparkly silver go-go boots doesn’t get me within a foot of her outstretched hand.
“Grant!” Ashton exclaims excitedly when his face appears on the screen. “What are you doing?”
Grant’s eyes widen at the sight of her in her bright blue bob and me in the pink pigtails. I force an exaggerated smile, which makes me look like I’m psychotic, and wave pathetically, punctuating the humiliation.
“What are you doing?” Grant asks in return. “Are you sneaking out again?”
“Nope,” Ashton answers, lowering the phone so just she is in the frame. She starts walking around the room. “Girls’ night in.”
“Looks … entertaining.” Grant is obviously struggling. “Um … do you mind if I talk to Lana?”
“Oh, yeah,” Ashton responds like it just struck her that he called to speak with me and not her. “She may not say it, but she loves you, you know. You can’t let her crazy phobia—” I grab the phone from her. She hollers, “Hey! I was saving you!”
“Hi. I’m here,” I say urgently, scurrying to the bathroom and shutting the door. Trying to keep Ashton’s chivalry on the other side of it. “How are you? How was the golf tournament? Did you get decent tips? Are you exhausted? What time do you have to be in tomorrow?”
“Lana,” Grant interrupts my word vomit. “Breathe, Sweets. Breathe.”
But I don’t. I stop breathing completely when he calls me Sweets. He’s never called me that before. And … I actually … like it. So much better than Brendan calling me fucking Princess!
He smiles when he realizes he’s rendered me speechless. “Are you okay? Should I not have called you that? I me
an, you look so fricken cute in that wig; it just kinda came out.”
“No, it’s okay,” I say, my cheeks matching the pink hair. “Um, I can take it off.”
“Don’t,” he counters quickly. “I mean, unless you want to.”
I wink suggestively. “You like it?”
Now it’s Grant’s turn to change color. I laugh.
“Is this what girls usually do when they stay in?”
“What? Guys don’t dress up and have dance parties when they hang out together?”
“Uh, no. But maybe we should.”
I laugh again. “I miss you.” Yup, the words just came out. Maybe because they’re honest. I do miss him even if it’s only been a day.
“I miss you too,” he says like it’s easy for him to admit while I continue to struggle with being emotionally vulnerable. “Is Ashton … okay?”
I glance at the door and lower my voice. “Um, yeah. She seems like it. I mean, Brendan’s still ignoring her and treating her like crap. Makes me glad I told you everything yesterday. I don’t want our … thing … built on secrets. Even if you decided you couldn’t be with me because of it, it’s more important to me that you know.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. The risk you took, confiding in me. It says a lot, that you trust me. And it hasn’t changed the way I feel about you. If anything, I—”
“I think I should tell her about Brendan,” I blurt, not ready to hear what’s coming next. It’s one thing to understand that the feelings are there, but it’s completely another to hear them out loud. And I’m not … ready. Not yet.
“Uh, what?” Grant looks confused, his face gradually flushing because he knows that I know what he was about to say. And I just intentionally cut him off before he could say it. “Tell her what about Brendan?” He recovers smoothly, hopefully because he gets me.
“Or … maybe not about Brendan.” I let my shoulders slouch, conflicted. The music is blasting so loudly from her room; I’m not worried she’ll hear me. Still, I move as far away from the door as possible in the small bathroom, which puts me on top of the toilet. “I hate that she doesn’t know what he’s doing. I mean, I don’t exactly know either, but it’s still messed up. So I have to tell her about Morgan. I care about her. And I can’t treat her like Brendan does. Even if she ends up hating me, she deserves to know the truth. Or else I’ll always feel like I’m lying to her.”
“When do you plan to tell her?” He sounds concerned, recognizing this is a big deal.
“Tonight.”
Grant’s brows lift. “Really? Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ll tell her tonight.” There’s conviction in my tone, like I’m deciding and committing to it at this very second. “Right now, actually. So I should go.”
“Oh, okay,” Grant fumbles, taken by surprise by my emphatic declaration. “Um, good luck, I guess. Call me if you need me.”
“Thanks.” I smile weakly, my confidence already waning. “I’ll talk to you later.”
After hanging up, I lean against the wall, swiping the wig off my head. I can do this. I will do this. She deserves to know. And I’ll accept however she feels about me after.
I take in a breath of courage and return to the room.
Ashton’s singing loudly into a hairbrush in time with a song about a girl doing what she wants while strutting in an exaggerated catwalk across the room in six-inch stilettos. She’s dressed in a metallic silver skirt and a matching bra with a sheer fuchsia cape flowing after her. I smile at her adoringly. I really do care about her. She’s become one of my closest friends in such a short time. Like Grant. And yeah, maybe I love them both … even if I can’t say it. So I really hope I’m not about to screw this up.
She spins around and tilts the hairbrush toward me to finish the chorus.
I press my lips together in a nervous smile. “Um … can I talk to you about something?”
Ashton studies me with narrowed eyes, suddenly aware that I’m serious. “Sure.” She stops the music and sits down on the couch. “What’s going on? Everything okay with Grant?”
“Oh, yeah. Everything’s great,” I reply, waving off her unwarranted concern. “This is … about us. You and me.” I sit across from her, peeling off the go-go boots and tucking my legs beneath me. “I have something I want to tell you, and you might hate me after. And I’ll totally understand if you do.”
Her mouth puckers. “Is this about Brendan? Did you sleep with him?” She takes in my horrified expression for all of a second before bursting out laughing. “Of course you didn’t. What was I thinking?”
I continue to frown like I just vomited in my mouth, which only makes her laugh harder. It takes her a full minute to pull herself back together.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to be serious, but you should’ve seen your face.” She releases another giggle, dabbing the tears seeping from the corners of her eyes. “Okay. I’m ready.”
I exhale. Maybe I shouldn’t tell her. And for a few seconds, I nearly don’t.
“I knew Morgan Wolfe. He grew up downstairs from me.”
Any remnant of a smile is immediately erased from Ashton’s face along with her color. She doesn’t speak. So I do. I recount how I knew him. My stupid adolescent crush and how he used it against me.
Ashton’s eyes don’t leave mine the entire time. And I can’t look away, anticipating the pain. The anger. The resentment. The blame.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough. That I didn’t name him when the police asked me who did it. I’m so sorry.”
I’m braced for her to scream at me. Or punch me. But … she hugs me. Fiercely. I’m stunned into immobility. She might as well be embracing a slab of stone.
“You don’t hate me?” I choke out.
Ashton releases me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I love you.”
“Um,” I falter. Hearing her say those words would have knocked me on my ass if I wasn’t already sitting. “You do?”
“I do.” She smiles softly. “You didn’t have to tell me, but you trusted me with your secret. And that’s a gift. Thank you.”
I want to ask if maybe she took something while I was in the bathroom, talking with Grant. This is not how I imagined this happening. Not ever.
“I lied about why I’m at Blackwood, about it being the time I OD’d at the club in LA. I mean, I did do that, and my parents spun a stupid story about me having the flu. But no one knows about what happened to me in New York, except for Brendan, my friend Hala and you. Of course, my parents and Niall know. But you are the only one I’ve told. We didn’t go to the police. And I lied to the doctors, so they never did a rape exam. I didn’t want anyone to know. And if he hadn’t gotten murdered that night, he could have gotten away with it and maybe assaulted someone else. Because I don’t know if I would have had the courage to report him.
“So I don’t blame you, Lana. I could never blame you. What he did is his fault. Not yours.”
I gawk at her for a full minute, in shock at her admission. “I love you too,” I breathe out, my heart aching with just how much I do—the words aren’t nearly as hard to say as I thought they’d be, probably because I mean them.
Ashton opens her mouth with a gasp; her eyes light up with excitement. “Do you know what we should do?”
I’m completely taken off guard. “Uh, what should we do?”
“Burn stuff!”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“We should collect whatever reminds us of that night. We can write down our feelings or whatever we want. And then”—Ashton stands so suddenly, I think she might shoot up into the sky—“take our power back by burning the shit out of it!”
“Sh-sure,” I stutter and then smile when her entire face radiates. “Definitely. Let’s burn some shit.”
Ashton disappears to her room while I open my closet. It was over three years ago. I’m not sure what I still have from that time that I can burn. But then I see the white lace shorts from the night at
The Point. I pull out the stack of clothes on the shelf to remove them.
They’re not from that night. But another when my power was also taken from me. And then I remember I do have something. I dig out the backpack that I hid under the closet. It’s a tight fit, and I have to yank it with force to squeeze it free from the small opening. Even the psycho didn’t think to look under here when they destroyed my room.
I rummage through the journals I always start but give up on after a few entries. The worn Grimm Brothers volume with its embossed gold title filled with the fairytales my grandmother read to me from when I was little. And finally the folder I was looking for. I shuffle through the fairytales I’ve written over the years and select the pages of the one recounting the night the beast entered the tower.
Ashton returns with a red bandage dress and pages torn from magazines.
“How much time do we have before curfew?” I ask Ashton when we exit the dorm.
“Plenty of time,” she responds without checking.
When we reach Screaming Point, Ashton layers our items on top of each other and douses them with a small vile of liquid. I don’t bother asking what it is. I know its purpose.
Ashton hands me a match.
“No man will ever fucking touch me again without my permission. I’m a powerful woman, and anyone who wants to be with me, including Brendan Andersen, better treat me like the queen I am.”
I gaze at her proudly, my face adorned with a ridiculously wide smile.
I don’t realize that she’s waiting for me to contribute until she prompts me, “Lana.”
“Oh, yeah.” I pause to gather my thoughts, then stand erect to declare, “You can’t take from me what I’m not willing to give. You thought you could destroy me. But you were wrong. You only made me stronger.”
We light our matches, and our eyes meet in solidarity before we drop them onto the pile. A whoosh of flame spikes as the relics of stolen power burn at our feet.
Ashton howls with glee. Literally howls. I chuckle. And then howl along with her. My heart’s ablaze with the love of friendship and the power I’ve reclaimed.
The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4: Now We Know/What They Knew Page 9