The Start of a Mysterious Mystery: (Signed with a Kiss, Book 2)

by Sorensen, Jessica

  West keeps knocking and saying things through the door, but I don’t utter a word, just like I did that day.

  “Lex,” he says in a gentle tone from the other side of the door. “Please just let me in.” When I say nothing, he adds, “I want to help you, but I need to know what happened in order to do so. So, please just let me in.” He gives a short pause. “I need to know you’re okay.”

  I am not okay.

  I haven’t been okay for a while.

  But those are secrets that will stay locked inside my soul, wherever it is.

  Sucking in a shaky breath, I glance back at my phone. The video has stopped playing and another message has come through.

  Unknown: Did that get your attention? If not, let me spell it out for you. If you don’t do what I want, I’ll send that video to everyone at our school.

  I swallow hard, tears burning my eyes, but I force those motherfuckers back.

  I am Nothing Alexis.

  I am Unfeeling Alexis.

  I am dead inside.

  I let myself wither.

  Like the rosebushes in our yard.

  Wither until there’s nothing left.

  Until pieces of me are scattered across the floor.

  They’ll get lost in the cracks with the dirt and the debris.

  Where no one can see me.

  Ever again.

  Me: What do you want?

  Unknown: And there’s the question I’ve been looking for. And the answer’s pretty simple. I want you to pay for what you did to me that day.

  Me: Did to you that day? I didn’t do anything.

  Unknown: I’m not talking about the day on the video.

  Me: What day are you talking about?

  Unknown: Nope. I’m not handing answers out yet. I want to play with you some more. Have the fun you took away from me. But, eventually, I’ll give you answers, once I know you belong to me.

  Anger pulsates through me.

  Me: I belong to no one, you freak.

  Unknown: Maybe not now, but when I get done with you, you will. We’re going to play a little game Alexis.

  I clutch my phone, the urge to cry trying to push its way to the surface. I shove it down into the smokiness still lingering in my veins.

  “Lex.” West knocks softly on the door again. “Please say something. I’m starting to get really worried.”

  Part of me wants to remain silent—I’m good at that. The other part of me knows that my silence has led to this. That my path of half-truths and lies has led me to a cornered dead end. So, I get up off that floor, pull myself up, and make my way over to the door. Then I take a shaky deep breath and open it.

  West is standing on the other side, all wound up in knots, but relief washes over his features at the sight of me.

  “Tell me what happened,” he says. It’s not a demand; more of a desperate plea.

  A desperate West. That’s a sight I never thought I’d see.

  “They sent me a video,” I admit, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get the rest of it out.

  I have to get all of it out, though, if I want to find out everything.

  He smashes his lips together, as if trying to collect himself before he speaks. “What was on the video?” he asks cautiously.

  I don’t know whether to show him or tell him. I honestly don’t know why I’m choosing to tell him of all people. I mean, we’ve only been friends for a handful of days. Our friendship is new, despite the fact that I’ve known him all my life. But over these last few days, I realized that I may have known West all my life, but I don’t think I really know him. I also don’t know who else to turn to for help. Because I’m not about to let this blackmailer own me. I’m going to take him down. And before that video goes out.

  The thought of everyone seeing it—seeing me—flashes through my mind, and vomit starts to burn my throat again. Again, I swallow it down—there’s nothing left in me anyway—and then I take a deep breath. And then another.

  And another.

  I take so many deep breaths that I start to become dizzy and foggy-headed. I like that feeling. It makes it easier for me to open my mouth and spill a truth into the air.

  Alexis the truth teller.

  She only exists in this moment.

  But that’s all I need for now.

  I don’t give West all the details. Just enough that he gets the gist of what happened.

  He listens to me quietly, the tension in his body slowly building with every word I say. When I’m done, he looks like he’s about to explode.

  “I’m going to fucking kill him,” he growls out, startling me. Then he turns to leave, as if he’s going to do just that.

  I capture his arm, stopping him. “You can’t kill anyone,” I tell him. “And besides, who are you going to kill? We don’t even know who’s sending me these texts.”

  He turns toward me, a manic look in his eyes. “Oh, I’m not talking about the person who’s sending the messages. Although, as soon as we find out who they are, I fully plan on killing them, too.”

  “Then, who are you talking about?” I wonder in confusion.

  He holds my gaze intensely. “Jay.”

  It takes a lot of effort, but I manage to get the words out, “You can’t kill Jay. You can’t kill anyone.”

  “I can do whatever I want.” He turns to leave again, trying to jerk his arm from mine, but I clutch on tightly.

  “First of all, you’re not a killer, West. And I’m glad because I don’t want you to kill anyone. Murder isn’t the answer.” Though, deep in the darkest parts of my mind, it does sound a bit appealing.

  Murderous Alexis. Who would've thought she existed?

  He stares at me, his nostrils flaring. I’ve never seen him look so livid. Truthfully, I’ve never really seen him look livid at all.

  “Fine,” he bites out. “I won’t kill him. I’ll just beat him to a close death.”

  I almost let go of him, let West try to get me some sort of retribution. But the little doubts inside me, the rational ones, whisper that this is wrong. That if West does this, he’ll be the one to get in trouble. And I don’t want him going down for me.

  I am not worth it.

  “You can’t beat him up,” I tell him. “You’ll get in trouble.”

  “I don’t fucking care,” he growls out.

  I carry his rage-burning gaze, my heart thundering in my chest. But I manage an even tone. “Yes, you do. I know you do, because you care about your future, or you wouldn’t be trying to get a job and get out of this place.”

  He grinds his teeth so hard I hear his jaw pop. “He needs to pay for what he did to you. He can’t get away with this … And you …” He blows out a weighted breath, and it’s like he blows out everything he’s feeling all over me.

  I feel it.

  His worry.

  His rage.

  Mixing with my own.

  Pain. Agony. Rage.

  There’re so many emotions.

  Too many emotions.

  I need to turn them off.

  I need to be Nothing Alexis again.

  But I have no idea where she went at the moment.

  She bailed on me.

  “I can’t stand this,” he admits, placing his palm on my cheek.

  His warm palm.

  His soothing palm.

  I feel it.

  “I can’t stand that you’ve been suffering for months with this … That this happened to you … That you have to carry all this pain.” He looks at me and, for a crazy moment, I swear he actually gets it. That somehow he can feel all the pain I lock inside me. And maybe that’s because he can. Or, well, he feels his own pain.

  Those scars on his back …

  What are those, West?

  What was done to you?

  Who caused you that pain?

  “I want to take it away from you.” His words burn in the air. “Tell me what to do.”

  Air in.

  Air out.

  Breathe,
Alexis.

  I want to tell him the answer, but I really don’t know if there’s anything he can do. That pain is in there, stuck inside me no matter how much I try to deny it exists. It is there, a ghost inside me, haunting me, reminding me, eating me away from the inside out and turning me into a shell.

  “I don’t know,” I say in an uneven tone. “I really don’t.”

  It might be the truest words I’ve ever spoken.

  He stares at me intensely, as if trying to see through my mask. I want to carry his gaze—normally I would—but this moment is too intense for me, so I look away and stare at the cracked wall beside me.

  Silence ticks by.

  One …

  Two …

  Three heartbeats.

  And then he says, “We’re going find out who’s texting you, we’re gonna stop them, and then we’re going to deal with this thing with Jay.”

  He doesn’t elaborate on the details of how we’ll deal with it, but I don’t ask. I’m not ready to ask, because dealing with it means dealing with it.

  “Let’s go give Ellis back your phone so he can get to the bottom of who the texter is.” He’s speaking more calmly now.

  I nod, pretending to be calm, even though I’m all worked up inside.

  And I hate it.

  Hate that one stupid message can make me fall apart. It’s just like what happened when I saw Masie and Blaine kissing. Only this is way, way worse. And West is here to witness it.

  I want to run, grab a can of spray paint, and deal with these surfacing emotions in a way I'm comfortable with. But I can't do that right now. Not with the risk of getting caught.

  When we enter the living room, Ellis is messing around on the computer, but he glances up when walk in.

  “Everything okay?” he asks, glancing back and forth between West and me.

  West gives my hand a subtle squeeze. “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” Ellis seems unconvinced but doesn’t say another word as I hand him back my phone.

  After he starts working on figuring out who the sender is, West pulls me a ways away.

  “What do you want to do while he works on this?” he asks. “Whatever you want, we’ll do it.”

  Normally, I’d crack a joke about that, but I’m too damn exhausted.

  Broken Alexis.

  I feel broken.

  “I just want to forget this happened. Even if it’s for a little bit,” I admit the truth.

  “Do you still want to go to the party?” he asks, glancing at his phone. “I’ve been getting texts about it all day.”

  “What about that thing you’re supposed to do with your parents?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Don’t worry about that. If I make it there, I make it there. If not, my mom will have to get over it.” He cups my face between his hands. “Being here for you is more important.”

  “Are you sure?” I check. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

  “What’re they going to do to me?” he says with dry humor. “Kick me out of the house?”

  “True.” Still going to Masie’s party doesn’t sound like something I want to do right now.

  We were supposed to go to it so I could show Masie and Blaine I’m fine. Show them my shiny mask is back on. That I’m perfectly and utterly fine.

  But now…

  I feel so broken.

  I also don’t know who’s texting me, and what if it’s someone I know and they’re there?

  What if Jay’s there?

  Vomit burns at the back of my throat again but this time I swallow it.

  Then I shake my head. “I don’t really want to go to the party.” What I want is to not feel so… everything. “I want another beer,” I find myself saying.

  “Are you sure?” He double-checks with wariness. “We’ve had a lot already.”

  “So?” I shrug. “We were planning on going to this party, right? Which means I would’ve been drinking anyway, so why can’t I just do it here?”

  "True." Still, he seems genuinely conflicted. I have no idea why.

  He apparently gets over it, though, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the kitchen to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

  “It smells in here,” I tell him as he pops the lid off a beer and hands it to me.

  “Yeah,” he agrees, popping the lid off another beer. “No one really cleans, I don’t think.” He glances around at the alcohol bottles, dirty pans, and crumpled plastic cups littering the counter. “I might have to start doing it, depending on how long I’m here.”

  “You clean?” I mock. “Do you even know how to do that?”

  Instead of joking around with me, he stares at me with worry in his bloodshot eyes.

  He needs to stop looking at me like that.

  Now.

  Before my mask cracks.

  I look away from him, and my gaze falls on an unopened bottle of vodka. “You know what? Screw this whole beer thing. I need a shot.” I pick up the bottle.

  “Are you sure you want a shot?” He makes his way over to me.

  I nod, searching for a clean glass, but to no avail. “Yeah, I’m definitely sure.”

  I’m not definitely sure.

  I’m never definitely sure about anything.

  Definitely doesn’t even exist to me.

  He presses his lips together, studying me. “You want to get drunk, don’t you?”

  “Yep. Or was that not obvious?” I put on a grin. It kind of hurts.

  Everything kind of hurts right now, but I’m trying to fix it.

  He searches my eyes. “I’m just worried you might be … I don’t know, trying to avoid some stuff.”

  I grip the bottle tightly but manage an even voice. “I am. But, does it really matter?”

  “Lex …” he starts.

  “I don’t want to deal with this right now,” I admit truthfully, the desperation in my tone revealing that. And making me cringe.

  Desperate Alexis.

  Good, God, what have I become?

  He presses his lips together again. I can tell he wants to say more, wants to say no, wants to stop me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he collects a couple of shot glass from a cupboard above the fridge.

  I’m not sure what that means—that he’s giving me my way, even though it’s clear he doesn’t want to. That he’s trying to be a good friend. That he cares about me.

  Or maybe he doesn’t care about me and is just getting tired of me.

  Who the hell knows? Frankly, I stop worrying about it as we take a shot and then another. Because the alcohol burns all the worry out of my veins. It burns everything out of my veins. And leaves me with nothing.

  Reckless Alexis. I can feel myself becoming her.

  In the back of my mind, that voice—the one that belongs to the Before Alexis—begs me to stop. That I’m going to ruin everything. But the more drinks I have, the more I can’t hear her.

  And, in the end, there’s nothing but silence.

  But I know that, eventually, I’m going to crash, and then it’s all going to catch up with me.

  * * *

  A handful of hours later, I'm sitting on the sofa in the living room with my back angled at West. Holden is having a phone conversation with someone in the kitchen, and Ellis is working on his computer, but not on my phone. He said he had to take a break from that to do work stuff, but I'm not quite sure where he works, and he seemed really hesitant when I asked. He assured me, though, that he'd start working on it again soon, and that he downloaded a program onto my phone that will make it, so I don't have to leave my phone with him. It seemed kind of sketchy, but West assured me it'd be fine. And I trust him.

  I trust West? Where the hell did that come from?

  Yeah, that thought’s been plaguing my mind since I thought it.

  I trust West. West, who’s currently sitting behind me and playing with my hair.

  We haven't really talked about the video or the dark secret I piled onto him. He's been keeping the conversation li
ght, and I've been latching onto that kind act he's offering, focusing on being my joking and smartass self. I can tell he wants to say more, but he doesn't. And I'm grateful for that.

  “Are you gonna play with my hair all night?” I joke as I bring my legs up onto the sofa.

  He combs his fingers through my hair. “That all depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On if you’re going to spend the night?”

  “I really doubt Loki is going to be cool with that.”

  “True. I’m just a little bit worried about getting you home.”

  “True.” I hadn’t really thought about that before I took those shots.

  And while I want to believe that maybe I would have—maybe I would’ve been Rational Alexis for once—I doubt it.

  “Maybe one of your friends can drive me home,” I suggest.

  "Everyone's drunk and stoned. We might be able to walk, but I think it's like ten miles. And with… everything going on, I don’t like the idea of you being out like that past dark.”

  “Yeah, I agree.” I fish my phone out of my pocket.

  He leans over my shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

  “Texting Loki and asking him if I can spend the night at Masie’s.”

  “Does he not know about your guys’ fight?”

  “Actually, he does.” I rack my mind for a better cover story. “I’ll just tell him we made up, and that's why I want to spend the night."

  He sweeps my hair to the side. “You think he’ll go for that?”

  I shrug. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  “Fingers crossed that he’s cool with it.” He holds up his crossed fingers. “Because if you spend the night, it means we get to spend all night braiding each other’s hair and painting each other’s fingernails and toenails.”

  I give him a really look. “You’re seriously going to do that with me if I stay over?”

  “Yep.” He smiles. “That is what you said BFF’s do.”

  “No, I told you that’s not what BFF’s do.” I wait for him to tell me he’s kidding about the whole nail painting and braiding hair thing, but he doesn’t. I study him closely, wondering if he’s being serious or not, but I honestly can’t tell. “Do you even have fingernail polish?”

  He grins proudly. “Yep. One color. Midnight Black.”