by S. Massery
I pick up pieces of the water glasses and squeeze. The edges bite into my palm. Blood immediately wells, running down the glass and dripping onto the floor. It barely touches my mood. Doesn’t so much as sway the boiling pressure in my chest.
There’s nowhere to direct my rage except at myself—and I deserve all of the pain I’m about to inflict.
25
Lux
I pull over halfway back to my dorm and burst into tears.
Me.
Lucille Page, a girl who rarely cries, hyperventilates in a borrowed car.
The world is not crumbling around me. I’m not dying. But it certainly feels that way.
I should’ve known better than to ask that of Theo. Never dare a demon. And I shouldn’t have put my own heart on the line in the process. I don’t deserve anyone’s love. I’ve been a wrecking ball in my own life for ages, so much of a disaster that no one could love me. No one wants to love me… least of all, Theo Alistair.
The bottom line is, I was asking to get hurt.
I lean forward, resting my forearms across the top of the steering wheel, and my head on my arms. I stay like that, eyes shut tight, until I can regain control of myself.
Stupid.
My lips hold on to the memory of his. The way he felt against me. Everything down to his fucking expression.
Raindrops splatter the windshield. Slow at first, then suddenly the sky opens up. It seems to be mirroring my bleak mood. I can’t see anything past the hood of the car. The thunder of rain—and then real thunder—drowns out the noise in my head.
With resignation, I flick on the wipers and pull back out onto the road. The rain, surprisingly, quiets my internal storm. I park in the LBU West’s garage and lift my hood up to jog across the small quad. I’m soaked by the time I get inside, and I pause in the lobby to shake off what I can. My hair sticks to my face. I’m ready to take off my contacts and get into a shower.
I’m cold and aching.
“Where have you been?” Ruby asks, coming down the stairs with Miranda.
“I volunteered to take Theo home.”
Ruby nods slowly, appraising me. She and Miranda both wear rain slickers, umbrellas in their grasp.
“We won, by the way,” Miranda says. “I think Felicity grabbed your bag.”
My camera. I smack my forehead. “Shit, I totally forgot.”
“We’re on the way to the hospital for Sebastian,” Ruby adds. “Hale told me he needs surgery on his knee. It’s the same one he hurt last year, but…”
I nod, aiming for sympathy and failing. I can’t quite muster it after what he did to pull Theo and me apart. “Okay. I’ll see you guys later, then…”
“Yep.” Ruby smiles tightly.
They slip past me, opening their umbrellas before stepping into the night. I let out a sharp breath and head upstairs. First stop, Felicity’s room. I knock on the door and step back.
She doesn’t answer.
I frown, but after knocking a second time and waiting another few moments, I give up and go to my room.
The space is as much of a disaster as we left it. Makeup everywhere, clothes tossed on our beds. I have a cute shirt on under this LBU hoodie, believe it or not.
I pull off the thick, damp material and drop it in my hamper. I could very easily just crawl into bed, but I’m chilled to the bone. I touch my cold lips, flashing back to Theo’s apartment. My face heats, even though I’m alone.
A different sort of ache reappears between my legs.
I grab what I need and lock myself in the bathroom. I could take care of it myself, but the ache reminds me of what I’m missing—not just the physical, but Theo. All of him. He showed me those vulnerable pieces today, in the two minutes of quiet we’ve never experienced before.
So, I resist touching myself and shower quickly.
I put on leggings and a t-shirt I had brought with me into the bathroom and ignore my reflection. I don’t need to see my puffy, bloodshot eyes. Another reminder that, for the first time in a while, I actually broke down.
I slide my glasses on and exit the bathroom, dropping the rest of my clothes in the hamper by my closet. Then my attention catches on the case on my bed.
My camera.
“Lucille,” someone says.
A shriek escapes before I can control myself.
Wilder DeSantis, my sister’s fiancé, rises from Ruby’s desk chair. He pushes his hands in his pockets, parting his suit jacket. It’s a not-so-subtle reveal of the holstered gun at his hip. I take a quick step backward, glancing around the rest of the room.
It’s empty.
“How did you get in here?” I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly self-conscious.
I should’ve put on a bra, but… well, I expected to be able to go to bed. He doesn’t move from the center of the room, and I inch to my closet and find a zip-up sweatshirt. I pull my damp hair out from under the collar, all the while watching him like he’s a poisonous snake.
“Your RA said I could wait for you,” he eventually says. He gestures to my bed. “She had your camera.”
“That’s…” Illegal? Against the rules? He’s a grown adult, and I’m barely eighteen. Not to mention, he’s practically a stranger.
My parents did everything they could to keep me away from the DeSantis family—like Jameson, Wilder’s father, would decide that one marriage wasn’t enough. There’s no way I was getting married to anyone my parents picked out for me. And I mentioned that frequently.
Few people knew me well enough that I’d trust them to arrange me into a marriage contract.
A contract is all it is, Mom told me. She tried to be reassuring sometimes, but it fell flat. It didn’t help that the light in Amelie’s eyes had been slowly draining away over the past two and a half years. She learned she’d be shackled to a stranger at sixteen, and nothing she’s done has stopped it.
“The man you killed,” he begins.
I flinch. “I didn’t—”
“Please.” He shoots me a baleful glance. “Don’t lie. I’m still working out how it happened, but that’s not why I’m here.”
My back hits the wall. I hadn’t even realized I was stumbling away from him until I can’t go any farther. “Then why?”
“Because I wanted you to know firsthand who you pissed off.” He lifts his chin. “Of all the men, you chose a party crasher.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re telling me he wasn’t even invited to your engagement party?”
“Probably there to sniff out family secrets.” He glances around the room. Wilder is a whole new level of scary—the kind I wouldn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole. “Security. Maybe a thief who saw an opportunity.”
Maybe… but that doesn’t feel like the complete truth.
“A phone call would’ve done.” I gesture to his weapon. “And what’s the point of showing me that?”
His expression doesn’t waver. “It doesn’t change the fact that you killed someone on our estate.”
“Allegedly,” I mutter. “It’s a wild guess.”
Wilder glowers. “It’s not a wild guess. I have witnesses who place you going down the back path with a man they didn’t recognize.”
“Witnesses. What is this, a trial?”
“Yes.” He strides forward, stopping just a foot away. Within reach, if he wanted. “Consider me your judge, jury, and executioner. You’re not suspected by the detectives running the case, but you could easily become the focus of investigation.”
Chills race up my spine. “That sounds…”
That’s a threat.
Wilder nods slowly. “Your family falls under the DeSantis protection, and your parents have agreed with our decision. We’re sending you away until we can guide the investigation toward another suspect.”
My heart drops. Not Theo. I had told them he picked me up—and if that gets back to Wilder or his father, Theo could be next. And if they do pin it on him, what recourse do I have?
“Theo Alist
air has to be safe,” I say. “My parents know I was with him after the engagement party—”
“He won’t be brought into it.” His lips flatten for a moment, his distaste clear. “We’ve decided to put you on a plane. For your protection, and our family.”
“No—”
“Tonight,” he adds.
I slip past him, needing to put distance between us. This is unbelievable. I had two weeks to myself, to live away from my parents—and now Amelie’s fiancé shows up and talks about pushing me farther away? “I can’t. I have class…”
“You can enroll at a new school.” He grabs my elbow. “Let me be perfectly clear, little Page. You have two options. You can stay exactly where police will find you and become a suspect in that man’s murder. Do you think Boston is that far away?”
“It’s a different state—”
“And the whole county knows about your sudden enrollment.” He sneers. “Beth Alistair pulling strings… seems out of the blue, don’t you think? Once the detectives start hunting, you’d be easy to find. And hard to look away from, considering your… past.”
I involuntarily shudder. My past—too many times I’ve been pulled out of a jail cell for something stupid. Dad was on a first-name basis with most of the cops in the county because of me. But they’ll take my history of acting out and twist it.
Say it’s only a matter of time before she lashed out more violently.
“Option two, you come with me. You stay away from New York until the case is closed.”
“My sister…”
“Won’t know where you are.” Wilder releases me and steps back, smoothing the front of his jacket. Like I was the one to crinkle it. “No one will miss you, Lucy Page. No one missed you when you left the first time. Life didn’t even so much as hesitate to continue. How many times have your parents reached out? Or your sister?”
I shake my head. I can’t believe I’m considering this.
“If you stay, who will they rope into this? Your alibi?”
“Stop it,” I whisper.
He nods, following my line of thought. I almost open my mouth and blurt out everything—that it was an accident, self-defense. But it stopped being an accident the moment I dragged his body farther into the woods, and even worse when Theo torched it.
He offers me a boon: “You can come back for the wedding. Okay? That’s the one thing I can give you. I can’t give you that if you’re in prison for first-degree murder.”
Amelie on her wedding day… I can’t miss that.
“Let me pack my things,” I say woodenly. I have an out-of-body experience as I pile my clothes in the same bag I arrived with—my possessions are a meager collection. Once everything is together, and I’ve forced the zipper closed, I loop my camera bag’s strap across my chest.
Wilder stood by the door the entire time I shuffled around the room. He types on his phone, ignoring me. Or at least, pretending to ignore me. It’s a false sense of security, I think.
I glance at him now, then steel myself. I pull out the portfolio and slide the photo of Theo out. This is what he wanted to see when he asked for my portfolio. What he would’ve probably enjoyed teasing me over—just another piece of evidence of my obsession with him.
But for some reason, I can’t bear to part with it. The rest of the photos aren’t as sentimental, but this one…
It’s too large to fit between the pages of a book, so I carefully place it in my camera bag, in one of the narrow pockets. It shouldn’t get crushed…
“Ready?” Wilder drawls.
I stiffen and grab the duffle bag at my feet. “Yes.”
“Phone.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“Give me your phone, little Page.” He shoves his own in his pocket. “Now.”
“I…” I can’t. That’s my lifeline. The one connection to everyone I care about—Theo and Amelie, my parents… Well, I’m not sure if I should even keep them on the list. They clearly don’t give a fuck about me.
Disgust crosses his expression, and he takes the phone from my hand. Without preamble, he drops it to the floor and crushes it under his heel. The glass splinters. Another stomp, and it pulverizes into dust.
All I can register is shock—and then anger.
“What the fuck was that for?”
I lunge forward like I can fix it, but he holds me back. He gives it another stomp, then tugs me away. My heart pounds. I don’t resist his guidance downstairs, through the deserted lobby and to the car waiting at the curb.
Wilder holds an umbrella over our heads until I’m seated behind the driver, and he circles to the other side. With only a nod from the driver, we’re off.
“Take this,” he says, offering me a bottle of water.
I nod once and uncap it, swallowing a few gulps. The aftertaste hits me and I lower it slowly. “What is this?”
His smile is patronizing. “It’ll help you sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep.” I lean forward and stick my finger down my throat. It’s automatic—they laced it, and the easiest way to stop that, maybe the only way, is to throw it back up.
He snatches my wrists, tearing my hand away from my mouth. My chest heaves. We glare at each other for what feels like an hour, then my gaze skates away. I blink and shake my head. I can barely see in front of my face, it’s so dark, but I can tell everything’s gone fuzzy.
“It’s fast-acting,” he says, releasing me. “Just breathe.”
“Kidnapping me?” My mouth is full of cotton, the words barely come out.
“You agreed.” He leans back and pulls out his phone again. “And your talking gives me a headache.”
That’s the last thing I hear before my consciousness slips away from me.
26
Theo
The room is still dark when my eyes open. I can’t quite pinpoint what, exactly, woke me up. My apartment is silent. I roll off the couch and to my feet, assessing. I fell asleep on the couch, and my muscles ache—both from the game and the way I slept. The room rotates around me.
My nails bite into my palm, and the prick of sharp pain brings me back to the present. After Lux fled, I righted the coffee table, cleaned the glass and my hand, then paced. I paced until I couldn’t see straight, then I moved on to mental torture.
Math in my head. All I could see were numbers. Chess pieces sliding across the board. I grabbed my lacrosse stick and flipped the ball back and forth, watching it blur at times. And then I fell asleep, because there was nothing else to do.
I sit heavily and close my eyes. Once the movement stops, I begin again. Slower. I cross to the kitchen, illuminated by only the green glowing numbers on the stove, and find the aspirin. Swallowing a few pills, I chase it with water and go to my bedroom. My phone is on the charger next to my bed, and as I watch, it dings with a reminder notification.
Check connection to: Lucille Page
I frown. The message comes from the app I use to track her phone. I click on the app, and there’s a red error mark by her name—the only one on my list. It shows me her last known location, as of an hour ago. It automatically updates every sixty minutes if I’m not actively using it, and whatever made her phone go offline must’ve triggered it.
But… it’s weird that it’s still not coming back.
My first instinct is concern. A niggling worry that digs into my chest and stomach, taking over my rationale. Something could be wrong.
Or… she could just want a break from me.
I put my phone facedown on the nightstand and lie gingerly back on the bed. I force myself to close my eyes, but it’s no use. My thoughts have taken a bleak turn, and the churning in my gut is enough to keep the sleep away.
Less than an hour passes before I give up on the self-control. Lux took my car, so I order another and retrieve my shoes and jacket. Rain patters against the window, and I crack the blinds in time to catch a flash of lightning.
A lovely night.
I swear, if she just turned
her phone off…
My cell beeps, the driver arriving, and I lock the door behind me and head downstairs. The ride is relatively quick to LBU West. No one mans the receptionist desk—usually there’s at least a security guard I’d have to sweet-talk, but tonight it’s deserted.
The bad feeling intensifies.
Up the stairs to Lux’s room, and I pause outside the door. It’ll be locked, I reason, and it’ll wake her up. I touch the wood, and it swings open under the lightest touch. The room is empty. I step inside. One of the lamps in the corner was left on, and I hit the switch for the brighter overhead light.
Ruby’s bed is made, the fabric tight and tucked in. Lux’s side is more chaotic, her portfolio laid out on the crumbled comforter. Her pillow is still dented, like she was sleeping… and now she’s not.
Something crunches under my shoe. I hop back, glancing down. I don’t know what I expect—a hair clip or something girly—but it isn’t a phone case. It’s bent, at an angle. The phone itself is gone, but I locate it a moment later, halfway under Lux’s dresser. The screen has been smashed. Thoroughly demolished.
I pick it up carefully and set it on her desk. She wouldn’t have done this. She was fine when she left… okay, maybe less than fine. Maybe more like devastated.
There’s more evidence of a quick evacuation: half her clothes are missing, but the hamper is still full. The sweatshirt she wore to the game, damp to my touch, buried under her shirt and jeans. A fresh towel. Water still dots the shower walls, the smell of her bodywash in my nose.
Missing Lux.
Absent roommate.
The door creaks, and I whirl around. Felicity, Lux’s resident assistant, stands in the doorway. She gapes at me, then at the crushed phone in front of me.
“What the fuck?”
I cross my arms. “I should be asking you the same thing.”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t—”
“Felicity,” I growl, stalking forward.
She’s already in the room, but she tries to scuttle backward. Her back hits the wall beside the door, and I close it. Lock us in. My hand stays on the door, keeping her where she stands. I’m careful not to touch her. I don’t want to touch her, but I will if I have to. My anger is a low flame right now, but what happens next is on her. What she chooses to say.