by S. Massery
I glare at him.
He runs his hand up my leg, cupping my calf and dragging me farther down the bed. I let out a squeak.
“Is this another ploy to get the truth out of me?” I say on an exhale.
He shakes his head slowly and leans forward, looping his fingers in the waistband of my leggings. He pulls them off me in one motion, carefully maneuvering them off my feet. My panties go with it.
“And the purpose of this?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “If you don’t know the purpose of me taking your pants off, we’ve got some serious educating to do.”
I pull on my arms again. At least he’d have to untie me to get my shirt off. Then I can just… punch him and run.
Right.
“What do you feel?” He hovers over me.
The bastard is still fully dressed, but I don’t think this is about sex. As much as he might be trying to steer my mind in that direction. It’s fucking subterfuge.
But for what?
“Skylar,” he prods.
He’s not even looking at my lower half. His gaze stays fixed on my face.
“Uncomfortable,” I mutter. “Stressed out.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m pretty sure you’re a psychopath.”
He chuckles. “Because your wrists are bound? Because you’re naked?”
“Nearly naked,” I correct.
“Ah, yes.” He grabs the bottom of my tank top and rips it off.
My mouth drops open.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he says lightly.
I try to kick him again. “Asshole. You haven’t seen me naked.”
He contemplates me for a moment, then hops off the bed. He walks right out of the room, leaving me to squirm on my own for a good thirty seconds. When he reappears, he holds something else: a photo.
Everything in me locks up as he climbs over me, straddling my stomach.
“Have you seen this girl?” he asks me, holding it out for me.
Me, age… twelve? Or eleven? Sandwiched between Liam and Jake, their parents behind us. I stare hard at the image.
This is the most bizarre scenario I’ve ever found myself in. Naked, tied, with a photograph of our childhood being shoved in my face.
“I thought for sure you’d try to stuff your dick in my mouth,” I retort. I tear my gaze away from the picture. “We were headed in that direction, if you know what I mean?”
He frowns. “The photo, Sky.”
I glance at it again, then away. It hurts to look at it for too long. I don’t remember it. That exact moment. There are fragments, sure. My mom introducing the new neighbors, the two boys. Being shy. Liam’s mom asked if mine would take a photo of them in front of the new house…
But why am I in it?
“You wouldn’t let go of my mom’s hand,” he says. He sets it aside and leans down, pressing his elbows into the mattress on either side of my head. “We moved in a month earlier and finally got settled. My parents were a wreck because of the, er…”
“Downgrade,” I say flatly. I feel along the edge of the knot at my wrists, trying to find a weakness. “You lived in Rose Hill before that. Of course a little house in the middle of nowhere was a disappointment.”
One corner of his lips lifts briefly. “You and your mom came over to introduce yourselves, remember?”
“I do.”
“You were happy.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re implying what, exactly? That this photo you have is the last documentation of my happiness? Newsflash, Liam, trauma messes with you. Complex PTSD—that’s what the doctors diagnosed me with. Do you know how long it took me to work up the nerve to research what that meant? Most of the time it’s caused from prolonged childhood trauma. Prolonged. So why the fuck do you want to make me relive it?”
I finally loosen the knot enough to slip my arms free. As soon as I do… I freak out. It’s not intentional. But the relief of having my arms back seems to elevate my panic at what I just went through.
I shove Liam off me, using some near-forgotten self-defense move from a class Mom made me take. He rolls to the side and drops off the edge with a surprised grunt. I fly off the bed and sprint to my new room, slamming the door behind me. I lock it and back away, half expecting it to rattle with his rage.
It doesn’t, though.
Only silence comes through.
I slowly go to my dresser and find new clothes. Once I’m dressed, I lean against the wall and slide down it, curling into myself.
Thirteen. Happy. Smushed between Jake and Liam.
I glance around for my phone, and my heart thumps harder when I don’t see it. I haven’t seen it since Colt drugged me.
The more I sit in silence, the angrier I get.
How dare he… manhandle me like that? Not even Colt—I almost expect that from him—but Liam? He should’ve known.
Everyone makes mistakes, Dr. Penn often said.
But Liam is just plain confusing.
With that in mind, and fueled by a decent amount of fury, I storm out.
He’s in his room, sitting on the bed. His head is bowed, and he stares at the picture in his hands. My clothes are still on the floor, the loose tie on his headboard.
I clear my throat.
He shoots up and takes a step toward me. “Sky—”
I hold up my hand. “Do you hate me, Liam? Is that it? I just… You’re hot and cold, and it’s making my head spin. You kiss me, then you try to terrify me.” I show him my wrists. “What’s the point of stripping me and tying my wrists when Colt just did nearly the same thing? All you were missing was the Klonopin.”
His eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to respond.
But I’m not done. “I’ve been convinced you loathe me. Even before the stupid fucking video—which wasn’t even my fault, by the way—you kept people away from me. You kept boys away from me, intimidated almost everyone.” Against my will, tears burn in my eyes. A lump forms in my throat. “But you? You don’t talk to me. You don’t… claim me, or whatever sort of possessive shit you’re trying to pull now. It’s too late. I don’t need a Mitchel Norton to realize guys are assholes, because you’ve done that all on your own. My entire fucking life.”
He takes another step forward. One measured step.
I inhale sharply. “I won’t let you treat me like garbage.”
“What did you mean?” He tilts his head. “That the video wasn’t your fault?”
My attention sweeps around his room, then back to him. He’s familiar and a stranger rolled into one. A savior and a cruel bully. The boy I had the biggest crush on, someone I could rely on with absolute sureness, and the biggest letdown. A mystery.
“Whitney told me she posted it from my account. I was drunk—I don’t remember.”
His gaze softens, and he comes closer.
I don’t know why I let him, but I do.
“She put us through hell.”
I tip my head up. “You believe me? Just like that?”
He cups the side of my face, running his thumb over my lower lip. “I wouldn’t have if you told me before today. But now… yes, I can see how she’d do that to you.”
Unbearable loneliness creeps in.
My emotions are on a pendulum swing.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand. It’s that or let loose the sob. “There’s just too much.”
He sweeps me to his chest. “I’m sorry, Sky. God, I’m so fucking sorry.”
I sniffle, curling my fingers into a fist in his shirt.
His lips touch the top of my head. “I just… I thought you should remember, but this was the wrong way to do it. We’ve had to keep it bottled up…”
Wait. What?
“You had to keep what bottled up?”
He pulls back, hands on my shoulder, to look at me. “Your parents were happy you forgot. Not at first, of course, but… once the nightmares stopped.”
; I nod slowly. I don’t remember the nightmares, but I can imagine being relieved to have them end.
“We couldn’t talk about it,” he continues. “So… it just slipped away. And so did you.”
It’s been years since I thought about that fall, and now it’s been living in the forefront of my mind for weeks.
Something clicks in my brain: it’s time I faced my past. “What happened to me, Liam?”
27
Liam
I open my mouth to answer her, but no words come out. It takes me a solid minute to actually think of the right thing to say, and… it’s a partial lie. “The truth is, I don’t know.”
I follow her back out into the living room, and we sit on the couch. Her hand wanders up to her neck, and she seems to pick at one spot without realizing.
“Do you have my phone?” Her gaze flies around the living room.
I’ve put her on edge.
Guilt balls in my chest. “I won’t hurt you,” I say in a low voice. “And, yes. I think I put your phone on the kitchen island.”
I hop up and retrieve it, getting her a drink while I’m at it. I pour one for myself, too. Alcohol probably isn’t the best way to cope, but if it settles her nerves? I’m for it.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
“The trauma I can’t remember, or tonight?”
“Either.”
She hesitates, searching for something in her cup—maybe courage. Then she blurts out, “I’m a virgin. At least, I think I am.”
I watch her. “You think you are?”
Do not get upset.
“How would I know? Maybe something happened to me—I could’ve been raped. I never asked.”
The cup in my hand suddenly cracks. I cringe and slowly set it on the table, flexing my hand. It didn’t shatter, but there’s a single long line running up the side of the glass.
She manages a smile. “Is this upsetting?”
I desperately want to touch her, but I hold back. “Yes. I don’t know what happened while you were—”
She leans in. “While I was what?”
Do I want to do this?
Her mother and I talked about bringing back Sky’s memories—or at least giving her the bare minimum of what happened to her.
The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them. “While you were gone.”
She stands slowly, her brows drawing together. Almost like a zombie, she goes into her room and shuts the door.
Shit.
28
Sky
While you were gone.
I thought it might unlock some sort of memory, but those boxes in the back of my mind stay shut and silent. No rattles, no horrible nightmares… nothing like I would’ve expected.
I don’t even dream of Colt’s leering face or my wrists bound.
Instead, my dreams are filled with long-forgotten moments.
My parents’ argument chased me out of the house. Mrs. Morrison welcomed me, in through the back door. She gave me a bowl of cereal and helped straighten my uniform shirt. She turned back toward the sink, and Liam thundered down the stairs.
He gripped the front of my shirt and kissed me soundly.
That didn’t happen.
I wake up to my heart pounding, my fingers on my lips, and a curling heat in my core.
I roll over and try to ignore it. My room is still dark, faintly illuminated by the city outside the window and the glow of the clock on my nightstand.
Five o’clock in the morning.
In years past, I would wake up around this time and go for a run. Haven’t done that in a while. I consider it now, if only to expend some of my restless energy. I could clean. Or put away the rest of my few possessions.
I flip onto my back and stretch out, squeezing my eyes shut… until my hand hits something warm. And fleshy. I squint in the darkness until I make out the shape of a body, and I suppress my groan.
Of course Liam is asleep next to me.
Of course I couldn’t have a room to myself for one freaking night. But this is taking it too far. A girl’s got to stand up for herself… and apparently keep standing up.
I push at his shoulder. “Liam,” I whisper. “Wake up.”
“I’m up,” he grunts. “What?”
“Why are you in my room?”
He twists onto his side and rises on one arm, glancing around. A slow smile creeps across his face. “This would appear to be my room, angel. Have you always sleepwalked, or is this a new thing?”
I narrow my eyes, then pay closer attention to the room. There are no plants by the window, and the bed… well, it’s definitely not mine.
My face heats up. “Well, now. I guess I’ll be going.”
Only one foot touches the floor before Liam grabs my arm. “You can stay… if you’re comfortable.”
I twist back toward him. “And if I’m uncomfortable?”
He smirks. “Then I’d say you’re lying to yourself.”
I flop back, narrowly avoiding hitting him.
“So, what?” I ask. “Do you think I came in here while sleeping because…”
“I’m the safe bet. I may not look it, and I definitely don’t act like it.” He lifts a piece of my hair. He’s done it before, rolled it between his fingers, tugged on it.
I can’t tell if he likes the color or is wondering when the blonde will come back.
“I’m going to protect you,” he says softly. “And it isn’t because the money your mom is giving me—although, I’m not going to lie, it’s a definite perk. And it beats fighting.”
“Please.” I sigh. “You enjoyed fighting before I ruined it.”
“Whitney, you mean,” he corrects.
We’re silent for a few minutes. Then I say, “I thought you telling me more about what I couldn’t remember would unlock stuff.”
“It didn’t?”
“No, all I dreamt about was going to your house when my parents were arguing. Your mom gave me cereal, and you…” I clamp my lips shut. Damn, I almost told him the worst part of my dream.
“What did I do?” He grins. “If it was anything other than ignore you, you have to tell me.”
“You kissed me when your mom’s back was turned.” Oh god, I can’t believe I just admitted that.
He rises again, leaning over me. “Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
I bite my lip. “I don’t know.”
“Soft or hard? Did I use tongue? Was dream-me a good kisser?”
“I guess.” I snicker. “It was a dream. You could’ve had a frog tongue and it might’ve seemed normal.”
He gasps. “I will prove you wrong. If I had a frog tongue, you’d certainly know. Let’s just cement the idea of my kisses in your head. You know, for the future…”
He ducks down and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. I hold still as he places baby kisses all around my mouth, down my throat. He stops and hovers over one spot. “You scratch here. Why?”
I shiver. “Detective Masters told me they found a sedative in Amber’s blood, and… I don’t know. I just picture someone coming up behind her and sticking a needle in her neck.”
“That’s specific.”
I shrug. “We should get up.”
“Or kiss some more.”
I shake my head and climb out of bed, moving faster than him this time. “With morning breath? No thanks.”
His chuckle chases me out of his room.
I focus on brushing my teeth.
“Hello?”
Liam steps into the bathroom, holding my phone out.
“Yeah, she’s right here. Hold on.” He mutes it and says, “Whitney’s mom?”
Huh. “Weird.” I take the phone and unmute it. “Mrs. Travers?”
“Ah, Skylar. I’m sorry for calling you so early, but I was hoping you were with Whitney.”
I squint. “Why would I be with Whitney?”
“She was headed into the city for a Halloween party.�
�� Mrs. Travers pauses. “She said you would probably be with them. Taryn and Jeff, and someone else…”
“Willa.” I clear my throat. “I was with Taryn, but I didn’t see Whitney. I didn’t know she was supposed to be there.”
“Okay, thank you.”
It sounds like I’m about to lose her, so I blurt out, “Wait. Is she okay?”
“She’s not answering her phone,” Whitney’s mother says carefully. “It’s early, though. She could be sleeping. I’m just… being overly cautious.”
I meet Liam’s gaze. “Okay. Right. I hope you hear from her soon.”
We hang up, and the phone slips through my fingers. She’s gone—I can feel it in my bones. Maybe not dead, but taken.
My knees buckle.
He catches my waist and lowers me to the floor, sinking with me.
“Breathe, angel,” he says. “You’re assuming the worst.”
I meet his stare. “I am assuming the worst because this is a pattern. How long will they wait to report her missing?”
“Legally, I think twenty-four hours, but they’re smart. I have a feeling they’re going to talk to the media long before that.”
“Right. Yeah, that’s good.”
My phone chimes with an email alert.
“Oh, shit.”
Seems like the school is moving faster than the Travers family: they’ve canceled classes for the rest of the week.
Liam reads it over my shoulder, then quickly kisses my cheek. “This is okay,” he says to me. “We’ll go home for the week. Clear our heads, get out of Boston.”
“Do you have a car hiding somewhere?”
He rolls his eyes. “No, Jake has my old one. But we can take Theo’s.”
It seems to be settled, then. Liam and I pack small bags in silence. I call Mom and let her know I’ll be visiting, giving Dad a cursory text, too. He doesn’t live in Stone Ridge anymore, but it would be nice to see him before Thanksgiving.
Mom is happy, then suspicious. After all, I had put up a big stink about not going home. Here I am, willingly traveling back?
I promise to explain everything in person, then hang up.
Next, I text Taryn, asking if Whitney was supposed to join us last night. Her caller ID lights up my phone a second later.