Mia distractedly runs her index finger along the rim of her glass. “Not much. I mean, he did ask how you’re doing.”
The racket exiting my nose and mouth is a cross between a snort and a cough. “Like he actually gives a shit.”
“Well, he wouldn’t inquire if he didn’t,” Mia says.
I narrow my eyes. “Are you actually defending him?” There goes my perfect buzz. “See, this is why I didn’t want you to bring him up in our conversations. The douchebag doesn’t deserve to know how I’m doing, or what I’m feeling, or how my day has been. You know why? Because it’s none of his damn business.” I forcefully set my cup down on Mia’s nightstand, vodka splashing back and forth against its frame. Standing up too hastily causes my vision to smudge, like the acrylic paints Mia uses on her morbid canvases. “I have to get going. My mom ordered me to clean the house before they return later tonight.”
Mia bolts upright. “Ummm…maybe you should wait until your buzz wears off.”
“Thanks to you, it’s already gone,” I snip as I head for the stairs.
“We’re drunk and you can’t—”
“I’m fine,” I butt in, but if my barely being able to descend the stairs is any indication, I’m screwed in the driving department.
“Whatever. If something happens, I won’t feel sorry for you,” Mia retorts.
“How many times have I driven like this before? I know these roads like the back of my hand. I’ll text you later or something.”
As I open the front door, Mia says, “Swear?”
“Yep.”
She stands in the entryway, watching me, like I can’t even walk to my car without a chaperone. I mean, it’s a chore, but damn…I don’t want to hear about Gabe anymore. Too much of a damper. And if that means canceling my Friday-night plans with Mia, then so be it.
Wintry air pinches my cheeks and nose, and I instinctively try to bury myself further in my jacket. The driver’s side door sticks when I try to open it, finally cracking as I pull.
“Stupid car,” I mutter.
I have to wait a couple oncht a couf minutes for the windshield to defrost—enough that I can see the road. When there’s finally a circle large enough to glimpse through, I back out of the driveway. My head is alive with electrical energy. Everything comes in and out of focus. I can’t concentrate on simply one thing, which is driving at the moment.
Making it to the end of the street is easy, but distorted cars bypass me in a haze when I merge onto the main road. I can’t tell if they’re real or not. I think they are.
My vision is waning.
One car.
Two.
Three.
Horns blow. My eardrums ring. Then the other vehicles disappear, and I’m alone on an empty stretch of highway. Only a few blocks away now. On this road, there are no shoulders to pull off of. The yellow lines dotting the black tar separate into two. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles become pale.
“Just get home. Just get home,” I chant.
Death’s Cliff hugs both sides of the overpass, which means I’m almost there. But it’s cackling at me, sucking my body toward its gaping mouth.
I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again, only to stomp my brakes. Tires squeal; I smell their rancid odor. My airbag deploys with a loud bang and punches my face.
Horrifying screams rip through the air, then fade away.
My stomach climbs into my throat as my car and I plummet over the edge of Death’s Cliff. The ravine opens, preparing to swallow me whole. Wide, wide, wider. And the millisecond before impact, my body relaxes, accepting its fate.
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chapter two • laney
I stride forward, making sure my butt sticks out, my back is arched, and my nose is just far enough in the air that I don’t look absolutely ridiculous.
“Show that tush more, darling. Use what little curves you’ve gained wisely,” Oliver sasses, clapping his hands together a couple of times.
I suspect he’s talking about the three pounds I’ve packed on in the past two weeks. All the pageant nonsense has gotten to my head. I’ve tried eating salads and cottage cheese for basic meals, but a lot of good that’s done me. I want pizza, or a burger. Something so greasy, it’ll be all over my face.
But I really want to be the next Miss Briarhaven, which means I have to listen to Oliver. He knows what he’s doing, and my parents don’t pay two thousand dollars a month for me to sit on my…tush. “I’m trying,” I retort.
“Trying will not win you that crown, sweetheart. From the beginning,” he says, motioning for me to return to the end of the hallway. He’s already ordered me do the walk a thousand times this morning.
I attempt my best pageant pose, then begin. Oliver surveys me from head to toe, his eyes assessing every tiny detail. If I get it wrong this time, I’ll have a do-over for sure. I stop when I’m, like, three feet away from him, slightly lean into my left hip, and smile so big my cheeks feel like they’re cramping.
Oliver makes a sound in the back of his throat and rocks his head from side to side. “Better, but not fabulous. We need more oomph,” he says, using his hands to talk.
My shoulders drop. Not again…
He sighs, like I’m wasting his precious time, and waves me off. “Take a break.”
I should be, I don’t know, happy about being in Oliver’s presence. After all, he’s a master at looking fabulous and building self-confidence. So, why do I feel crappy? I mean, the atmosphere of this place should make any girl believe she’s worth a thousand crowns, and then some.
Oliver’s boutique is at the edge of Briarhaven and is too upscale for this area of town. As he says, his office is a diamond in the rough. Funky art from New York hangs on his multi-colored walls, there’s a flamingo fountain in the courtyard out front, and the chairs in the waiting area remind me of oversized eggshells. One might think this place would be painted neutral colors, but Oliver’s too flamboyant for that. He loves experimenting with every color on the color spectrum, and every six months he re-paints the entire building, inside and out.
Basically, he’s the Liberace of pageants.
Which is why I can’t understand how the temperature of this place is always sweltering, no matter what time of year; I figure if Oliver has the money to re-paint this place, he has the money for central heat and air. I mean, I know it’s, like, twenty degrees out, but it doesn’t mean I should practice in hell.
I pull my blonde curls into a ponytail. The back of my neck is sprinkled with sweat beads from the taxing past hour, and I can only hope Oliver doesn’t force me to wear my pageant dress, which will only make things worse. Seriously, I’m about to streak naked through the pswehrough arking lot, and I don’t care who sees me.
Paige, Oliver’s assistant, offers me a fresh cup of cappuccino.
“It’s a little hot in here to be drinking capp, don’t you think?” I ask, fanning myself. But the sweet smell is flirting with my nostrils.
Before I can lift the cup to my mouth, Oliver warns, “Ah, ah, ah. Don’t you dare. Not until we’re finished, darling.”
“But why?” I whine, even stomp my foot a little. Maybe it’ll work.
Oliver gives me the look, the one that says it’s a bad idea to question him. I set the mug on the counter, and Paige gives me a sympathetic smile.
“Listen, honey, your parents pay for this, and you’re on my time.” His chic, black glasses slide to the tip of his nose, and he pushes them back up to his bridge. “So, skooch.”
I start all over again, hoping this will be the last time I prance down the hallway. My brain is exhausted, more than it should be. Critical thinking is what school and work are for. Except I’m not in school right now, and this shouldn’t be work. It should be a piece of cake.
“Again,” Oliver says through clenched teeth when I finish my walk. He doesn’t look at me, just rubs his forehead and closes his eyes, like he’s in the middl
e of a deep thought. What’s there to think about? I’ve done this for years, and I’ve always either placed or won, so the odds are totally in my favor. He shouldn’t be so worried.
But after the next strut, and the next, Oliver is obviously unhappy with me in general. Does he have another client coming in after my appointment? Maybe he’s thinking about her instead. I don’t know…this is strange. He’s never this distant. It’s like the sight of me is nauseating.
Taking deep breaths, I become zen enough to ask, “Have I done something to offend you?”
Oliver waves me off. “I just expected more from you by now.”
Oh, my God. Whatever.
I’ve never heard so many huffs, puffs, and snorts leave anyone’s facial outlets as I have with him today. He really does hate me, and I honestly don’t know what’s so different during this meeting than any other time I’ve been here. Maybe my heart isn’t into pageants anymore and it’s showing. Nearly gasping aloud, I realize I can’t think like that. I’m going to win this. My parents, friends, and boyfriend are like my personal cheerleaders. They’re more than supportive.
Okay, I need to stop; otherwise, an acceptance speech is fast approaching.
We rehea mye="+0">rse my walk a few more times before he’s finished with me. Immediately, Oliver disappears into his office, closing the door behind him. I turn toward Paige. She gives me a kind smile and makes me a new cappuccino.
“Thanks,” I tell her, gladly taking the cup from her grasp. I sip, savoring the sweet flavor. White foam sticks to the tip of my nose, and I wipe it off with my finger.
“So, when’s the pageant?” Paige asks.
I set the mug down on the counter. “Next week. But between you and me, I’m ready to get it over with so I can eat again. I’m tired of starving myself.” As if I need a reminder, my stomach begins communicating in an alien language.
“Oliver’s the best around here, you know. I’m sure you’ll win.” She gives me an overly-excited grin that tells me she hasn’t been around here long enough to know that I always win one way or another.
“Tell Oliver I’ll see him in a couple of days.” I’m so done with him, and this place. And Paige kissing my ass every chance she gets. I’m concerned that Oliver will tell my parents about my horrible practice session. And if he does, will they cancel my pageant life?
Striding toward the dressing room, I nab my purse and dress before leaving. I don’t know why I’m so irritated. Oliver has that effect on me. A lot. Plus, I have to sit in a freezing car, which won’t be so bad since my body temperature rivals that of Earth’s core, but it’ll suck once I cool off. Since my vehicle has been parked in the sun most of the morning, the windows won’t be covered in ice, at least.
A pop melody carols in my purse just as I’m exiting. Paige waves at me, but my hands are occupied, so I pretend like I didn’t see her. I check the screen. It’s Chase, of course.
“Hello?”
“Hey, baby,” he says. “You out of practice yet?”
“Yes! Finally. Oliver was being an extreme royal pain today.”
Chase chuckles on the other end. “You always say that.”
“Yeah, but today was terrible. He made me walk so many times that I never want to do it again. Plus, I’m so hungry. I just want to tear into a cheeseburger and fries.”
“You know I’ll buy you as many as you want.”
“No! I can’t eat fatty foods until the pageant is over. Jeez, Chase. Don’t tempt me.”
“One more week, babe.”
“Ugh. It feels like a lifetime.” After locating my keys, I get out of the freezing cold and take off my heels, relaxing for just a minute. “Ahhhh. This feels good.”
“What?”
I almost forget I’m still on the phone. I have got to attend yoga this week and clear my mind; there’s too much stuff jiggling around up there. “Sitting down. I’ve been in pumps all afternoon.”
“Oh. Well, I was calling to see if you wanted to stay over tonight. My dad and Robin are leaving to visit some friends over the weekend, and I’ll be home alone in less than fifteen minutes.”
“Yeah?” I can’t believe he’s even suggesting we spend time together. Two months ago, I griped about how we didn’t need to publicly display our affection in the hallways at school. Chase argued that all of our friends did it, so why couldn’t we? He doesn’t get that we’re not them, apparently. It’s caused a rift in our relationship, and we’re trying to fix it.
“Yeah, c’mon,” he says.
“Okay, I’ll see ya soon.”
“Love you, baby.”
“Love you, too,” I say as I hit the “end” button. I can’t sit here forever—even though it sounds like a good idea—so I start the engine, pull out of the parking lot, and merge onto one of the main roads in town.
What I really want to do is sleep—and eat and sleep again—but I can’t bail on Chase. He’s really good to me, even if we’ve had our differences. What couple hasn’t, though? He’s the only person keeping me sane through this crazy pageant mess.
I toss my cell phone in my purse and dig around for some lip gloss. Hopefully, I remembered to bring deodorant. I don’t want Chase catching a whiff of B.O. where I worked up a sweat. Checking the side and rearview mirrors on my car to make sure no one is behind me, I pull down my visor. With one hand on the wheel, and clutching the lip gloss tube, I pull out the wand. Too easy.
But when I redirect my eyes toward the road, I realize I’m in the opposite lane of traffic—and there’s an oncoming car.
“Shit!” I swerve to miss, but I’m going too fast. Screeeeech, the tires squeal. I scream as my car collides with the other. The windshield shatters. I fishtail and ohmygodmyparentsaregoingtokillme.
Flipping. Screaming. My stomach is in my throat.
It’s Death’s Cliff. Oh, no. I’m going to faint. Oh, please let me faint before I die.
Please, please, please let me—
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chapter three • flora
As I wake, I’m surprised that I’m not in any pain whatsoever. That’s really freaking weird. I did careen off the side of Death’s Cliff, didn’t I? Or was I just extremely shitfaced and my mind made it all up?
My door hangs open, and I slide out, remembering I wasn’t alone in this accident. The horrific screams of another victim resurface, and I can’t help but wonder if they’re okay, or if they’re dead. God, I don’t think I can live with myself if someone dies as a result of my stupidity. I should’ve listened to Mia, even if her attempt at stopping me from driving home was pretty weak. I could’ve easily told her to shut up about Gabe, that I was tired of our conversations ending with his name, but the fact remains that I didn’t do a damn thing, except act irrationally.
I stumble through the thick brush at my feet. Either I have a concussion and my vision is hazy, or there really is no sunlight down here and everything is darkened, blurred. The ground beneath my shoes molds to me; each step I take is like walking on memory foam.
“Hello?” I cry out, my voice croaky. “Are you okay?”
Silence welcomes me. This really does nothing for my nerves. Thoughts of death and homicide scroll through my head, like a ticker at the bottom of a news channel. I, Flora Mackey, might be a certified killer, a bona fide slayer of an innocent human being.
The longer I’m down here, the more my senses slowly fall into place. There are no sounds, not even from the cars above. The rocky cliffside is a sheer drop, and there aren’t any pieces jutting out. But the weirdest part? The fog snaking around my ankles. It’s everywhere, and as far as my eyes can see. There are trees nearby, and last I remember, the sun was out and the air was freezing, yet I can’t see anything in the sky, and I’m not cold. No birds chirp in the trees, no breeze rustles plants. It’s just so…dead.
Something’s not right about this. I can’t be alive. Nobody can fall over Death’s Cliff and make it. Nobody has ever mad
e it. That’s how Death’s Cliff got its name.
Taking a quick glimpse at my surroundings, there is one important factor I haven’t considered: I’m awake in a world without color.
My legs propel me forward without any idea of where I might be headed. I definitely can’t go up, as the drop off Death’s Cliff isn’t climbable, but there has to be a way around, somewhere leading to the safety of the highway. So, I traipse in the opposite direction of where my car rests. Maybe there’s an easier way to reach the road, or maybe I’m already dead. I don’t really know what’s going on at the moment, but my gut is telling me to run like hell, to get help.
“Hello?” I call out again. “Can anyone hear me?” My words fall into nothingness, as if this place has swallowed them whole. “Hello?” I yell a little louder this time. “Someone? I need help!”
There still aren’t any cars on the highway. No noises whatsoever, in fact. Am I deadn>
My legs feel like they’re pressing against an invisible force with each new step I take, like someone or something is attempting to stop me from going any farther. The harder I push myself to press on, the harder it is for me to function. It’s like I’ve had one intense workout for several hours, and then I can’t walk. I can barely move.
But the second I turn and walk the other way, my physical hindrance ends. Like a force was trying to thwart me from rambling that way. My legs and body no longer feel weighed down, and my mind doesn’t feel like a dark cloud hangs over it.
By the time I reach the scene of my wrecked car, I’m completely exhausted.
“Hello?” says a weak voice, shredding through the stillness. It sounds like this girl is at the back of a cave.
I jump. Is she the other person who was in the collision? If she is, thank God she’s okay. Alive, at least.
Almost Dead (Dead, #1) Page 2