by Katie May
“What?” She’s not making a lick of sense. I half wonder if she hit her head or something at cheerleading practice. Maybe she has a fever…?
“I just don’t understand you!” She throws her hands up in the air as she begins to pace. In the hallway, a few curious underclassmen stop to watch our exchange, but I narrow my eyes at them until they scurry along. I have no doubt that rumors of our fight will reach the rest of the school by the time second period begins.
“What don’t you understand?” I try to keep the bite out of my voice, but it’s fucking hard. I don’t like being yelled at, especially when I don’t know the reasoning behind it. Did I do something to piss her off?
“Those guys!” She jabs a finger into my chest, red splotches erupting on her cheeks with each word she says. “Karsyn, Cassian, Lucas, and Elias. They bullied you, Peony. They made you want to fucking die! How can you just sit there and chat with them like best friends? How can you go on a date with one of them? How can you fucking forgive them?!”
The fight drains out of me instantly, the anger easing. I feel hollow and exhausted, and somehow, that’s even worse. She didn’t just reach into my chest and grab my heart. She grabbed all of my organs, leaving me as nothing but an empty shell.
Mariabella sags too. Now that she’s said all that she wanted to say, her shoulders deflate like a balloon full of helium being popped. She squeezes her eyelids shut tightly, wrinkles forming on her face.
“I didn’t mean it…”
“You did,” I whisper. “You did…and I understand.” There’s a lump in my throat, one that I desperately try to swallow around. Still, it feels as if it’s clogging my airways, making something as simple as breathing impossible. “I know what it looks like—”
“It looks like you ditched me for Cassian this morning and then went on a date with Lucas after the football game. A date that you lied about, by the way,” she snaps, some of her original ire returning. “I broke up with Karsyn for you! Because in my mind, what he did to you was unforgivable. I just don’t understand how you can forgive them!”
“I don’t,” I say firmly, grabbing her hand and squeezing it in both of mine. “I want them to pay for the things they did to me. I’m so fucking furious, and not just at them, but at myself. I feel weak, Mariabella. Every time I smile at them. Every time I laugh at their shitty jokes. Every time a sliver of me forgives them. Because I know I shouldn’t. I know the things that they put me through are inexcusable. These guys are twisted, but a part of me thinks that the answer to my pain is more darkness. More of them. It’s fucked up, I know. But let me make one thing clear—I’ll never forgive them for what they did to me. I hate them.”
But do you? Do you really? an annoyingly chipper voice contradicts in my head. I can just picture mental me smiling smugly. Is that really hate you feel for them? You can see that they changed and maybe even care for you now. How many apologies do you need, you selfish bitch?
An angel and a demon sit on my shoulders, but both of them tell me the exact same thing—enact revenge on the Devils and then get the fuck out of there.
“I shouldn’t have to be pissed on your behalf.” Mariabella’s voice is nearly inaudible, the barest breath of sound. “But I am, and it makes me furious that you forgave them so easily.”
“I haven’t forgiven them!” I snap back. “And I didn’t ask for you to do anything on my behalf! They bullied me, not you. Get off your high horse, Mari. If you don’t like the way I handle things, then stay the fuck away.”
I regret the words as soon as I say them. I wish I could scoop them back in my mouth and swallow them down, never letting them see the light of day again. That feeling only intensifies when Mariabella blanches, features twisting with hurt.
“If that’s what you want,” she replies stiffly.
“No, Mariabella—”
But she’s already turned on her heel and stormed away. My blood simmers in my veins as I stare at her retreating back, guilt and agony tangoing in my stomach. I think…
I think I may have lost my only friend in this fucked-up place.
And I know that it’s my fault.
Chapter 33
I still haven’t mended things with Mariabella by the times lunch rolls around. I search our usual table eagerly, only to see it empty. Normally, Mariabella would’ve already been sitting and waiting for me, a wide, beatific smile on her elfin face. I scan the room with a heavy heart—a heart that feels to be growing in a rapidly shrinking vise—only to find her sitting across the cafeteria with the rest of her cheerleading friends. A thousand teeth are ripping me apart from the inside out, and I bite down on my lip to quell the urge to cry.
Not now. Not today.
With my chin held high, I move to my seat and remove my lunch bag from my backpack. This morning, Polo left out a sandwich, apple, and cup of pudding with my name on it, but I stubbornly threw the items away and grabbed cold pizza from the fridge instead. I’m being stubborn just for the sake of being stubborn, but I don’t care. He and his brothers hurt me. A lot. Maybe it’s petty, maybe I should get over it, but I’m too damn angry to care. They may not have killed anyone, but how many did they hurt? How many lives did they destroy? None? A few? A dozen?
How many fathers did they take from little girls?
Rationally, I know that the answer is zero. I know that they never killed anyone. I know that, I do, but try using logic when your heart is in shreds.
I will myself not to cry as I pick at the pepperonis on my pizza, feeling more lonely than I can ever remember feeling. That loneliness leaves a distinct taste on my tongue. Bitter, almost, leaving me hollow.
You’ll talk to Mariabella after school. She can’t stay mad at you forever. All you need to do is apologize.
The erratic beating of my heart gradually slows from a gallop to a trot. I force my fingers to uncurl as I take a deep breath.
You can do this.
A large body sliding into the seat opposite me interrupts my internal tangent. I glance up from my pizza, expecting Emmett, only to see Karsyn sitting across from me in his usual spot. He doesn’t look up as he digs into the food on his tray—a gray sludge-like clump of meat, a browning banana, and a carton of chocolate milk. I haven’t spoken to him since the night at that party, when he drunkenly confessed that he used to be in love with me. And since he hasn’t brought it up, I take it to mean that he either doesn’t care about our encounter…or he doesn’t remember it. Still, my heart skips a beat all the same, shooting phantom fireworks through my bloodstream at the memory.
“Mariabella isn’t here,” I say tersely, burning holes into his forehead.
“I know,” he replies as he takes a huge bite of the gray meat. His face shifts and contorts, a scowl marring his features at the repulsive taste.
Silence descends, but I don’t bother with the pretense of eating.
“I was at the game,” I begin conversationally, and when his eyes shadow, pain twisting his features, I don’t feel the satisfaction I thought I would. My conversation with Mariabella plays on a continuous loop in my head. It feels as if I’m standing in a barren field with the wind whipping at me from both directions, and I know that any second now, one particularly strong gust will blow me away.
“Yeah,” he murmurs gruffly as he unpeels his banana and shoves it in his mouth. He immediately makes a face and spits it into his napkin. “Don’t think I’m going to be playing for State next year.”
I should be happy about that, right? My plans have finally come to fruition, after months and months of planning and scheming.
But instead of satisfaction, I feel hollow.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I’m surprised when those words are actually sincere.
Karsyn shrugs his broad shoulders in an “it is what it is” type of motion. “I don’t think my grades would’ve been good enough anyway.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
Instead of answering with words, Karsyn opens up his back
pack, grabs a stapled packet, and places it on the table so I can see. On the very top of the front page is a glaringly large red F. My curiosity piqued, I read through the questions and see that it’s for U.S. History. Since I’m taking AP U.S. History, I don’t have this class with him, but I can already see the topics he struggles the most with. He nailed all of the multiple-choice questions, but the second the test demanded short answers and essays, he bombed. Spectacularly.
“Martin Luther King Jr. is bomb AF, but is that really appropriate for the essay?” I question, and he blows out a raspberry.
“Words are hard,” he murmurs.
I want to bring up a theory I’ve had for a while, since middle school, but I don’t dare overstep. I’ve caused enough discord for one day, thank you very much. But if I’m correct, it would explain why he struggles so much in his English classes, as well as all of his written exams.
“You talking about my cock again?” Cassian slides into the empty seat beside Karsyn, flashing him a belligerent smile before turning towards me. “Naughty, naughty, baby. You know I don’t like getting frisky at school.”
“Which one is your baby here?” I gesture between myself and Karsyn.
“We all know the answer to that.” Cassian leans forward with a conspiratorial grin. “Karsyn prefers the name honey cock.”
“I’m going to stab you and end your miserable existence,” Karsyn murmurs as he pulls out a textbook from his backpack and leans over it, attempting to finish up an assignment for the health portion of our gym class. Cassian grabs a grape and tosses it into his mouth as if everything is okay.
Are they…?
Are they planning something?
Isn’t Cassian furious with me?
I glance between the two men warily, feeling scared and cornered. And honestly? Confused. The last time I talked with Cassian, he screamed at the top of his lungs and stalked away like he couldn’t stand to be in my presence for more than two seconds. And Karsyn doesn’t even remember our last encounter.
So why are they sitting across from me at the table, looking buddy-buddy? And why do I actually want them here with me? Why do I want them to eradicate all of the loneliness plaguing my very soul?
It feels as if my chest is caving in under an intense avalanche of pressure. My head repeatedly volleys between the two men, as if any second, one of them will lunge forward and embed a knife in my throat.
That thought makes a wry grin twist up my lips. There’s nothing nice or even sincere about my smile. It’s cruel and cunning and coated in darkness.
Five years ago, I quite literally held a knife up to my throat with every intention of slashing my neck. The pain had grown to an unbearable level, and I just wanted it to end. Some might say I was a coward; others would argue that I was actually strong. I don’t know the answer to that moral dilemma.
All I know is that I wanted—no, needed—a way for my emotional pain to end. I wanted to feel the cool cut of the blade on my skin and watch as blood drizzled into the collar of my shirt. There was something so seductive and enticing about death. It lured me in, the call a siren’s sultry song, and I was the helpless sailor succumbing to it, despite knowing it would end me.
At least if I was no longer alive, the pain would stop.
“Baby girl.” Cassian’s low, rumbly voice, almost like thunder, shakes me out of my depressive thoughts, but it doesn’t diminish the rising anger percolating in my stomach like molten lava in a volcano. “Did you hear me?”
“Fuck you, Cassian!” I snap, rising from my seat. I grab my backpack and pizza, and without another word, storm from the cafeteria.
I don’t even know where exactly my anger is coming from right now. Mariabella? The triplets? The Devils themselves? It’s all suddenly too much, and the tension squeezing my ribs has me wincing in pain.
One of my rules for revenge was to not let my emotions get the better of me. I was supposed to be cold and detached, handing out vengeance like a college RA hands out condoms.
Now, pure emotion drives all of my interactions with the Devils. I’m no longer in the driver’s seat of my own mind. Instead, I’m forced into the trunk, where I’m kicking and crying and demanding release. My lungs burn with the scream I refuse to unleash.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Lucas rising from his table—surrounded by the rest of his preppy, popular friends—and hurrying towards me. Karsyn and Cassian are still behind me, talking in urgent tones too low for me to hear.
I don’t see Elias, and I only figure out why a moment later when I run smack dab into his hard chest.
“Peony.” He places his hands on my shoulders to steady me, but I flinch away. My fear sours each breath I take, until it feels like I’m inhaling poison. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” I slap his hands away and turn towards an empty hall, walking aimlessly with no explicit destination in mind. Of course, all four of them follow me, their footsteps pounding on the stark white tiles.
In direct juxtaposition to my earlier thoughts of wanting them near me, I now want them as far away as possible.
“What the fuck did you asshats do?” Elias whispers harshly from behind me.
“I just asked her if we could talk after school,” Cassian defends.
“Why would you do that?” Lucas demands, his voice reminding me eerily of a dog’s growl in the dead of night.
“Enough!” I spin on my heel, the tenuous control I have on my emotions snapping, the rubber band pulled too tight. “Just fucking stop! All of you!”
I’m panting, my chest heaving, as I stare at each of their almost wickedly beautiful faces.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper, feeling smaller than I can ever remember being reduced to. Smaller than I felt even back in middle school. “You guys need to stay away from me. I’m done. Fucking done. I’m going to go back to California.”
All four of them stare at me in growing horror. Even Lucas, who I’m pretty sure is a mannequin with how expressive he normally is.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Cassian demands. He turns towards the others, his scowl firmly in place. “Am I the only one hearing this crazy?”
“How can you guys look at me and act like nothing’s wrong? Like the past didn’t happen?” I demand, and dammit all, I can feel tears dripping down my cheeks. I feel like I’ve suffered for centuries in a never-ending pit of loneliness and despair. All I can see is darkness. That’s all I’ve ever seen, after all—darkness, the kind that seeps into your heart and soul, mangling them until they’re unrecognizable. Until you’re unrecognizable.
“Peony.” Elias takes a step closer, hands held up placatingly, but I step back until I’m flush against a locker.
“Why did you guys do it?” I sob. “Why me?”
They exchange unreadable looks before Karsyn sighs heavily, his eyes glossy with tears he won’t let fall.
“Because we’re assholes,” he states, as if that’s fucking enough. As if that explains years and years of torment and hatred. Being an asshole isn’t a justifiable excuse for being a bully.
Though I don’t think “bully” is a strong enough word.
Tormentors…
Abusers…
Assholes…
“Not fucking good enough.” I move to walk away, and I know this time, it’ll be for good. I’m not going to come back once I leave.
Lucas reaches forward, movement so quick his hand is almost a blur, and grasps my wrist.
“You’re right,” he confesses. “It’s not good enough. I’m sure we all have our own individual reasons.”
“Not. Good. Enough,” I hiss, yanking my hand free. The movement causes my sleeve to slide up marginally, giving Lucas his first ever view of my scars. I try to slide my sleeve back down inconspicuously, but I’m not fast enough.
With a gentleness belying the madness swirling in his blue eyes, he rolls up my sleeve, baring me to these men. I would’ve preferred standing before them naked to this. Anythi
ng but this.
It’s one of those moments when time stops. When all you can hear is your own erratic breathing and the pounding of your heart. When darkness encroaches the edge of your vision, and you don’t know if you want to pass out or throw up.
“Please. Please stop,” I whisper, but I don’t pull away. I know that if I truly wanted to, he would release me, but for some reason, I stay. My heart pounds furiously as the guys gather closer.
“We did this to you,” Karsyn whispers, the barest breath of sound. The tip of his pointer finger very softly brushes one of the largest raised scars—the one meant to end my life.
“How can you guys think that your actions don’t have consequences?” My voice trembles as more tears slide down my cheeks, landing on the corner of my lips.
“We didn’t know,” Cassian gasps, his entire body shaking. “We didn’t fucking know.”
“You didn’t know?! You guys relentlessly picked on a girl who was already beaten down by the world. What did you think would happen? I wanted to die. Don’t you see it? Don’t you understand? I wanted to fucking die! And I tried. I really did. If I would’ve just placed the knife a little more to the right…”
“Don’t say that!” Lucas snaps harshly, and unlike the others, tears don’t line his eyes. Not him. Instead, those blue orbs, oceans of unfathomable depths, are wide and manic, as if he’s half considering throwing me over his shoulder and never letting me leave his sight. He looks every inch the psychopath I always suspected him to be.
“It’s the truth!” I pull my hand free of his grip and allow my sleeve to slide back down, covering my marred skin from view. “You guys might not have been my only reasons for wanting to die—hell, you might not have even been my biggest—but it doesn’t change the fact that whenever I look at you, I see the boys who tormented me for years. That’ll never change.”
“Sorry is just a fucking word, and I know that in this case, it’s entirely inadequate,” Cassian whispers, his head dipped. Delicate tremors course through his body. “But we mean it. I mean it. How the fuck can we prove it to you?”