by E. M. Snow
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
This is the second most awful night of my life. The first was the night of the accident. The night of the fire that killed James. He shouldn’t have been there that night. He shouldn’t have gone running into the house because I wasn’t in there.
“Mal, wait…”
I trip over my own feet and stumble forward in shock at the voice hitting me from behind.
Slowly, I turn and meet Saint’s blue gaze. I can’t believe the balls on him. The fucking nerve to approach me now, after what he just did to me.
I don’t think. Instinct takes over completely as my feet swallow the distance between us and I bring my hand back.
The sound of the slap is like a thunderclap and everyone around us, everyone who’s leaving the assembly, goes silent. Saint’s head jerks to the side with the force of my hit, and he looks momentarily stunned.
“Let me—” he starts after several beats, but I slap him again, this time harder.
Fuck letting him do anything. Saint and I are done.
“If you come near me again, I’ll kill you. I will end you,” I scream, uncaring of the crowd gathering around us. “I mean that, Saint. I will kill you, so you and your psycho bitch just stay the fuck away from me until I—” The breath I draw in burns my lungs, but I manage to stand upright and finish, “until I leave.”
Before he can gather his wits and respond, I turn and storm away to my dorm.
He doesn’t follow.
By the time I get to my room, my phone is blowing up. Texts with pictures of my burned down house, photos of my hospital records, and nasty messages telling me I should die. A small, manic part of me is almost impressed with how quickly the students of Angelview not only found pictures of my destroyed home, but all my personal information as well. The only text that isn’t cruel comes from Loni, asking me to please open my door so she can check on me, but I’m too ashamed to answer her. Too embarrassed of the real me being exposed to someone who’s done nothing but defend me.
I throw my phone on my bed and begin to pace. My brain is running a million miles a minute, and I can’t latch onto a single rational thought. I’m overwhelmed, confused, and heartsick.
Why would Saint do this to me? Laurel, I completely understand, but him?
I thought we were past all this, but Liam was right about him all along. He found what made me bleed, then slit my throat to drain it from me.
It’s no use. I can’t think straight. I drop down onto my bed and put my head in my hands. There’s too much noise in my mind—so much fucking noise—and I can barely see straight.
I decide to go to my safe haven.
Maybe if I swim long enough, I’ll stop feeling so powerless and out of control. I push to my feet and grab a spare swimsuit, as my school one is wet and soaking in the locker room laundry. As I step out of my room, I look around to make sure the hallway is empty before I make my way through the building and back outside. I stick to the shadows as I head to the rec center, avoiding anyone I come upon, though thankfully it’s not a lot.
There are still remnants of the swim meet around the pool when I arrive. Banners are still hung to encourage and motivate the team. The trash has been picked up and the bleachers are clean at least. I don’t think anyone will disturb me here tonight. Putting my phone on silence, I lay it and my towel on a bench near the pool, then shed my t-shirt and sweatpants. I move to one of the starting blocks and dive into the water.
For a moment, I try to pretend it’s a few hours earlier. Before the assembly, when everything seemed to be going right for me after years of everything going wrong.
Before Dylan appeared, and shattered my world.
Before Saint ripped my heart out and broke my soul.
I push myself, swimming harder and faster despite my body being tired from the meet. I don’t care, though. I need to exhaust myself. Need to force myself into oblivion. As I cut through the water, I focus on my strokes and my breathing. My exercise soon turns into a mediation as I go back and forth, back and forth across the pool.
It’s only when I’m in danger of cramping up and drowning that I finally stop. Resting my arms on the side of the pool, I let my legs dangle in the water as I catch my breath.
I feel better, somewhat. Calmer, at least. My head’s a little clearer, though my heart is in agony.
I suppose I should’ve expected this. Try as I might, a part of me always knew I couldn’t run from the past forever. My secrets weren’t going to stay buried, no matter how deep I dug the hole.
For the first time in months, I let myself think back on that night. It had started easily enough. I’d been at home by myself, reading and trying desperately to get over the terrible nausea my pregnancy was causing me. Jenn had been out somewhere, likely getting high, but it was better when she wasn’t around. I wasn’t afraid to come out of my room when the rest of the house was empty of her and her fucked up friends.
I remember telling myself how it’d only be a little while before I was free of her. I was turning eighteen in a year, and the moment that happened, I was gone. In the meantime, though, I kept my head down and focused on school, avoiding Jenn and her shit as much as I could.
Sometimes, though, she made that impossible. Like with what she was doing in the basement. I knew what was happening down there, but I never tried to stop it because I had nowhere else to go.
My phone had rung. Jenn’s name flashed across the screen. For a second, I’d considered not answering it because no good could come from a phone call from my mother. I’d worried that she might be in trouble, however, so reluctantly, I’d answered her call. Her frantic tone that night haunts me to this day.
“Mallory! Fuck, are you at the house?” she’d asked hurriedly.
“Yeah,” I’d replied with a frown. “Why?”
“The cops are on their way!”
My blood had turned to ice. I wasn’t naïve enough to think I’d get out of a police raid scot-free, even though my mother’s drugs had nothing to do with me.
“What do I do?”
“Destroy the evidence,” she’d snapped. “I’m still an hour away, but you need to get rid of everything!”
“How?” The basement was full of shit. No way would I be able to get everything out on my own.
“I don’t know!” she’d cried. “Just fucking do it, you idiot! If they find that shit I’m going away. For good.”
She’d hung up after that, and in my panic, I’d set the house on fire. After collecting the few things that I wanted to keep that were precious to me, I’d poured kerosene all over the place. Then, I grabbed one of Jenn’s vodka bottles and stuffed the top with a dirty old rag, like I’d seen in some movie. Opening the basement door, I’d lit the rag and tossed the bottle down the stairs. Before it hit the concrete floor below, I was already sprinting for the door.
I cleared the house before the first explosion, but the force of the blast knocked me forward and off my feet. I’d hit my head on the ground, hard, and the impact knocked me out. When I’d come to, the fire department was there and paramedics surrounded me.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” one of them, a woman with dark hair, had asked in a gentle voice.
I was confused, my head throbbing from where I’d struck it. I’d shaken my head.
“I-I don’t know.” But I felt the wetness between my thighs. The proof that I was not okay.
The paramedics had put me on a gurney and were in the process of rolling me to the ambulance when a familiar face emerged from the shadows and lights of the gathered vehicles. It’d been Dylan, and he’d appeared frantic.
I’d been overjoyed because I’d thought he was there for me. He hadn’t spoken to me much since I’d told him about the baby. I’d hoped he’d realized how much he really cared and come to find me when he’d heard of the fire.
“Mallory!” He’d been breathless, his tone fearful. “Where is he?”
“Where’s who?”
“
James!”
I didn’t know what he was talking about. “I haven’t seen him all night.”
My disappointment had been immediate. He hadn’t been there for me after all.
He’d grabbed my shoulders, despite a paramedic trying to push him away.
“We had a fight,” he’d said, his eyes glassy with terror. “He was pissed at how I was treating you. Said he was going to come check on you.”
My heart started pounding, and it had felt like the air was being sucked from my lungs.
“He never came,” I’d insisted, though a sharp fear began poking at the back of my head.
“He did.” Dylan’s voice had been strained, his grip on me painful. “I was tracking his phone, but the signal disappeared. His fucking car is here. He was here, Mallory, when … that happened.”
My gut had hurt. The most unimaginable pain I’d ever experienced. Without a word, I’d turned to stare at the burning house, praying Dylan was wrong. James wasn’t there. He’d have never gone inside.
He would if he thought you were in there, the voice in my head had hissed.
I hadn’t been, though. I’d been knocked out on the other side of the house, out of sight of the front door.
They’d found James’ body, or what was left of it, the next day.
I still remember what my scream of anguish sounded like.
Dylan had blamed me. He was sick with grief and not thinking straight, but I couldn’t blame him. I blamed me too.
James had been my best friend since we were kids. He’d always been there for me. My rock in the shitstorm that was my life, the normal kid from the right side of the tracks with the good family and the brother who was a fucking teacher. Whenever he thought I was in trouble or in need of rescuing, he’d show up at my door, even knowing what that place really was and what my mother was really like.
Of course, he’d run into a burning building for me.
James loved me.
Tears begin to stream down my face as the memories continue to assault me, and I try to wipe them away, but they just won’t stop. Dropping my head into the cradle of my arms, I give in and let myself sob. I cry for everything that’s happened. All the shit and abuse. The abandonment by Jenn, who’d gotten in trouble despite the effort. I cry for Saint’s betrayal, and Dylan’s hatred.
I cry for the baby that had led to so many sleepless nights.
But mostly, I cry for James because I miss him. I wish I’d been a better friend to him. I wish I hadn’t relied on him for so much. Maybe he’d still be alive if I’d just grown the fuck up and dealt with my own problems instead of relying on him to pick me up out of the dirt.
I don’t know how long I cry exactly, but when I finally begin to calm down, my shoulders are shivering from cold, and my hair is starting to dry into a tangled, chlorine stained mess. Sniffling, I pull myself out of the pool and shuffle to my stuff.
When I reach down to pick up my towel, I spot an envelope sitting next to my phone. My hand hovers mid-air for a moment, and then I frantically look around the space, but there is no sign that anyone was there. I didn’t hear anyone come or go, but I was so absorbed in my swim, that’s not truly surprising.
With cautious fingers, I pick the envelope up and turn it over in my hands. There’s no writing on it, but it’s sealed. Knowing my luck, there’s probably anthrax inside.
I carefully tear it open and peek inside. No anthrax, but there is a picture and a note. Frowning, I remove the photo. My eyes widen as I recognize it. It’s the same picture Saint had shown me of his dad and his friend in the trophy case, although this one is clearly a copy, and one of the full image.
I’m surprised to find a girl standing next to Mr. Angelle’s friend to his left, her fingers linked with his. She’s pretty, with long dark hair and blue eyes. Her lips are tilted into a smile as she gazes at the camera. There’s something strangely … familiar about her.
Something that makes my breath catch because of the similarities to features that I’ve looked at in the mirror every day of my life.
Why would someone give me this?
Reaching back into the envelope, I pull out a torn piece of plain notebook paper. I don’t recognize the handwriting, though it’s clear the note was scribbled quickly.
If you leave, you’ll let him win again. Just like he did against your real parents. Ask that crack whore you call a mother about Benjamin Jacoby and Nora. Then ask her what you’ll be worth to her when you graduate.
That’s it. That’s the whole note. There’s no signature or further explanation as to why they gave me this picture. This has to be a hoax, right? Who the fuck would they be talking about? Let who win? And what do they mean, real parents?
Before I can attempt to decipher more of the mysterious letter, I notice my phone silently flashing out of the corner of my eye. Carley’s name is lighting up my screen. I pick it up and see that this isn’t her first phone call. Startled, I answer it.
“Hello? Carley? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, thank God! I’ve been so worried about you! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for almost two hours!” Her tone and urgency have me tensing with instant worry. Did she hear about Dylan? With my luck, the entire assembly is probably trending on YouTube, my shame displayed for the entire Internet.
“I’ve been swimming,” I reply in as calm a voice as I can manage. “What’s going on?”
“I saw your school on the news, sweetheart, and it scared me to death!”
The impact of that hits me so hard, my shoulders curve forward. “Wh-why is my school on the news?”
“You don’t know?” She sounds baffled by that fact. “Mallory, there’s a fire burning up one of the dorm buildings as we speak!”
“What?” I cry.
“I was so worried it was yours, but then they said it was one of the boys’ dormitories and then—”
“I have to go,” I strangle out, nearly tripping over my own feet to pull on my sweatpants and t-shirt. I grab my towel and tuck the envelope and its contents into its folds. “I’ll call you once I figure out what’s going on.”
“You better!” she insists. “You can’t scare me like this!”
“I’m sorry.” I’m running out the door, my footsteps echoing off the empty hallway walls. “I promise I’m all right, but I need to make sure my friends are. I swear I’ll call later.”
“Okay, you do what you need to do.”
The second I emerge from the athletic building, I’m engulfed in chaos. There’s smoke rising into the air and sirens blaring and flashing their lights as they speed through campus. My heart clenches with panic when I realize the smoke is coming from Saint’s building. I break into a dead sprint, and my worst fears are realized when I come upon a crowd gathered around the blazing dorm.
It is Saint’s building.
Fuck, fuck! This feels strangely like déjà vu.
I push my way through the gathered students toward the front of the pack and gaze around in desperation. My eyes fall on Gabe, who’s sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, talking to a police officer while a paramedic inspects him. He’s alone. Saint isn’t with him, and neither is Liam. I scan the area around him, but don’t see them. Then I look toward the other ambulance that showed up, and finally turn to scan the crowd as best I can.
It’s no use, though. If either Liam or Saint were nearby, they’d stand out. I’d be able to spot them.
“Three bodies,” someone is saying, and I can barely breathe.
“I bet she did it…” another voice, female, says, and for the first time, I feel eyes on me.
Several eyes.
“Crazy fucking bitch,” someone spits out, just as I turn my gaze back to Gabe on the back of the ambulance. Our eyes lock, and his shoulders stiffen.
Once upon a time, I’d told him that they should be afraid of me, and he’d laughed at me.
Now, he’s not laughing.
Now he just looks … terrified.
&
nbsp; Please, God. Not again.
TO BE CONTINUED
Book two is coming summer 2020! Click HERE to sign up for release notifications. Want to discuss SAINT? Click the link below to join my group on Facebook.
E.M.’s Little Masochists
About the Author
E.M. Snow is a writer of New Adult and Young Adult romance. She’s a little obsessed with reality TV, sour gummy worms, and angsty bad boys, and she’s still trying to figure out what the hell she wants to be when she grows up. She lives with her husband and her kids who are all pretty cool, except when they leave their dirty laundry around the house.
Hey, just keeping it real…