“What’s going on here?”
Excellent, now Dad. Like her mother wasn’t enough.
“Our daughter didn’t respond to my messages, as I told you, and now she has come home and can’t even say hello to us. Not to mention that I want her to sit down with us at the table and talk politely.”
“Honey, what’s going on?” Dad demanded.
Corby turned and looked at him and then at her mother.
“What do you want from me?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Mother waved her arms and the fork flew to the door. Everyone looked at it briefly then turned to face each other again.
“You didn’t care about me when I needed you! I had to take care of myself, and now look at you! Such loving parents. But it’s not love—its freaking selfishness! You want me to come to you and say hello. What else? Should I bow? Kiss your ass?”
“Corby!” Mom opened her mouth.
“Hey! Don’t you dare talk like that,” Dad yelled.
“That’s all you can say?”
“Corby, I don’t understand what’s happening to you. That’s my sweater, I see. You have started going through my closet and taking things without permission?”
“Are you only interested in your sweater?” Corby yelled.
“It’s not about a sweater or a particular garment,” Mom said. “You have become such a mean girl.”
“Screw you! Screw both of you!” Corby shouted at the top of her lungs, and then she rushed upstairs. Along the way, she pulled off the sweater and threw it down, hoping to get it into her mother’s face. She slammed the door to her room, locked it, and leaned against the cold wood with her back. She felt like she was being chased by monsters. And monsters followed her, but they were in her head. They were yelling, screaming, threatening to drive her crazy. She did everything wrong, everything wrong, and she didn’t know how to correct her mistakes.
She expected her parents to come after her, scream at her from behind the door, demand, threaten, but she waited for a minute or two and nothing happened. Then she took off her jeans and collapsed on the bed.
He was going to tell. First he would tell his fat mother, who was teased at school, and she would make him go to the police. They would come for her. Soon. Would they go to the shop for their first search and then come here or vice versa? Probably the opposite. They would show a search warrant first, she saw it in the movies.
“Then my mommy will forget about her sweater and think about what people will say about her at work. They probably will fire her. The mother of a murderer can’t work on TV. What kind of role model is she?”
Corby lay on the bed, imagining in bright colors all the details of her arrest and even her first meeting with the inmates. How were they going to greet her? Like at school? Would they bully her? But she was a killer, she killed two people, she couldn’t be treated in the same way as thieves.
After some time, her thoughts were transferred to her phone. She was used to it being silent before Jacob and now she was waiting for messages all the time. Now it was unlikely that Jacob would write her and she had to get ready for the police. Maybe she needed to run away? Where? What would she do alone? Should she go to her grandparents? Should she order them not to tell anyone where she was? They would have to agree to it because they loved her more than anything. At least, that was what they said.
Corby sat up and looked around the room. Her handbag was on the floor near the door and she didn’t even remember when she brought it into the room. Good she didn’t leave it downstairs or she would have to go there or accept the fact that she wouldn’t be able to check the phone.
She climbed off the bed and slowly walked to the door, sat on the floor near her bag, and opened it. When she pressed the button to turn on the phone, she found that the battery was low.
“Of course.”
Corby felt like a broken car. She was afraid if she got up she would fall, so she crawled on her all fours to the desk and connected the phone to the charger. She immediately turned it on and bit her lips impatiently while it was loading.
Five new messages!
Corby’s heart received a second wind and started to drum, but the first three messages were from her mother, who demanded that she call immediately. Two other messages were sent by Jane. Corby already knew her phone number and didn’t have to guess. Although, she would recognize the sender by the content.
We will discuss everything your boyfriend said. That was the first one.
As best friends! Right? The second one wondered.
The first message meant that Jane had thought about the conversation with Jacob, but not in the way he’d expected. Second— they were enemies and someone had to die. Jane probably was afraid to write anything that would bring suspicions on her in case of the strange and unexpected disappearance of Corby.
“Only that won’t happen, you stupid bitch. They will put me in jail and that’s it.”
Corby looked at the messages without a single thought in her head. Just reread the lines again and again, without thinking about how to deal with it or how to get out of the situation.
There was a knock on the door. One of her parents couldn’t stand it and decided to be the first to start an unnecessary conversation.
“GetoutofhereIhateyou!” Corby blurted out on a single breath. She didn’t even think about her words. She didn’t want to scream and at the moment she hated only herself. She screamed because it was the only one natural expression of emotion. She screamed because she could. She screamed because she had to say something.
The knock didn’t repeat. No one knocked and no one rang at their door to arrest her. An hour had passed, then two, and then Corby opened her eyes and found herself on the floor in a horizontal position with her cheek burning from the rough carpet. She didn’t notice when she fell asleep. In her room, with the silent phone in her hand.
“He didn’t say anything.”
It didn’t reassure Corby and didn’t make her feel better, just the opposite. She felt frustrated. Did she want to be arrested and let everyone know that she was the killer? Was it easier? She could be in prison, everyone would know everything, no need to hide, no one to fight at school. Everything would be simple, on schedule, and without any responsibility. Corby didn’t want to think about that or about anything else. She changed her clothes and went to bed without even bothering to brush her teeth or wash her face. Those were the last things she wanted or needed. She put the phone on the nightstand before climbing into bed. Her silent phone, full of threats.
CHAPTER 30
“Corby. Corby! Corby!”
She didn’t want to open her eyes, but her mother was at the door and the first sign of dawn persistently made its way through her closed eyelids.
“Corby!”
“I hear you, Mom!”
“Answer me! Time to get up and get ready for school!”
“I’m sick.”
“What do you mean sick? Headache?” The door handle moved. “Open, right now!”
“Mom, don’t you understand? I don’t feel well and I just want to stay home for one day. I want to be alone!”
“Corby, open the door. We need to talk; enough already. Did you catch a cold?”
Corby growled, pulled the pillow from under her head, and covered her face.
“Honey.” This time her mother’s voice was calm, but insistent.
“Why don’t you leave me alone?” Corby sobbed. She began to cry suddenly and without the ability to stop.
“Honey, what happened? Open the door, please. I’m your mother. I love you!”
Corby tossed the pillow on the floor, threw the blanket away, and went to the door weeping and stumbling over her own feet.
Her mom, without makeup and hairdo, wearing her bathrobe and slippers, looked like someone had beaten her.
“Honey, what happened?”
“Mommm.”
Corby fell on her mother’s chest and continued to cry until she had enough
strength to continue, feeling her mother’s hand on her head and back. She was patting, stroking. Mom said something, but Corby didn’t understand the words. When she stopped and straightened up, she saw her father standing behind her mother. He was biting his nails and didn’t dare to approach.
“What happened?” Mom asked, looking into her daughter’s eyes. She looked guilty. “How can I help?”
Corby looked at her father, wiped her tears, and silently said a big thanks. He had just rescued her from being sent to a mental hospital.
“Everything is all right,” she said quietly.
“What?” The confusion in Mom’s voice was obvious.
“I just caught cold. My throat is killing me. I’m not going to the doctor. It’ll go away on its own.”
Dad shook his head, then waved his hand, and went downstairs.
“Today I’m not going to school and I want to be alone,” Corby said, as she stepped back into her room, and shut the door.
“Corby?” Mother’s voice was small, as if from a little mouse. “Will you have breakfast?”
“I’ll make it myself. Later.”
“I can take you to the doctor.”
“I said no.”
“Chelsea! Come here!”
Dad’s voice sounded quiet, probably from the kitchen.
Mom didn’t say anything more and an hour later, looking out the window, Corby saw her walking on the street, throwing glances at her daughter’s room, and going to her car that was parked a minute away.
It took about an hour for Corby to pull herself together and go downstairs. She knew that her dad hadn’t left because she waited for him by the window. She didn’t want to leave her room while he was at home, but if he didn’t have plans to go anywhere and stayed at home the whole day, she would starve to death. Unless the police came and picked her up.
The kitchen was empty and Corby took out dry cereal from the pantry, poured milk over it, and sat down in front of the TV to watch her mother on the news. She wanted to know how she was going to look. Same as always or the way Corby saw her this morning? With bags under her bloodshot eyes and gray skin?
Her mother was a professional and looked flawless. Corby hated her at this moment and even wanted to fling the bowl of cereal at the TV. How could she look perfect when her daughter was sick?
In the next moment, Corby forgot about her mother and her hairstyle. She heard a signal on her phone. Good thing she left the door of her room open. Corby almost turned over the bowl with the remaining milk when she rushed out of the kitchen.
While she was running, she thought that her mind was playing tricks on her, forcing her to hear what she wanted, but in reality her hearing was too heightened. Hearing, sight, smell, all senses were at full readiness for anything.
Jacob. Jacob sent her a message.
Corby didn’t open it right away, staring at the name of the boy she loved as if it was his face, his eyes, trying to figure out if he was her friend or her enemy. Would he kill her or show her mercy?
She didn’t just flinch, but dropped the phone when she heard her dad’s voice. She grabbed the phone, shaking with fear. What if it broke completely? But this time nothing happened. The phone turned on immediately and showed Jacob’s name. Would he kill her or show her mercy?
“Corby, we need to talk.”
“Not now,” she muttered, not even looking in the direction of her father.
“When? I need to go to the shop in a few minutes.”
“I said not now!”
Still, without looking at her old man and staring at the phone screen, Corby went to the door and slammed it in her father’s face.
“You know what?” he shouted. “You’re grounded! Did you hear me? No TV or sweets!”
Father’s voice sounded uncertain and he came up with the same punishments he gave her many years ago, when she was a child.
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you, of course,” Corby whispered, sitting on the bed. Then she lay on her back and opened the message with one desperate gesture.
We need to talk.
“He will show mercy,” Corby whispered.
“Do your homework!” Father added.
When? Corby wrote.
Jacob didn’t answer immediately and, looking at her watch, Corby realized that he was in class. She had no idea how she could wait without dying, especially because her dad kept muttering under the door. He didn’t scream anymore and Corby couldn’t and didn’t try to make out his words. When he stopped and the front door slammed, Corby left the room, holding the phone in her hand with such force, as if it would escape once she loosened her grip.
Twenty minutes later, she received another message.
Jacob: Can you meet at 4? The same place?
Corby: OK.
Jacob: OK.
Corby: How much time do you need to get here?
Jacob: 20 min.
Corby: See you then.
After the last message Corby made herself a cup of hot chocolate to calm her nerves and then she thought about it, poured the drink into the sink, and found her mother’s half-eaten salad in a plastic pack in the fridge. Her figure won the competition over comfort. This time.
She ate salad and then drank a cup of hot chocolate. After that she ate two protein bars. She then ran up and down the stairs a few times and fell onto the couch, gasping. At that moment, her mother sent her two messages, asking how she felt. Both times Corby answered that she couldn’t feel better. She didn’t want to say that she wasn’t going to be home when her mother came from work, or she would decide to close her daughter in her room or forbid her to leave the house. Dad banned her from eating sweets, who knew what other “brilliant” ideas of punishment would come into their heads?
She got dressed and finished her makeup two hours before the meeting. An hour before the meeting she left the house. She decided to make a circle around the shop, so her dad wouldn’t see and stop her. Fifteen minutes before the meeting, she came to the coffee shop, bought a cup of coffee and a cup of hot chocolate like the last time, and sat down at the table. This time, Jacob came five minutes early and Corby stood, greeting him.
“Thank you,” he said, walking over to the table and looking at the coffee. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Is it okay? Do you like cappuccino?”
He nodded. “Let’s sit down?”
Corby plopped down on her chair, eating Jacob with her eyes.
He looked at her in silence for some time then took a sip of coffee before speaking.
“Is it true? What you told me?”
“I’m really sorry,” Corby gibbered.
“True or not?”
“It’s true,” she breathed out. “You can call the police if you haven’t called yet.”
“I wanted to, I’ll be honest with you.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“I didn’t know if you told me the truth.”
“I did. I can prove it to you.”
Jacob raised his hands.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “I don’t need you to prove anything to me.” He looked around then leaned over and whispered. “I don’t want to see the bodies, okay?”
Corby nodded, swallowed, and Jacob straightened up. Another sip of coffee before the next group of questions.
“I don’t mean to condone what you’ve done in any case,” he said, “because it goes beyond the limits of reason. I’ve never heard anything like this. Victims of school terror are supposed to be kind and forgiving. My mom would not hurt a fly and she got it much worse than you.”
“How do you know what I have gotten?” Corby asked angrily and regretted it. He could stand up and leave. “You haven’t walked in my shoes.”
“That’s true, but murder ...” Jacob looked around again. “How could you do this? This is ...”
“It wasn’t easy.” Corby bit her lip. “I didn’t know if I could do it, but then ... there was no turning back.”
> “There is always a way back.” Jacob’s eyes were burning Corby. “No, they weren’t the best people in the world, but they didn’t deserve ... what happened to them. Especially Vera.”
Corby suddenly had a thought.
“You got a microphone?” she asked.
“What?” Jacob expressed genuine surprise.
“The police. I tell you everything and then they’ll run out of their black van and arrest me.”
“I didn’t contact the police,” Jacob sighed wearily. “I’m not lying.”
Corby looked at him, remembering that this morning she wanted to be arrested, it would solve so many problems, but now that idea seemed more insane to her than anything she had thought before. If she was arrested, she would never see Jacob again.
“They didn’t deserve what happened to them,” he repeated stubbornly.
“I told you, Vera’s situation was an accident. She just fell.”
“Are you sure that she,” another look around, “was dead?”
“I’m sure. She died instantly.”
“You thought about it and decided to take revenge on them all?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Sylvia really threatened me.”
“Who should be next? Jane?”
Corby lowered her head. Of course Jane, if it was possible to get away with it. They would start to suspect her this time around. They could.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think I could do it again.”
“Why? Conscience?”
Corby thought about it. She didn’t feel real remorse. A little bit right after, but it went away before she realized it. She was scared of getting caught, but she didn’t feel bad for those who were dead.
“Yes,” she said. “I felt horrible.”
Jacob gazed at her, drank coffee, then turned the empty cup on the table.
“I want to see,” he finally said.
“You want to see them?” Corby couldn’t believe her ears.
“Yes.”
“Because you don’t believe me? You just said that you didn’t want to.”
Mean girl_A dark, disturbing psychological thriller Page 18