The Foxglove Killings

by Tara Kelly

  He moved closer. “How long are we going to do this?”

  “Do what?”

  “You know what.”

  I looked away, heat rushing into my face. The muscles in my legs tensed, urging me to run.

  “Just for tonight, can we pretend out there doesn’t exist?” He motioned toward my window. “Can we be…us?”

  I wanted that so bad it ached. It was natural, uncomplicated. Safe. But it didn’t give me the answers I wanted to hear.

  He rested his hand against the wall next to my head, leaning in close. I could smell firecracker smoke in his hair.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, my skin buzzing.

  He inched closer, his eyes staying on mine, like he was asking permission. The palms of my hands pressed into the wall, but I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

  His lips touched mine so lightly it tickled. I closed my eyes, ready to kiss him back, but his mouth moved toward my ear.

  “This,” he whispered.

  His lips brushed against my neck, just below my earlobe. He kissed a trail down to my collarbone, making my thighs go weak.

  I wanted to feel his hands on my bare skin. I wanted to kiss him hard enough to forget…everything. But my brain was screaming at me to stop. I couldn’t do this. Not without knowing what it meant.

  I grabbed his shoulders and nudged him back. It was only then I could see the uncertainty in his expression, his trembling hands.

  “I’m not going to be some escape, Alex.”

  He squinted at me, opening his mouth and then closing it again. “You’re not.”

  “Then what is this?”

  “Do you really have to ask?”

  I folded my arms. “Yeah. I do.”

  His eyes went from the Pixies poster on my wall to the plastic stars on my ceiling, to the floor. Everywhere but me. Seconds crawled by. My fingers and toes still hummed with anticipation.

  “Remember when your mom made us watch that old movie, the one where they built their dream girl on a computer?” he asked, finally.

  “Weird Science?” It was ages ago—seventh grade, maybe.

  He nodded. “You asked me—no, you demanded to know what my perfect girl was like.” His lips curved up a little. “You wanted every detail.”

  “Even her cup size. I remember.”

  “Most of it I made up, ’cause…” He shrugged. “I didn’t know what to say. Then I asked you about your perfect guy. You must’ve gone on for an hour. It was this impossible list.”

  There were many things about my twelve-year-old self I was happy to bury. My obsession with romance was one of them. I didn’t just assign a specific haircut and shoe size to my fantasy guy. He had a name.

  “I started trying to be that guy,” he continued, shaking his head. “Then I realized how dumb that was, waiting around for a girl who’ll never see me…”

  His words broke my heart and made me wonder, once again, how much of the real Alex I knew. If the person I had all these feelings for even existed. I had to believe he did… Nobody could spend as much time together as we did and completely hide who they were. “I do see you that way. I have for months.”

  “Months…” A sad smile crossed his lips. “What changed?”

  “I don’t know.” My mind grasped for words—something that made sense. “One day these feelings were just there. I wish I could explain it better. I wish…”

  “You wish they’d go away,” he said.

  I knew saying yes would hurt him, but it was the truth. “They freak me out.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not that guy.” His voice softened. “I’m never going to be.”

  “It was a dumb fantasy I had when I was twelve. It’s not what I want now.”

  “I know you pretty well, remember?”

  “Then you know how much having you, as my friend, means to me. I don’t want to lose us.”

  “Your version of us.” He put his palms against the wall again and leaned down until our faces were inches apart. “I’ve always wanted more.”

  My eyes stung and my throat ached. “Is that why you hooked up with Jenika?”

  “Was I supposed to wait forever?”

  Yes, I wanted to shout. But that wasn’t fair.

  I lifted my chin, keeping my voice steady. “Give me a real reason, not some I was curious bullshit. You’re not that guy either, no matter how hard you’re trying to be.”

  He stared at me, his breaths short and tense. “Who am I, then?”

  “Someone who cares too much.”

  His gaze shifted to the floor, but he stayed close. So close I wanted to touch him.

  “Tell me why,” I repeated.

  “Why did you hook up with Matt?” His voice was gentle, almost calm.

  “I don’t know…”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I wanted to forget. I…” Just wanted to forget.

  He lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine again. “Did it work?”

  “You know it didn’t. Is that what you wanted—to forget me?”

  He touched my cheek, his thumb wiping away the dampness on my skin. “I don’t want to fight, okay?” he said. “Not tonight.”

  “Not tonight—you keep saying that. Why?”

  He touched his forehead to mine. “Because it’s my birthday. Because we can’t figure it all out right now.” His fingers hovered over the fine hairs on my arm, making them stand up. “We don’t have to talk. I’ll sit across the room if you want. I just want to be here with you.”

  I grabbed his hand, weaving my fingers through his. “I don’t want you across the room.”

  “What do you want?”

  I let out a shaky breath, tilting my face toward his. Our lips met, both of us gentle and hesitant at first. His hands moved down my back, following the curve of my waist. My fingers tangled in his hair.

  He kissed me harder, his tongue teasing mine. I could barely inhale, but I didn’t care. I just wanted more.

  With Zach, every kiss was like our first. Long and sweet—sometimes we’d go until our lips got sore. Matt’s hands went everywhere, rough and hurried, as if he were afraid I’d disappear.

  But I’d never felt anything like this, our bodies shaking, my legs struggling to hold me up. Every time Alex’s fingers grazed the skin between my bunched-up shirt and cutoffs, a jolt ran down my spine.

  He buried his face in my neck, his damp palm running up the side of my thigh. “You smell so good,” he mumbled.

  All I could smell was sweat and the rain and smoke in his hair. With my fan blowing warm air on us, it was stifling, so impossibly hot, but I wanted him closer.

  His body pressed into mine, making the place where Christian punched me ache. I nudged him back until we were inches from my bed, and then pushed him onto the mattress.

  His eyes widened, and he gripped the edge of the bed. “Damn…”

  “What?” I asked, straddling his lap. It was supposed to be like one of those movie scenes where I was this ultra-confident girl taking charge. But my legs still shook, and I didn’t know where to put my hands.

  “Nothing.” He drew in a breath, inching up my shirt and pulling it over my head. Then he took his off.

  I stared at him for a few seconds, focusing on the ring of gold around his pupils, way too aware of the moment. I was on top of my best friend, naked from the waist up. There was no going back from this.

  “What’s wrong?” He stroked my shoulders, making me shudder.

  I kept thinking about Jenika, how she most likely tore his clothes off and got right to it. No hesitation. No weirdness. He was probably waiting for me to take the lead—I’d always taken the lead in our friendship.

  But I had no idea what to do right now.

  “I’m burning up,” I said just to say something.

  His gaze went to my breasts and back up to my face. “Yeah, you are.”

  I shoved him, my lips breaking into a smile. “Worst line ever.”

  “You said it.”
/>   “Shut up.” My body was trembling even more now. Too much to play it like anything other than the truth—I was scared shitless.

  His smile faded. “Lie on your stomach and close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  Lying on my stomach wasn’t an option. “How about I sit?”

  “Sure…”

  I got up off his lap, keeping one eye slightly open. He put his hand in front of my face and turned off my light.

  “I hate you,” I muttered.

  “No, you don’t.”

  I heard him pick up my glass of water from the nightstand and stiffened as he moved in behind me. “If you dump that on me, I swear…”

  The sensation of his wet finger on my back made me suck in my breath. He traced what felt like the number one and then a V shape. A drop of water slid down the base of my spine, making every nerve come alive.

  We used to write secret messages on each other’s backs when we were little, only we were fully clothed and it didn’t feel like this.

  “First word?” he asked.

  I smiled. “You’ll have to do it again.”

  He wrote it slower this time, each stroke lasting seconds.

  “You…” I said.

  He painted three more letters.

  “Are…”

  The third word took a couple of tries—it was long with a lot of rounded strokes. Or maybe I didn’t want to try that hard to figure it out. Maybe I wanted this moment to last forever.

  “Beautiful,” I whispered. I’d been called cute, sexy, exotic (which I hated)…but never beautiful, unless you counted my mom. “So are you.”

  I leaned into him, reaching for the water, but I found his lips instead. In the dark, our hands went everywhere, places we might not have had the guts to go with the light on. I pulled his sweats off, and he unbuttoned my shorts, tugging them down over my hips.

  We ended up on our sides, my legs tangled with his, both of us sticky with sweat. It was like the time Mom took us sledding in the Cascades. I’d go for the steepest hills, and I didn’t want to slow down. Even when I knew I should.

  “Do you have a condom?” I asked. The only barrier between us was his boxers and the thin cotton of my underwear. It felt like nothing.

  “No. Do you?”

  “Maybe…” I’d gotten a three-pack last summer and kept it in my room, just in case. But I had no idea where it was now.

  “Are you sure you want to?” he asked.

  My body was aching to, willing me to close my eyes and lose myself entirely. But I wasn’t sure. Far from it. “I…”

  “It’s okay.” His breath tickled the crook of my neck. “I’m good with this.”

  He kissed the space between my breasts, moving lower until he reached the place where Christian punched me. The muscles in my stomach tensed.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” It was a stupid answer, but it was all I had.

  “I saw the bruises…”

  Bruises? I didn’t even know there was a bruise. “I ran right into a table at the diner. It was brilliant.”

  “A table. Really?”

  “Yep.” I hated lying to him. God, I hated it.

  He exhaled, running his fingers over my stomach gently, like he was afraid I’d break. The song playing faded away, and it seemed like a century went by before a new one started. I stiffened, waiting for him to call me out as the hypocrite I was.

  But he started kissing me again, my belly button, my hip bones…lower. I drew in a breath when his lips brushed against my thigh. His fingers tugged at my underwear.

  “This okay?” he asked.

  My heart started racing again, making my fingertips and toes go cold. I’d never done this with Zach. I thought about it—a lot. But I felt weird bringing it up.

  “Yeah,” I said, closing my eyes.

  It was weird at first. Ticklish, a little uncomfortable. The muscles in my thighs tensed. My hands gripped the sheets.

  But then every inch of my body tingled, and I went somewhere else. Somewhere warm and safe.

  A place I never wanted to leave.

  Saturday, July 5

  We had a plan, a beautiful plan, but everything went to hell tonight. It’s my fault. Everything I touch turns to shit.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When I opened my eyes, Mom was standing over me, a golden beam of sunlight across her forehead. Cool breeze hit my back, making me shiver. I yanked the sheets over my naked chest and reached for Alex. But my hand met air.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, my voice hoarse. That was when I saw it. My curtains parted. My window wide open. I sat up, keeping my sheets pressed against me.

  Mom motioned to the window. “Are you insane?”

  “When I went to bed, it was closed.” I scanned the room, my hands turning to ice. “Where’s Alex?”

  “You tell me.” Her gaze went to the floor, where my discarded clothes lay. If I weren’t so freaked out, I probably would’ve hidden under the covers. “Did you guys…”

  “No.” It came out too quickly. “I mean, we…stuff happened.” The last thing I remembered was Alex holding me, the warm stickiness of our skin, his breath tickling my ear. He wouldn’t take off and leave the window open. Everything about this scene was wrong, bad-dream wrong.

  “Tell me you used a condom,” she said, in an exasperated voice.

  “We didn’t need to.”

  Mom’s mouth opened.

  “We didn’t do that,” I clarified.

  She exhaled and sat on my bed, massaging her forehead. “The cops just called,” she said. “They’re bringing Jenika over here.”

  “What? Why?” I pinched my leg, hoping I’d wake up for real. Alex would still be here, stroking my arm like he was when I fell asleep. Then I started to wonder if last night actually happened.

  “There was a fire in their house last night,” Mom said. “They said there was a lot of damage.”

  It took me a minute to process what she was saying, to understand this was reality. A reality I wasn’t waking up from.

  “Are they okay?” I asked. It could’ve been an accident, one of their cigarettes left to burn. A firework that landed on their roof. But the timing was too right.

  “Anya’s in the hospital with smoke inhalation and some burns. They said it wasn’t life-threatening. Jenika is okay—I guess she pulled Anya out.”

  Not many people around here had AC, and it was way too hot last night to keep the windows closed, unless you were paranoid like me. Christian wouldn’t have even needed to get inside. He could’ve walked by and tossed something in. “Do they know how it started? Were they asleep?”

  “I don’t know, hon. They didn’t give me details.”

  Maybe that was why Alex took off in such a hurry. But there was no way he could’ve heard about it. He didn’t have a phone… Unless he heard the sirens. Even then, he wouldn’t be able to tell exactly where they were going.

  My head felt like it was going to explode. “There’s no way she’s going to want to stay here,” I said.

  “Well, Eric is all she’s got in town.”

  “Did you call him? Is he coming home?”

  She nodded. “As soon as he can, he said.”

  “How about now? He needs to be here—”

  “I know, Nova. I know.” She gripped the edge of my bed. “They said Jenika took off after she got her mom out. They had to track her down. She must’ve been terrified.”

  Or she was going after Christian. Maybe she came here, looking for Alex. But that would mean I’d slept through her knocking and Alex getting up and taking off.

  “Where did they find her?” I asked.

  “They just said a friend’s.” She blew out a breath. “We need to do what we can to make her feel comfortable, okay? I know it won’t be easy.”

  “Easy? Mom, she hates us. It won’t matter how nice we are.”

  “It matters to me.” She
met my gaze, a glare in her hazel eyes, the one that said the only answer she wanted was a nod.

  I pulled the sheet higher on my chest. “Where is she going to sleep?”

  Mom threw her hands up. “Best I can come up with is Gavin’s room. He can sleep with me until Eric gets home.”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The doorbell rang, making us both stiffen. Mom got up, stepping around my clothes, like they were contaminated.

  She turned, her mouth turned down at the corners. “I could’ve been Gavin coming in here this morning…”

  Heat rushed into my face. “The door was locked.”

  “No. It wasn’t.”

  Alex must’ve forgotten to lock it after he grabbed his clothes out of the bathroom. Just like he forgot to close my window. “I’m sorry…”

  “I hope you guys enjoyed last night,” she said. “Because he’s not sleeping in here again.” With that, she left, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  Normally I’d tell her how ridiculous it was to enforce that rule now. But all I felt was the strong, fast beat of my heart and a knot in my stomach. If Christian really did set that fire, with people inside, he was willing to do anything.

  I got up, keeping my sheet around me, and shut my window. As I backed away, the heel of my bare foot sank into a piece of paper. It looked like it had been ripped out of my spiral notebook and torn in half.

  I picked it up, relieved, thinking Alex left a note and the wind must’ve blown it onto the floor. Then I read the jagged, hasty writing.

  Guess you really are a whore, it read. Love, Alex.

  I stopped breathing.

  Alex’s writing was small, round, and absurdly neat, even when he was in a rush. These strokes were long and pointy, almost illegible. The Us looked more like Vs, and the Os were oblong. There was something unnatural about it—nobody I knew wrote like this.

  A cold sweat broke out across my skin. Alex didn’t leave the window open. Someone else did. Someone who was in my room, standing over me, when I was lying there naked and completely vulnerable.

  I imagined Christian the way he looked last night, his tangled hair and red-rimmed eyes. That note sounded like it came right out of his mouth. But he’d have no problem calling me a whore to my face. Or possibly setting my room on fire.