This for That (Edge Of Retaliation, #1)

by Jewel, Bella

  Joanne married Patrick when she was nineteen. She made sure to send me all the photos. He was the love of her life—at least, she thought he was. She felt like she’d found the ‘one’ and had it all, but as the years went by, and she matured, she realized that maybe Patrick wasn’t what she truly wanted. He got comfortable, they started fighting, and now she’s married to a man she can’t even live with, but she’s determined to give it her best shot. I admire her for that.

  “How was he with the idea of you living with me for a while?”

  She shrugs. “He didn’t like it, but he didn’t really have much choice, either. I mean, it was that or I leave for good. He wasn’t going to accept me leaving, so he accepted me moving out for a while. He promises to start dating me again, really put the effort in.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  She smiles; it’s weak, but there. She’s so incredibly beautiful—I wish she knew how much. The way her honey-brown hair flows down her back, and the way her emerald-green eyes light up the room . . . she’s probably the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. She doesn’t seem to see it, though. “He’s my husband, and he’s a good man. I do love him. We’ve just lost that spark. Besides, getting out of everything now . . . I just . . . it would be so hard . . .”

  “You’d be able to do it,” I tell her. “Honestly, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “We have a house, joint accounts, cars, our families love each other . . . it’s not just as easy as walking away. I wish it were. Nobody would understand. Can you imagine my family if I told them I was leaving Patrick?”

  Yes, I can imagine.

  Joanne was raised in the perfect household. Perfect parents. Perfect life. Perfect car. Perfect school. Their perfect little daughter was matched with a perfect husband. I believe she thought she wanted that life too, but when she finally got it, she realized how utterly bored with it she was. When I first met her, back before we had the accident, she was still so well behaved, but slowly, slowly, she’s changing.

  Last week she went and got a tattoo—shock, horror.

  It’s safe to say Patrick wasn’t happy.

  “You’re right. They wouldn’t like it.” I laugh. “But fuck them, honey. You’re a grown-ass lady; you can do what you want.”

  “I wish it were that easy,” she exhales. “Sometimes, I honestly feel like I’m trapped. No matter how I look at it, it feels like there is no way out.”

  I reach over, squeezing her arm. Outside of a couple of fights, I haven’t touched another human being in a kind way for years until today. It feels strange. The hug, it was nice, but comforting someone . . . probably not my specialty anymore. I don’t know who I am, what I’m supposed to do, and even what my purpose in this world is right now.

  I’m lost—entering the world of the unknown.

  “There is always a way out,” I tell her.

  She smiles, and then shakes it off and says, “Anyway, what are we going to do on your first night of freedom?”

  I grin at her. “Honey, we’re getting cheeseburgers, and beer, and we’re getting really, really drunk.”

  “Sounds perfect to me!”

  She’s right.

  It really does.

  “ARE YOU SERIOUS?” I laugh, throwing my head back and shaking it as I do, the laughter flowing out. My hair flicks from side to side.

  One thing I refused to do when I was inside was cut my hair off. I let it grow, the long brunette locks now touching the middle of my back. I didn’t want to become a woman who looked hard. I wanted to come out and still fit in with the rest of the world. But prison has a way of hardening parts of you.

  “Yep, we were right in the middle of it, and he farted. Farted. I’m not even joking. Is it so bad that I’m so turned off by my own husband? Oh, do I dream of meeting some gorgeous man, all rugged and covered in tattoos, who will take me and bend me over some nasty bike and fuck me until my eyes water.”

  I laugh harder until beer snorts out my nose, and then I’m choking, trying not to splutter liquid all over the carpet in our apartment. “Oh lord, you’ve really thought that through.”

  “Wouldn’t you, if you’d been farted on during sex?”

  We both snort, and then giggle, and then snort again.

  It feels so damned good to laugh.

  “I can’t believe he did that. Did he at least say sorry?”

  She shakes her head, tears running down her cheeks. “Nope, he acted like he didn’t even know he did it. The whole room started to smell, and I was trying not to gag.”

  “Oh my God!” I double over, clutching my stomach, trying to stop it cramping from laughter.

  “Yep, so you can understand why I’m feeling a little lost in the world right now. My husband, he’s just . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Not turning you on anymore,” I point out.

  “No, that’s exactly it. Anyway, enough about him. Let’s talk about you. What do you want to do now you’re free?”

  I huff. “You make it sound like I’ve been locked away forever. It wasn’t so bad. I’m not too old; I’ve got my whole life ahead of me to fix my wrongdoings.”

  Joanne looks sad for me, and I know she is, because she’s the only person who believes me. The only one who believes that Celia Yates jumped in front of my car that night, and that I didn’t hit her as she was crossing the road. Not one other person, except my brother, Max, and even he had doubts, believed that story. Not even my own parents believed it.

  “You don’t owe anyone anything,” Joanne says.

  “I do, though. Not only did the other girls suffer, but so did my family, and Celia’s family. I want to prove that it was an accident. I don’t want to live forever as the girl who killed someone because she wasn’t paying attention.”

  Joanne frowns. “You can’t prove that. If you could, you never would have been locked up.”

  I shake my head. “No, I would have been locked up, but probably not for as long. In the end, I still wasn’t paying attention, so even if she was crossing the road, I could have hit her. But she wasn’t. She stepped in front of my car. I intend to find out why.”

  “How are you going to do that?” Joanne asks, leaning back in the chair, looking like she’s concerned for me.

  I don’t want her to be.

  I don’t want anyone to be.

  I swore when I was in that damned prison that I’d clear my name. I can’t get back what I’ve lost, but I’ll be damned if I spend forever being treated like a killer. I’m not. I was an innocent girl who made a big fucking mistake that landed me living out the worst thing I could imagine.

  But Celia stepped in front of my car.

  There were, of course, no witnesses. All the girls in the car with me at the time were flittering around on the ground trying to look for the spilled can of alcohol. Nobody was watching. I was the only one who saw her step out. The only one. It was my word against the world’s. Her parents said she wasn’t depressed. She had a perfect life; things were great. Her friends agreed. So did her teachers.

  Nobody believes me.

  Except Joanne and Max.

  Even then, though, I don’t know if they’re just telling me what they want me to hear, or if they do truly believe that Celia stepped out in front of me that night.

  “I’m going to start talking to people she used to know, teachers, friends, whoever I can. I want to figure out what happened in her life to make her feel like she needed to end her life. I want closure.”

  “How are you going to get close to her family? They’re going to know you.”

  I shake my head. “No, they won’t. I’ll be careful. Use a fake name. I look different now, so different.”

  Joanne scrunches her nose up. “You’re risking a lot.”

  I shrug. “I have to do this. You know I have to do this.”

  “Understandable,” Joanne agrees. “So, you’re going to what? Pretend you’re someone else and go in and start asking questions?”

  “Yes, that’s e
xactly what I’m going to do. I deserve this, but you know what? So does Celia. She was obviously living through something no one knew anything about. She was alone; she was scared. Nobody kills themselves unless they truly believe there is no way out. Celia was at that point. She deserves for someone to understand her story, even if she isn’t here anymore.”

  “Do you think something bad happened to her?”

  I shrug, sipping my drink. “I don’t know. All I know is that the story never matched up. I was put away for something that was only partially my fault. I’ve thought about this every day for six years. I deserve answers.”

  “Yes,” Jo agrees. “Yes, you do. Well, I’m going to help with whatever you need. Just let me know.”

  “Thank you,” I say, reaching over and grabbing her hand. “For believing in me when so many others didn’t.”

  “I’ll always believe in you.” She smiles. “I’ve got your back.”

  I’m glad, because God knows, nobody else out there has my back right now.

  But I’m okay with it.

  I’m strong.

  I have no other choice but to be.

  3

  THEN – CALLIE

  I wake alone.

  It takes me more than a moment to realize what’s happening. To remember the horrific events that unfolded, to remember why exactly I’m here. In the hospital, the incessant beeping surrounding me, a noise that reminds me of the kind of turmoil I’m about to face. I might only be sixteen, but I knew the moment my eyes opened, and my brain cleared, what was going to face me.

  Horror.

  Pure horror.

  As I recall the girl stepping out in front of me, the monitors start getting louder and louder. My heart races. Fear, unlike anything I’ve ever felt, curls its ugly hands around my heart and squeezes. I hit her with my car. The way it felt to slam into her, the sounds . . . I start panicking, doubling over, even though my body screams in pain.

  A nurse rushes in, her hands on my arms, shaking me, telling me to calm down, to breathe. I can’t calm down. I can’t breathe. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was just trying to have fun. That was all—just fun. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I never meant for any of this to happen.

  I’m just a kid.

  Please.

  “Calm down and look at me, Callie. You’re okay. You’re in the hospital. Your mother is outside. You’re going to be okay.”

  Her words take an eternity to penetrate, but when they do, I slowly calm my breathing. Maybe everything isn’t so bad. Maybe the girl is okay, and I thought it was worse than it is? Maybe Joanne, Sophie, and Jessika are okay? Maybe they’re not even hurt. I’m okay, so they must be too, right? Maybe the nurse is right. Maybe everything will be okay.

  “Callie!”

  My mom’s shrill voice fills the room and my vision slowly clears in time to see her running towards me. She throws her arms around me, her fake-smelling, knockoff perfume burning my nose. I let her hug me, but I really wish she’d just let me go. I don’t want her to hug me. I don’t want her near me. I know she doesn’t care; I’m not stupid.

  She pulls back and looks down at me with those puffy red eyes, her mascara gently staining her cheeks. “I thought we’d lost you.”

  I stare blankly at her, and then look over at the door for my dad.

  He doesn’t come in.

  He isn’t here.

  Of course he isn’t here. He’s probably off somewhere with his new girlfriend and her perfect kids, the kind who don’t steal cars, and don’t hurt people. He left two months ago. Part of me still assumes he’ll come back. He hasn’t. No matter how hard I pray, he doesn’t come back.

  “Is she okay, nurse?” my mother asks, her voice a pathetic whine.

  “She’s going to be fine. A few cuts and bruises, and a little internal damage that we operated on, but otherwise, she’s going to recover well.”

  “Oh, thank God. And the other girls?”

  My head whips around in the direction of the nurse, desperate to hear her answer. She looks uncomfortable. “I’ll have to wait for the doctor, and, ah, the police. They’re all wishing to talk with you.”

  No.

  No.

  That’s bad. That’s so bad.

  The police mean something went really wrong. I mean, I know it went really wrong because I hit someone and had a car accident, but a stupid, immature part of me was kind of hoping that we’d all get through it and I’d only get a slap around the wrist for taking my mother’s car.

  But I know, deep down, that isn’t the case.

  “Oh,” my mother says.

  Oh.

  Yes.

  Oh.

  The nurse goes to fetch the doctor, and they return not too long after. A young, male doctor and a police officer.

  Oh, God.

  I want to die. A million times over.

  The doctor introduces himself, but my ears are buzzing, and I don’t hear his name. I can’t breathe. My chest feels like it’s going to collapse. My vision is blurring—tears maybe? I don’t know.

  “Calm down, Callie. You’re going to be okay. Take a few deep breaths,” he says.

  I do as he asks, and I calm myself down. Once he’s checked me over, he tells me that the police officer, whose name I hear loud and clear—Jack—is going to talk with me, but he warns him not to upset me too much.

  Jack nods, and walks over to me, extending his hand. “Hi Callie. I’m going to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay?”

  I nod, terrified.

  Terrified of what he might be about to tell me.

  Terrified of what is going to happen from this point forward.

  “Can you tell me what happened, in your words?”

  I swallow, glancing at my mother, who is sobbing again. It almost seems like she cares. Almost. But I know she doesn’t. I know she doesn’t because she is never there for anything. Maybe if she was, I wouldn’t have stolen her car. Maybe if she was, I would be at home right now, texting with my friends instead of sitting in a hospital room, having no idea what’s about to happen.

  “It was just meant to be a bit of fun,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes. “We just wanted to go for a drive, have a few drinks. I wasn’t drinking; I’m not so careless. We were just going to the lake. We didn’t mean any harm.”

  “I’ve told you,” my mother throws in, “I’ve told you what a bad influence those girls are on you, but you don’t listen. You’d never steal my car on your own. You’d never be so stupid.”

  I cringe at her words, because they only make me feel a million times worse.

  “Ma’am?” Jack asks, politely, but I can hear the edge in his voice. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting outside?”

  “She’s my daughter, and she’s underage, so no, I won’t wait outside,” my mother snaps at him, crossing her arms, sniffling and giving him a look that just dares him to try and move her.

  “Then, if you don’t mind, let her talk without interruption.”

  She purses her lips but says nothing more.

  Jack looks back to me. “Carry on when you’re ready.”

  “We were driving along, just having fun. Someone dropped a can of alcohol onto the floor of the car, and they were all reaching around trying to find it so it didn’t stain the carpet.”

  My mother looks like she’s about to blow a gasket. Her face is that red at this revelation. That’s all she cares about. Her damned car. What about me? What about my friends? What about that poor girl?

  “Did you reach for the can?” Jack asks me, it’s only now that I notice he has a recorder in his hand, so small it’s hardly noticeable.

  “Yes, but I was watching the road. At least, I mostly was. I only looked away for a second and . . .”

  The image comes crashing back into my mind, the vision of the girl meeting my eyes, her face so calm as she just stepped in front of that car. I grab my stomach as pain grips me, and I look to Jack, who is giving me a gentle expression.

  “
When you’re ready.”

  “She stepped out in front of the car,” I croak, tears rolling down my cheeks. “She looked right at me, and just stepped out.”

  “You’re saying she wasn’t already on the road?” Jack asks.

  “No, she wasn’t. I know what I saw, and she most certainly stepped in front of me.”

  Jack nods, but I can already see the doubt in his eyes. “What happened next?”

  “It was all so fast after that. I hit her and . . . oh God, I hit her. I hit her. I crushed her. I felt the car slam into her body. The sound . . .”

  I put my head in my hands and sob hysterically.

  I hurt that girl.

  I hurt her because I wasn’t watching.

  If I was watching, it never would have happened.

  “It’s okay, Callie. Please, breathe. You’re going to be okay.”

  “Is she . . . is the girl okay, Jack?”

  Jack looks to my mother, and then back to me, “I’m sorry, but she passed away on the scene.”

  I don’t hear anything he says after that.

  My screams are so loud they fill the room.

  I just went from being a sixteen-year-old girl . . . to a murderer.

  I CAN’T HEAR WHAT SHE’S saying.

  My mother is talking frantically to me, something about lawyers, and money, and how bad this is going to look. She’s going on about the family, and how angry they’re going to be when they find out what I did.

  What I did.

  I killed that girl.

  I killed her because I wasn’t watching where I was going.

  I killed her because I wanted fun more than I wanted to stay at home and just be a normal kid.

  I killed her.

  Her family are going to hate me. They have every right to.

  They’re going to want my blood, and why shouldn’t they? That girl was no older than me, and now she’s gone.

  She’s gone forever.

  There is no coming back from that.

  Nothing can ever bring her home.

  She’ll never taste ice cream again, or feel the sand beneath her toes, or smell the incredible smells that come from a burger shop, or fall in love, get her first kiss, get married and have babies.