by Ellis Marie
I smile at his caring face, his eyes shine with the determination to help me, to comfort me. He’s an incredible friend with a heart of gold, but he’s wrong. You can feel it squeezing your chest.
“I know,” I lie, clearing my throat. “I’m just going to go to the bathroom and fix this,” I say while motioning to my face.
Cole smiles at my words and nods, beginning to stand up. My hand shoots out immediately, and I stop him from asking the person beside him to let him past. His expression of confusion is utterly adorable.
“I don’t need you to come to the girls’ toilet with me, Cole.” I chuckle lightly. “People might have an issue with that.”
“I know, but Trent said—”
“Cole,” I push, standing up while forcing him into his seat, keeping my voice low with the people around us. “I’ll be two minutes. I just need a second alone, don’t worry.”
I know that he wants to argue, to obey his alpha in every single way he can, but I need him to stay here.
He has to stay here.
“Cole.” My harsh tone stops his mouth from opening again. Instead, he just nods, his eyes wide as he watches me straighten up.
That’s definitely my luna voice. See, I can be authoritative.
I give him one last smile before I turn and make my way through the crowd, trying not to listen to the sobs and the rumours that are no doubt beginning to blossom.
At the other end of the room, I can see our principal getting ready to speak. I quickly hurry my movements so that I make it out in time. I don’t want to be stuck listening to another speech about the horrors of the world and the tragedies that we face. I’ve already experienced enough of that for a lifetime, I don’t need to be told about it. I need to do something about it.
As soon as the door shuts behind me, I jump into the bathroom, looking around for a sign of the person, but I hear them instead. Soft sobs come from the cubicle ahead of me. I knew she would be here.
I quickly peer under the other doors to make sure there’s no one else occupying them. Empty.
Gently, I press my hands to the door and lean against it, knowing that I only have one chance for her to open up to me.
“Tracey?”
Her sobs pause as my voice echoes through the room, her sniffles covered up by the sound of her blowing her nose. I hear her clear her throat and the sound of the toilet flushing before the door swings open. I jump back, moving out the way as she storms past me to the sink to wash her hands.
“What do you want?” she mumbles, avoiding looking at me as she wipes at her face and the splotchy skin that’s appearing. “I’ve caught you crying a few times in the toilets so don’t think of making a comment.”
“I’m not going to try and embarrass you,” I sigh, my heart aching at her pain. “I just wanted to check that you were okay.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Don’t bullsh*t me.”
Honesty. That’s how I need to do this.
“You’re right, that was bullsh*t,” I agree, walking up until I’m beside her in the mirrors. “I actually wanted to ask you if you know anything. Honesty would be appreciated.”
Her vigorous handwashing stills. In fact, I think her hands actually begin to shake.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice is quiet, timid—a word which I would never use to describe Tracey usually. It tells me that something’s off.
She’s scared. She knows.
I step in front of her as she moves to leave the bathroom, her head hanging low.
“Look, you might not want to tell me, but the fact of the matter is that Andy was trying to tell me something yesterday. Now, he’s dead and I think you know more than you’re saying.” My voice isn’t harsh, it’s just firm and direct. Or at least, I thought it was.
As Tracey’s body begins to shake with sobs, I start to question myself.
“Look,” I try again, not knowing exactly how to approach a vulnerable and emotional Tracey. It’s not like I’ve ever experienced it before. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you anymore upset.”“
“Stop apologising,” she hisses, her words wobbling as her perfectly manicured hand brushes across her face. “Just stop. You’re not the one who should be saying sorry.”
As she lifts her head, I see the pain in her eyes, the torturous expression . . . the guilt.
“I didn’t know,” she whispers, voice catching on every syllable. “I swear I didn’t know.”
It’s an automatic reaction; my hands reach out and take hers, hoping to help her, to comfort her.
“Didn’t know what, Tracey?”
Her eyes seem to glaze over, her expression slipping from her face. The tears that are streaming down her cheeks are the only giveaway that she’s even still breathing.
“That they were going to kill him.”
Her lips barely part, but I hear her. Her head is shaking side to side, as if doing it enough will toss the information from her head, but her hands squeeze mine tighter, telling me it’s not working.
“What do you mean?” I push, trying to pull her back from the black hole that she’s starting to fall into. “Who killed Andy?”
That’s when her eyes snap to mine. I already know whose name she is about to say.
“Matt.”
It’s like a punch to the gut.
A werewolf doesn’t seem like such a stretch for him. He had taken the role of hunter after all, but Andy? They grew up together, they’ve been friends for years, and as much as I know that Matt is a monster . . .
I suppose I still hoped that there was a shred of decency in him.
Out of all his friends, Andy was the only half-decent one to exist. Sure, he wasn’t an amazing person and he did his fair share of sh*tty things, but first and foremost, he was a good friend to Matt, even when he doesn’t deserve it.
I just don’t understand how someone could hurt their friend.
I shake my head as I swallow my fear, stepping back from Tracey. “H-how—”
“I was late to meet Matt yesterday,” she explains, her eyes unmoving but I don’t think she’s looking at anything anymore. “It was only five minutes, but he started shouting at me. He started pushing me around, he—” She cuts herself off. Her fingers drift up to her chest where I see her reach for her neck, but she stops herself, her hand instead curling into a fist, which she drops to her side.
She doesn’t need to explain to me. I already know he did to her. I can feel his grip around my own throat.
“I apologised over and over again but nothing was working. He just seemed to get angrier and kept calling me a liar and he—” She closes her eyes for a second, and I know that she’s pushing away the awful memory.
It’s something she’s learned as a way to deal with it all, and I hate that she’s had to. She looks like me.
I don’t question it or push her when she clears her throat, grits her teeth, and stops trying to describe the events.
Sometimes, you just can’t, even if you want to.
“I didn’t know what he was going to do to me.” Her voice is low and regretful. “It just kind of slipped out.”
Yesterday replays—Andy, then Tracey. It’s as if I can picture her walking past him with a horrified look in his eyes, the two of them just trying to stay alive.
“You saw him talking to me,” I answer for her. She just nods, her lip already shaking again. “And you told Matt.”
I hear her begin to apologise again through her cries, but I barely register them.
Andy is dead because he tried to help me. Matt killed him because he spoke to me.
My blood turns cold. It could be Cam or Kristie next.
“Okay, look, Tracey.” I grab both her arms, stopping her apologetic ramblings as my head flies into all the possible scenarios of what is happening right now.
Kristie dead. Cam dead. Everyone dead. Pull it together, Elle.
“Do you know where they meet?” She bites her lip and looks away fro
m me. “Tracey, please. I know that we have this stupid high school feud, and I know that we’re never going to be best friends, but this is much bigger than that. If you know where they go, then you have to tell me.”
She still shakes her head and looks down, her blonde hair covering her face and helping her to avoid my begging eyes.
The truth.
I shake her slightly, forcing her to look at me as I steady my voice, trying to show her how much she needs to pay attention. I hope that I can get even a sliver of realisation to reach her.
“Please, Tracey,” I plead, my own throat catching as my emotions spill over. “I think they have Cam and Kristie. I can’t lose them.”
The silence drags out, and I try not to count the seconds that tick by, but I know that I’m running out of time.
Cole will come looking for me.
I start to think of places in my head, of ways to find out and how to save my two friends. Maybe she won’t tell me. After all, I’m basically asking her to risk her life, and she’s just watched one of her friends die, so could I really ask this of her?
“There’s this big old cabin,” she announces, the shake in her voice gone. “That’s where they hang out. Matt made me drive up and clean it last week. Apparently, they made a mess and the person who owned it wasn’t going to be happy.”
A cabin. That’s it. That’s where they have to be keeping them, that’s where their headquarters have to be. The meeting place for this sick and twisted group of individuals.
“That’s it,” I tell her, the urgency in my voice not going unnoticed. “Can you text me the address or the location or something?”
She shakes her head almost immediately, pulling her brows together in a frown.
“I don’t know the address.”
My confidence dwindles at her confession, my heart falling into my feet.
How am I going to find it?
It’s not exactly like I’m an expert explorer and could go from navigation alone. By the time I even so much as head in the right direction, I’m sure I’d have ten people on my trail and would most likely get lost before I could even try to help. If Trent and everyone came, then we would never get close enough, and they will never let me help. Their main priority is the pack; they wouldn’t care if Cam lives or dies. Kristie could get caught in the crossfire.
“But I can do you one better.” Tracey’s face is no longer pulled into a display of pain. Instead, she has her signature smirk stretched across it. She holds up her hand and shakes something hanging from her fingers while the other wipes the tears from her face.
Car keys.
“I can drive you there.”
After pretty much being frozen in shock at her kindness, I jump at Tracey’s offer and the two of us race to her car without another word. Surprisingly, this isn’t the most awkward car journey I’ve experienced. So far, we haven’t said much to each other. The radio has been a nice alternative to trying to make small talk.
Outside, I’m beginning to lose track of how many forests we have driven through. I don’t recognise a single feature anymore and definitely could not pinpoint us on a map. We’ve been driving for over an hour and my phone hasn’t stopped ringing.
When it vibrates for the hundredth time, I don’t even glance at the name before switching it off completely and throwing it in the side door.
“Is there a reason you don’t want your boyfriend coming along?” Tracey asks, her usual snideness still present but much less aggressive than usual. “Couldn’t he take Matt out in like, one punch?”
I snort slightly at the image. She’s not wrong.
“I don’t want anything to escalate. I need to make sure that my friends are alright. If we find them, I’ll phone Trent straight away.” I pause. “But I can’t lose anyone else.”
Tracey let’s out a sound of boredom, a low one that drags out. When I look over at her, she’s rolling her eyes as she taps her fingers on the wheel.
“Even when someone else dies and I’m the one that should feel guilty, you still somehow make it about you.” She laughs. “Typical. What more should I expect from perfect Annabelle Williams?”
I frown at her. “I mean, it is my fault. Matt—”
“Look, nothing that Matt does is ever your fault, alright?” she butts in, her tone flat as she turns another corner and heads down yet another empty road. “If anything, you should be praising yourself. God knows how out of control he would be if you hadn’t been dealing with him all these years. Plus you managed to not go crazy yourself.”
It’s strange. I think that’s the first time she’s ever not outrightly insulted me.
“You shouldn’t have to be dealing with him either,” I reply after a moment, my voice soft. “As much as we don’t get along, I would never wish anything like that on you. Or anyone.”
Her hands tighten around the wheel in response, her shoulders straightening as she glances over at me.
“What’s it like?” she asks with real curiosity in her voice. “To always be good?”
My confusion must show on my face because she rolls her eyes again and lets out another bark of forced laughter.
“What do you mean?”
“Like that!” she half shouts, motioning over to me. “What’s it like to have a moral compass that always points you in the right direction? What’s it like to be so good naturally, to be born knowing how to be kind to people and to always pick the right path?”
I’m dumbfounded. She thinks I’m good?
“I mean . . . I don’t know.” I shrug, my words stumbling. “I don’t know if I’m good, I just . . .” I trail off, not knowing what to say, but I can feel her eyes continuously glancing over to me. Like she’s trying to figure something out. Like she’s the one who’s confused.
“You know I’ve been jealous of you since we were kids,” she finally says, breaking the silence as I look at her in shock. “Before Matt or high school or popularity, I just . . . I don’t know. You always seemed to just get it right, y’know.” She laughs and shoots me an embarrassed smile.
“It’s stupid, I know, considering the amount of f*cked up situations you were actually dealing with, but to me, you always seemed to just get it. Like you never seemed to not have a friend around you, teachers would let you off with not having homework, but then would shout at me, and I was struggling to even find one person who could put up with me for longer than a week to be my friend.” She sighs.
“That’s why I envied you, not because of anything you had but because it just seemed to come to you so naturally. You didn’t have to try. You never even stumbled or had a bad moment that you lashed out, even when I used to say the most horrible things to you, you never treated me the same way.” She winces. “And believe me, you had every right to.”
That’s how she sees me? All these years, I thought that she viewed me as stuck up or spoiled or any of the other things she used to say to me— take a pick, there’s at least one hundred—but I have never thought that she viewed me at all positively.
“I don’t know why,” I mumble after a moment, still trying to wrap my head around her view of me. “I never saw myself as good. I guess I just never wanted anyone to feel like how my father made me feel. I didn’t ever want to be the reason for someone’s pain.”
As I say it, it resonates with me. I’ve never realised it before, but it’s the truth. If there is anything that my grandmother taught me in life, it was to be kind. Plus Mrs. Grenway had definitely made me terrified of karma as I came into my teenage years.
“Your dad,” Tracey pries. “He wasn’t nice to you, was he?”
I almost want to laugh at her question. It seems so silly to me. I could probably count on one hand the number of times my father was ‘nice’ to me, and I still don’t think it could be classed as anything other than not being overly horrible.
“You know how guys always joke that girls with daddy issues end up dating someone just like their father?” I joke, trying to ignore the pain in
my chest. “Yeah, they might have had a point.”
“Well, my dad left us for his secretary, so I guess we’re both screwed.”
Our laughter sounds strange together. It’s something I would never have expected, and I find it even more strange when I actually find myself actually smiling at Tracey. Even more weird, she’s smiling back.
Our chuckles die slowly, and it seems like she’s thinking about the same thing as I am—how odd this situation is. We’ve spent years hating each other.
“I know I should apologise for being the person your boyfriend cheated on you with, but I’m not sorry.”
There’s the Tracey I know.
Catching my expression of disbelief, she laughs again, shaking her hair out before fixing it almost immediately.
“At the time, I just wanted everything you had, and that included Matt. I kind of revelled in the fact that your little life wasn’t so perfect, and I could take something from you, but now?” She takes a deep breath. “Now, I think it was probably the only good thing that I ever did for you.”
If someone had told me a year ago, a month ago, or even a week ago that I would be sitting in Tracey Harrow’s car laughing with her and actually getting along, I would have sent you to a sanitorium, but here I am, and she’s right. She’s the final straw for me leaving Matt. In the strangest way, I owe her for giving me that final push.
“You know, I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” I tease, causing her to chuckle. “Careful, I might start to think you want to not hate each other anymore.”
“Me and you get along?” She laughs, throwing me a wink. “Annabelle Williams, you have gone mad.”
“You know, my friends call me Elle,” I point out with a raised brow.
“Well then.” She smirks, pulling up on the side of the road. “Good thing we’re not friends.”
All the teasing tone and laughter dies from both of our figures as we stare out the window, the cabin way in the distance cutting all humour from the moment.
“That’s it,” she points, her hand moving to a gap in the trees in front of it where I can see a worn path. “That’s the way I went in. I don’t know what you’re planning on doing, but there’s a lot of them and only one of you.”